Henry Morgan - The drivers

The lad tapped her bottom lightly with the whip as he led the girl about the ring ensuring that she raised her legs high and all the buyers had a chance to take a good look at her. The bidding began and increased quite rapidly as the punters decided lot number one was a fine specimen, despite the fact that her history revealed she was not a first time ride.

She was a private sale from a rich landowner in Norfolk who kept the girl for his two sons. Both had broken their virginity on her and she was used for their tuition and the father's amusement. Once his boys had left the family pile he had decided to bring in new stock, preferring now to have something blonde in the stable.

By the time the bidding stopped her value had soared to well over two grand and she was on her way North to a hunting lodge in Sutherland where rich merchant bankers needed some diversion when not out blasting grouse on the heather. It must have been the pulled back hair that appealed, Peter considered, because she certainly looked the outdoor, horse riding type. Not that she was going to do much riding, being rode definitely, but only in front of a roaring Scottish log fire.

Three more girls went under the hammer and then Lincoln's young Chinese girl was brought into the ring. Evidently the sale had not gone through outside the ring.

"Right then!" called the master of ceremonies. "A nice Oriental thoroughbred here. One careful owner and as you can see, quite spirited." He turned to the lad. "Run her around," he told him. "A touch of the whip, I think. Let the gentlemen see what a sporty little thing she is."

The boy began to trot around the circle but suddenly the girl lost control of herself and began pulling at her tether.

"Keep control there!" called the auctioneer. "Let's have no dissent."

The boy brought his crop firmly across the girl's bottom making her jump instantly from the whip, the pain taking her mind away from thoughts of escape.

"That's the way lad," said the auctioneer. Then he turned to the arena and praised his young handler.

"A good boy there gents, knows how to handle the stock. See, I told you she was spirited. Make her trot, lad, legs up, head back, good, good…"

The man who'd been arguing with Lincoln stepped straight up with a large offer, but presumably not as much as Lincoln hoped to get. Once more money was banded about like it was going out of fashion, and in the end he secured her. Twice-nightly, thought Peter. An artistic flogging show twice nightly? What a life, if the man really meant it.

As substantial as her price was, though, in comparison to the sum paid for the pair of flame haired Irish girls it was paltry. Peter was almost unable to see the bidders until he noticed two men making slight gestures with their hands while speaking into mobile phones. When one of them finally dropped out, the pair were bought for thirty five thousand and sent straight out for ringing and shipping down to London.

Ringing was done in a small enclosure a short distance away from the sale area. Not all the girls were done, only those where the buyers had requested it of the vet. The Chinese girl was ringed through both nipples and inner and outer labia, and her shrieks made Peter think that he enjoyed hurting her. Perhaps he had been turned on by Lincoln's little show, because the Irish girls were subdued and silent as they suffered the same fate, performed with a sterile cattle punch. Silver hoops were then fed through the lips of each girl, and again it was the Chinese girl who howled out.

By the end of the night the sheik had bought eight girls and each was pierced in the same fashion. The girls were then lined up one behind the other and a silver chain ran between their legs connecting up one to the one either side. Peter was fascinated by the manner the men went about it, watching the young lad take across women to be done as if he were taking cows to be branded. When a queue built up after several requests one after the other, he simply hitched them up to a post where another lad took each in turn to see the vet.

Mesmerised, Peter remained until the final female was sold, a plump middle aged woman who was bought by a German property developer to take back to Cologne where she would be rented out to the building workers on one of his sites.

As the men began to drift away, Peter was glad Dan had not made an appearance during the evening.

Neither had Susan!

He made his way out into the field, expecting to see nothing but darkness, only to find part of the fair in full swing, apparently for Drivers only. Although many of the ones at the sale had either left or were about to leave, some remained behind and were making their way to the various rides.

Bitterly disappointed at not finding Susan after all the risks he had taken, Peter slumped into the first empty seat that came around. It was on the ghost train and he found himself travelling alone along clanking rails towards double doors that opened only when the front of the car crashed into them. His eyes closed in reflex action at the sudden impact and noise, then opened into a world of strange light, of fluorescent greens and reds, throwing shadows of grotesque figures upon uneven walls.

The car travelled deeper and in the unearthly glow Peter caught the definite movement of one of the figures. He studied hard and to his horror realised the shape was that of a woman bound to a Catherine wheel which was spinning slowly over the simulated glow of amber coals. Then he realised the whole horror show writhed and seethed with naked females strapped and bound in some nightmarish tableau of ancient tales of terror.

To his left a pitiful young girl pleaded for release from her gibbeted suspension inside an iron maiden, her arms reaching out for his help. To the right, Poe's pendulum swung in ever lowering arcs towards the exposed abdomen and thighs of another semi-clad girl. Before he could see how low the blade would travel the car turned a corner to confront him with a sight inspired by the infamous witchfinder general himself, Matthew Hopkins.

One woman lay bound, taut and stretched on the wrack, her naked body red from the heat of her straining limbs. Another sat strapped to a ducking stool which bobbed her up and down to recorded sounds of cheers and raucous laughter, while a third was spread-eagled and hanged from the ceiling by strong ropes. Three wax figures appeared to be intimately searching her body, seeking out the tell tale blemish, the devil's mark that would seal her fate.

The entire display portrayed the witch trials of Cromwell's England, and while dummies were used for the men, the women were flesh and blood, brought in to replace the wax figures used during the day for the unsuspecting tourists and townsfolk of Wettle.

Many a witch had been burned alive in those days, but there was even greater cruelty abroad tonight he thought. The Chinese girl would have no death to look forward to after each day's torment.

Another crash signalled the exit doors and a queue of men waiting to enjoy the ghost train and its dubious pleasures. Peter knew attempting any kind of rescue would be pointless, he was one man against dozens and any action would simply lead to his sudden and painful demise.

Peter stumbled away from the ride and took a moment to rest against the side of a caravan. He was there for just a moment when he saw several men on the merry go round. At first glance they appeared to be enjoying themselves in the traditional manner until Peter realised that the horses were not going up and down at all. What was moving on each pole were women, tied there with wide leather straps, their legs either side of the horse so that they were forced to slide along the erect prick of the horse rider. One individual had actually turned his woman around so that she faced downwards with the obvious conclusion that his cock was now fucking her mouth.