When Peter entered The Forge, Dan was on his way to the bar with an empty glass.
"Just in time," he said, seeing Peter come in and look around. "What do you want?"
"Lager, please. Whatever they've got."
Peter went over to help carry the drinks but Dan motioned for him to sit down and he'd bring them across.
"By the window. Do you want anything to eat? Nuts or something?"
"Nothing thanks, I've already eaten."
It was a testing time for Peter. Obviously Dan believed that he was a Driver and if he was going to get any closer to Susan he was going to have to go along with that and behave like one of them.
"There you go." Dan placed the drinks on the table and dropped down in the seat opposite Peter.
"Where've you been lately? I don't see you at the cafe any more."
Peter took a sip of his lager before answering, using the moment to appear composed and relaxed.
"I spent some time in Suffolk, had a big contract down there, lugging containers out of the port. What about you?"
"Here and there," Dan said, illustrating his point by shaking his hand from side to side. "A bit of this, a bit of that."
"And what about Geordie? He up to much?"
"Up north most of the time. Aberdeen and Edinburgh. He might get down for tonight though. If he makes it, he'll be at the auction."
Peter sincerely hoped not. Convincing the Geordie he really was a Driver would be a lot more difficult.
"Here," Dan continued. "You weren't really thinking of buying those two beauties off Michael were you?"
Peter let out a knowing smile. "What do you think?"
"I think not," Dan laughed. "Can't see any of us with enough clout to out bid the Arabs."
"I can't understand how they smuggle the girls out of the country. Why aren't they checked by customs?"
"Why do you think? A mega rich Arab sheik moving his horses between meetings. Who's going to ask questions? With all his money he hardly needs to smuggle. They take the girls out the same way Michael and the others bring them in. In the secret compartments at the back of the horse boxes." Dan looked at his watch. "Time to get going."
On the way to the show grounds Dan asked Peter if he was going to the passover the following week. Peter had heard the phrase several times lately, though he was unsure of its meaning. All he could do was go along with everything Dan said.
"I'll be there," he told him. "You?"
Dan stopped momentarily to light a cigarette before carrying on his way down the dark country lane. "Never miss them," he said. "Especially the ones held up at Jimmy's."
"Jimmy's?" queried Peter. "I'm not sure I know his place".
A moment of concern crossed Dan's face and he stopped and turned towards the other man.
"How long have you been one of us?" he asked.
Peter's body tensed with nerves, although in the cold night air his sudden movements could be mistaken for the shivers.
He looked nonchalantly away towards the lights of the fair shining brightly across the other side of the field. "About two months," he said. "Just before I met you." He walked casually to the side of the road to relieve himself in the hedge.
Dan pulled a deep drag on his cigarette, the glow from its tip illuminating the concern on his face.
"Who asked you in?" he asked nonchalantly. "Was it Lincoln?"
"No, I don't know Lincoln very well," Peter said, aware of the trap. "I thought I told you that before."
"So you did… you were saying you…" Before he had time to finish Peter interrupted him.
"Actually I did meet him down south not so long ago. Jack told me Felix Ferries had a bit of work. I pulled a few containers for him."
"So Jack invited you in?"
"Did I say that?"
"No," Dan admitted. "Then who?"
"H," Peter told him. "Big bad H".
That seemed to clinch it. He had passed the test. All he hoped now, was that none of the Drivers he had mentioned were at the auction. Getting rid of Dan, who seemed to have taken a liking to him, could prove tricky enough without any other complications. Dan was useful, but he had to be alone to rescue Susan.
As they neared the large tent where the auction was due to take place, Dan asked Peter who he was taking to the passover. Before Peter had a chance to reply he'd already started to rave about the woman he was taking.
"She's a cracker I tell you. A lovely tight little bum and firm titties. I picked her up at some services near Exeter. Now she's been servicing me ever since. Perhaps we'll do a swap, what do you reckon? You pass your's over to me and I'll pass you mine."
Suddenly Peter understood. At this passover the Drivers were able to exchange the women they had captured on the roads of Britain. After the passover each Driver would have a new girl to satisfy his lusts, and that was why Susan had been taken by so many different men.
"And what if you don't have a woman to pass over?" he asked.
"You know the rules," said Dan. "No woman, no entry. If you've got one to exchange you're in. If not you'd better buy one from the Paddies tonight."
"I got one," Peter declared.
"What she like? Nice cunt, good cock sucker?"
"Blonde," Peter said. "Big tits and a nice figure." Without realising it, he was describing Melanie.
"Sounds good to me," Dan said, licking his lips. "I'll sure look forward to it."
"Trouble is, no one has told me where Jimmy's is," ventured Peter.
"Jack will tell you."
"I won't see him for a while. I'm back down south tomorrow."
"It's between Yellow Beck and Cotherstone. The only garage up on the moors road. You can't miss it."
The entrance to the tent was guarded by two men, both nervously tapping the side of their legs with a baseball bat. Dan passed by them with a nod of the head, but Peter was stopped until Dan explained he was with him.
"Can't be too careful," he said, handing Peter a sales catalogue. "You don't know what nosey bastards are around, but if anyone gate-crashes they're in serious fucking trouble."
Once past the security they walked through another door to find themselves amongst eager men filing past the holding pens.
In each pen lay at least one girl, in some there were several. Each was marked with a number that matched their place in the catalogue. Some of the girls appeared to be in quite poor condition and simply sprawled on top of bales of straw, legs open as they had been left for buyers to look them over.
Potential buyers were making notes in books, and occasionally someone would call for the keeper, who would come over and drag the girl across for a closer inspection, pulling back her lips to show her teeth, or milking her breasts to check their firmness or otherwise.
The nearer they got to the main arena, the higher the quality of the girls became. In one pen a man in a white coat knelt between the legs of a young dark haired woman, his fingers probing inside her thighs.
"That's the vet," Dan informed him. "If you're trying to get a few more bucks for your stock you can declare her a virgin. Trouble is she has to be checked by the vet and that costs you up front."
Suddenly Dan took hold of Peter's arm and pushed his way past several men to another pen down the line.
"There you go," he said. "That's one of mine!"
Curled up in a mound of straw lay a young girl. She wasn't asleep, just curled into a ball trying to avoid the prying eyes of potential buyers examining her fresh young features. Small firm titties and flawless legs and thighs.
"What do you reckon?" asked Dan. "I should get a few bob for her, eh?"
Peter agreed. "Have you declared her a virgin?"
"Nah, she may look like a virgin but she ain't. No way. I never put them in for a sale unless I've mounted them first. She's no virgin I can assure you! Don't let those looks fool you. No, I've had many a good ride off of her." He was about to continue his boasting when a face in the crowd caught his attention.
"Gotta go, Peter," he said. "That guy over there wants to offer me money to keep this one out of the auction. See you in the sale room."
So Peter was alone at last, another face in the crowd and quite safe now that he was inside, as long as Dan didn't come back with any friends. Nervously he edged his way towards the sale room, passing pen after pen of captured women. Most, the ones who had been through it all before, lay on the floor, unabashed at their nudity. Others, the first timers, cowered like frightened animals, nowhere to hide, desperately trying to find some dignity in the unfeeling straw.
The men appeared quite oblivious to any embarrassment felt by the girls, treating them purely as livestock, concerned only with making the right purchase at the right price. For some of them it was just a job, buying stock for the more affluent or better known who were unable or unwilling to attend in person.
Peter recognised the beautiful red haired girls he had seen earlier in the day, penned together. Amazingly a rosette was pinned to their enclosure as a prize for the best turned out stock, alongside details of their age and information on their origin in Kerry county, Eire.
Peter was enthralled by their beauty and spent some time observing their actions. Both girls lay across bales of straw, totally aware they were on display and using their considerable charms to ensure only the richest could afford them. It was the intelligent thing to do, after all. A rich master could well be as cruel as a poor one, but at least your suffering would be endured in luxurious surroundings.
Probably they didn't know about the Arabs.
The naked girls were a feast for Peter's eyes and he ate hungrily. All around him lay naked females, there to buy and take away. For a while he lost himself to his thoughts and felt the tell tale rise in his trousers. He made a fist and dug it into his leg trying to hurt himself, ashamed that he should find such pleasure in the hopeless predicament of the captured women.
Only the sight of the young Chinese girl he had seen with Lincoln was able to snap him out of his trance.
She was attracting a lot of attention, many hands were upon her.
She was tied to a post with a stick behind her arms that thrust out her neat little breasts, and one leg was tied up in the air like a dancer high kicking, almost at right angles to the loose one that a man was running his hands up and down, all the way. She must be incredibly supple, he thought, maybe from some circus or other, although sweat gleamed on her smooth skin and the way all her muscles twitched and her dark eyes were screwed up with tears overflowing showed that she was either in agony or dreadfully repelled by her lewd handling.
It was the tears that attracted the crowd to her as much as her perfectly formed little body. And her pathetic whimpering was a good reason for not gagging her. Peter wondered how long Lincoln had left her like that. And how much longer she would be left there. A long time, he thought. It was probably putting up her price very nicely.
Whatever her history, she seemed to attract cruelty like a magnet…
Peter's heart jumped a beat when he heard a broad Irish voice approaching, and he stepped hurriedly back, hoping to lose himself amongst the punters crowding in.
"Oi, Lincoln. How much you after for the Chink?"
Moving backwards in the throng, Peter felt a sudden solid bump against his back, stopping him in his tracks and forcing the people around him to stumble sideways. Trying to remain innocuous he turned to say sorry, only to look straight into the eyes of the one man he was desperate to avoid. Before he had time to react Lincoln placed a large hand on his shoulder with no hint of recognition, pushed himself away and apologised for bumping into him.
His attention was not there.
"Got to do a bit of business," he said. "In a hurry, sorry mate".
Peter managed a nod and a smile and melted into the crowd, peering between the heads of two onlookers as Lincoln jumped the railings of the pen and pulled the girl over to the man who had enquired of her purchase.
"Have you put a reserve on her?" the man asked.
"Now I'm not going to tell you, am I?" grinned Lincoln. "If you want to keep her out of the sale, make me an offer."
The man ran his hands up and down the young Chinese girl's legs as Lincoln held her out. Satisfied, he next checked her feet and then her teeth.
"She looks in great shape," he said. "I could do with an Oriental piece for my house, it gives the customers a bit of variety." He bent the girl over and checked her genitals were clear, then he ran his hand over her tits, squeezing her nipples as if trying to make them stiffen.
"They're awfully small tits," he told Lincoln. "Most of my clients like a girl big up top."
"She's a Chink," said Lincoln. "What do you expect? Tell you what though, she's great to beat, so sensitive, you should see how she reacts, plenty of your customers would enjoy beating her, I'll bet. Or you could put on a show."
"Once a week?" said the man scornfully.
"Twice nightly," said Lincoln. "She's tougher than she looks, believe me."
He took the girl into his arms, smacking her pert little arse none too gently and ignoring the new tears in her shining black eyes.
"Well?"
"You sure she can do a show twice nightly?
"No sweat!"
"She better be good!"
"You can take it out on her if she ain't."
"You better believe it!"
"Stand back, then, and I'll show you."