He stood a few yards from her with a long whip in his hands.
"First race – all bets done, lads?"
Nothing but nods and a few calls of 'get on with it'.
"This whip sets her going, OK?"
There was no dissent.
The whip cracked with a flourish and she jumped in the air and was off. Her run was awkward with her hands secured up behind her back, but she was a natural athlete, circus trained, and looked reasonably graceful as well as incredibly erotic.
It was not until the fifth jump that she failed to clear it and fell crashing to the ground, rolling over and over and ending up in an untidy sprawling heap, arse up.
Lincoln was above her cringing figure in a flash, wielding a riding crop without mercy as she writhed about on the floor.
"Goddam it, bitch! Bloody Hell! I told you finish the fucking course!"
His temper was really gone. He continued to lay into her helpless figure until the brothel keeper hauled him off.
"Steady man. There's another race. And don't spoil her for the beating."
At last he calmed down. "Sorry, place your bets for the next race. It starts in ten minutes."
The betting was more on lower numbers this time. Nobody thought she'd do as well a second time. But Lincoln went for a perfect round again, as he told the girl as he prepared her for the start.
"Don't you dare let me down again," he snarled. "Don't you fucking dare or there'll soon be no skin on that pretty little arsehole of yours!"
He picked up the long whip again. It was knotted at the end.
"All done?"
Again there was nothing but a chorus of assent.
"Ready -"
The girl stood trembling, her eyes on the whip.
"Go!"
She was off like a flash but there was no way of avoiding the whip. He let her go a few yards before he cracked it on her, and she stumbled for a few paces but just managed to recover.
Nearly blew my bet there, he thought.
As it happened it didn't matter. She crashed at the eighth, but it was because someone had tripped her.
"No bets on that," shouted the bookie. "Null race."
"OK," said Lincoln. "Rerun."
He went to the girl and picked her up by the hair. "See you get right round this time, or else!"
Lincoln's 'or else' was famous.
This time he started her with the whip and ran after her with it, cracking her several times as hard as he could to liven her up.
And this time she made it, to grudging applause.
"OK!" said Lincoln. "Now for the obstacle race. Any ideas?"
"Me!" came a voice, followed by laughter.
"OK," said Lincoln. "She has to get through a group of four of you. What else?"
"I've got a big net over my load," one Driver volunteered. "We could fix that down with weights for her to wriggle under."
"And I've got some barrels," said another. "We could knock the bottoms out and hang them up."
"That should be enough," said Lincoln. "Plus we'll tie her legs together, eh? We'll set the course the length of the building, and bets will be on how long she takes, to the nearest minute, OK?
The course only took half an hour to set, and soon they were ready for the off, all bets taken. The girl's legs were bound together above the knees and at the ankles and she was set against the wall at one end, facing the one at the other.
"We can all encourage her along the way," said Lincoln, "so have your belts out. Isn't that barrel a bit small?"
The man who had contributed the barrels shrugged
"There's only four without that one. She's not that big. She might make it. And I've hung it last."
"Fair enough," said Lincoln. "All bets made? Ready for the off? Ready, get set, GO!"
She didn't move.
"Say it in Chinese," someone jeered.
Lincoln gave her a push towards the four who waited, the first obstacle. They proved quite an effective one, and she took a great deal of bucking and wriggling to get through.
Then, instead of going under the net, she started running over it and had to be brought back and pushed under. She was soon wriggling along, assisted by many none too gentle blows with the belts. Her progress was definitely encouraged by them, but also severely impeded by her harness, which kept getting snagged.
"Five minutes," called out the timekeeper.
That caused those who had bet on a quick time to encourage her all the more, whilst a few who had estimated longer put their boots on the netting to slow her down.
At last she emerged at the other end.
"Ten minutes!"
One of the Drivers who had bet on twelve picked her up and shoved her head first into the first barrel, then started thrashing her exposed bottom with his belt. Her legs waved wildly in the air as she wriggled her way frantically into the barrel, but getting through was far from easy.
At last she fell out at the front, only to be pushed into barrel two.
"Twelve."
Another Driver took over. There were few bets on so long a race and he had high hopes at sixteen minutes, and he had her through the next two and into the last one to the count of fourteen and the cheers of the other Drivers.
By hard lashing with his belt he got her well and truly into that last barrel, but there she stuck, head out at the front, arse and waving legs at the back.
She was frantic as he lashed her harder and harder, but there was no way she could progress any further, even when others joined in the assault on her bottom.
"Hold it," shouted Lincoln after another few minutes. "Hold it, lads, or she'll be no good for the beating. Time for another break. Just leave her alone, will you! I declare the race unfinished, all bets off."
"So what now?" asked the brothel keeper.
"So now we beat her," said Lincoln.
The brothel keeper licked his lips. She was still swinging in the barrel as one or two of the Drivers took the chance to explore her wriggling behind. "Artistically, eh? I'm looking forward to that."
"Well, you can stop then," said Lincoln. "I don't give a shit for artistic. A beating is a beating is a beating, right? Specially when I do it! A flogging is a flogging. If you advertise it as an artistic beating twice nightly, or whatever, with matinees for all I care, you have to make up your own artistic."
"Well OK," said the brothel keeper. "Maybe I got an idea or two at that."
"But for now," said Lincoln, "we just beat the shit out of her, right lads?"
"Right!" came back the shouts.
"And it ain't for nothing after all, she let me down bad and I don't stand for that… get the frame off my rig, some of you. And get her out of that fucking barrel."
They had to pull her out backwards, there was no way she could ever have got through or out at all by herself.
He clapped his hands and she took up her position in the centre of the ring again, on tiptoes because of the heelless high-heeled shoes that were spiked inside, feet wide apart as she had been taught, arms still strapped tightly together at the elbows behind her back, jaws parted a little by the bit and head held up by the reins from the bit to the elbow straps, breasts and bottom pushed out tight as a bow, still squirming from the ginger on the dildo and plug held in place by the tight leather strap between her legs.
She stood there watching, trembling visibly as they slowly assembled the frame in front of her terrified eyes, making rude gestures towards her as they did so, telling her what it was for, as if she didn't know.
Little whimpers came from between her parted teeth. She had beautiful teeth, small, white and even. Like two rows of pearls, Lincoln thought, with a pink tongue tip just showing like an invitation between them, though he would never say such a thing out loud in a thousand years. Not in this company!
"Come on," said Lincoln. "I may may not know how to beat a woman artistically, but I bet I can string her up real pretty!"
The frame itself was plain enough, just a rectangle of plain wood standing on a rough wooden base, but it had hooks screwed into it in various places.