We arrived in good time at the entrance to the funfair for its opening at six o’clock, and as soon as we entered I made a beeline for the low platforms where people were manacled for ‘free use’. I didn’t think a sentence of public humiliation would go that far, but if it did, I would have to protect my daughter, whatever the cost.

Thankfully she was not on any of the platforms, and I sat down at one of the picnic tables awaiting the return of my wife and son. When they appeared they made their reports.

“She’s not at Deadly Darts or the Wheel of Pain,” said my wife.

“Nor in the little tent beside the Dodgems, or the circus tent,” added my son.

I hadn’t expected her to be at any of those places, but it was as well to check. That left the Ghost Train, and we quickly went over to the join the queue.

We boarded a train with three other riders and anxiously awaited the first scene. It was possible that hanging by one’s wrists could count as public humiliation, as long as there was no physical punishment involved.

The layout of the medieval dungeon had changed, and it was a great relief to find the father and daughter from yesterday still being punished. The mother was nowhere to be seen.

The father was tied to a rack mounted at forty-five degrees so we could see him clearly grimacing with pain as his limbs were stretched by the action of the monk who was turning the rack’s hand wheel.

The daughter was straddling a triangular wooden horse topped by a sharp metal ridge, her wrists tied together to a rope attached to the wooden bar on the ceiling.

Weights tied around her ankles forced her delicate pussy onto the metal ridge. She was already working up a sweat as she raised herself by her wrists to alleviate the pain between her thighs. Her relief was short-lived though, and as she ran out of stamina she tried to lower herself gently back onto the horse to minimise the impact. A bit like the dance of the crucified, I thought.

The second and third scenes were the same as yesterday’s, only with different rebels suffering their punishments.

I took more interest in the third scene. Daisy’s time had come — she had been nailed to the crucifix just before the funfair opened and, having recovered somewhat overnight from yesterday’s ordeal, was vigorously dancing and groaning.

My wife and I looked at each other and grinned as we admired our handiwork. Then Daisy caught sight of us.

“You cunts!” she exclaimed as she studied the train. “Ha! Where’s your little bitch then? I hope the soldiers fucked her good and hard last night and strung her up!”

I had one foot over the side of the train before my wife and son pulled me back.

“Hey, sit back down!” hissed the man behind me, tapping my shoulder. “We’re trying to enjoy the ride here.”

Flustered, I tried to remain calm as the train left the scene to the sound of Daisy’s laughter and coughing.

The people behind us must have thought something was wrong with us when we didn’t collect any rocks from the basket prior to the next scene, and watched in silence as they had fun stoning the latest rebel, a man in his forties.

We were all mentally preparing for what we knew was coming. Only one scene left. What do we say to her? Maybe we shouldn’t be here. Maybe our presence will cause her even more embarrassment. Maybe we should we lay low and hope she doesn’t see us.

It was too late. The roar of the French revolutionary crowd came to my ears and there she was, dressed in a lovely frilly light blue dress, her head in the pillory beneath the guillotine blade, tight leather straps around her body.

“Jane!” called my wife.

“Hang in there, you’ll be fine,” I shouted.

My daughter looked up at us and smiled, though I could see she had been crying. Being restrained like that for some time, unable to move would have caused her muscles to cramp up.

“We’ll take you for a slap-up meal when you get out,” added my son, smiling widely and holding up his thumbs.

“Damn it, will you guys shut up,” said the man behind me, irked.

My daughter just continued smiling and then looked down to the basket in front of her, dutifully playing her part in the way she’d been instructed.

As we walked down the exit steps I heard the woman behind me say, “That effect at the end was amazing!”

“It would have been, but some people like to spoil the moment,” her companion replied in a huff, and I could sense his eyes boring into my back!