Mock Rape II: The Search for Claire

Mock Rape II
The Search for Claire

by Harold


This story is a sequel to Mock Rape, Inc.  It might work as a stand alone story,
but I would recommend reading Mock Rape, Inc. first in order to really
understand what's going on, since this story assumes you already know why Claire
is missing, why Malcolm is abducting women, and who Grace, Mike, and Manfred
are.



	Amy was worried.  Well, maybe not worried, she told herself, but
certainly concerned.  She had not heard from her sister Claire in over three
weeks.  They usually talked once or twice a month, so a three week lapse would
not normally have been cause for concern.  However, Amy had been trying to
contact Claire for several days with no success.  Claire's office had informed
her that she hadn't been to work in over two weeks and the message on her
answering machine was decidedly odd.  Amy tried to call again.

	"This is Claire.  I very much regret that I am unable to take your call
... yes, very much."  There was no beep.  The machine simply delivered the
message and hung up.

	Becoming increasingly concerned and not knowing what else to do, Amy
drove to Claire's apartment.  She was relieved to see Claire's car in the lot. 
However, Claire did not answer her door.  Pounding on the door and yelling
produced no response.

	Now Amy was definitely worried.  Claire might be hurt or ill.  She had a
key to Claire's apartment, but had neglected to bring it.  She left to get it.

	Malcolm had likewise not heard from Claire for over three weeks, but
since he had made no attempt whatever to contact her in that time, he was not at
all concerned.  Tonight, however, he intended to make most intimate contact.

	The last three weeks had been spent planning this evenings encounter. 
Claire had not been entirely satisfied with her last fantasy encounter and
Malcolm was determined that this time she would have no cause for complaint.

	Malcolm noted Claire's car in the lot, drove around to the back and
parked next to the back door.  He let himself in with the key he had from a
previous encounter.

	Once inside, Malcolm sensed that the apartment was empty.  The interior
was dark and silent.  The air was stale.  Malcolm was considering whether to
wait or come back another time when he heard a key in the front door.

	Amy stepped into the darkness of Claire's apartment.  As she groped for
a light switch, she was surprised as the door closed of its own accord.  She was
even more surprised when a hand wrapped itself around her throat and jerked her
sideways off her feet.  No sooner had she hit the floor than a body landed on
top of her, knocking the wind out of her.  By the time Amy could catch her
breath to scream, her arms had been jerked behind her and her wrists tightly
bound.  Just as she filled her lungs with air, a hand clamped itself over her
mouth.

	"No screaming.  You know you'll be punished for that."

	"And I would know that because...?" Amy thought to herself.  She was
surprised that her brain would choose such a time to be sarcastic, but not too
surprised.  Amy was a sarcastic person.

	Amy slowly exhaled and the hand was removed from her mouth.  Quickly,
she inhaled again and opened her mouth wide to scream.  Something round and
slightly yielding was jammed into her mouth.  Straps were pulled tight and
fastened behind her neck, jamming whatever it was deep into her mouth and
forcing her jaws uncomfortably far apart.  She did manage to scream, but her
effort was so muffled by the gag, she doubted she could be heard out in the
hall.

	After fastening her gag, the hands left her neck and grasped her ankles,
pulling her legs out straight.  Amy jerked one leg loose and kicked, producing a
yelp from her assailant.

	"You will be punished for that, bitch," the voice informed her.

	Amy only wished she had been wearing stiletto heels instead of the
clunky heels she had worn.  The grip on her ankle was renewed and a strap now
encircled both her ankles.  It was cinched tight, pinning them together.

	Despite her terror, Amy's mind kept making odd little observations.  Her
use of the past tense with respect to her shoes was appropriate, she noted, as
they were unbuckled and removed.

	The blindfold being buckled in place caused Amy to feel some sense of
relief.  If he didn't want to be seen, Amy thought, he might be planning to let
her go when he was done with her.  Maybe she would survive this night.

	Amy's ankles were drawn up and fastened to her wrists, leaving her
hogtied.  Then she heard her assailant get up and go out the back door.

	Malcolm had been rather surprised by the violence of Claire's struggle. 
She'd never put up this kind of a fight before.  He would teach her a lesson.  A
couple of hours bound and gagged in the dark and she would understand how
helpless she truly was.  Malcolm went off to get something to eat.  Even if
Claire managed to free herself before he returned, which he doubted she could
do, he would simply tie her up again.

	Amy felt relieved when she heard the back door close.  Maybe she could
free herself before he came back in.  Time passed with both her fear and her
hope unfulfilled.  Whoever had attacked her did not return, but neither could
she free herself.  "What's with this?" Amy wondered.  "The guy just ties me up
and goes away?  He doesn't even do anything to me?"

	As time passed, Amy's fear grew.  By now her struggles had made it clear
to her that she would remain bound until someone released her.  Would anyone
find her?  She had been here a long time already.  With the blindfold on, she
had no idea whether it was day or night.  What if no one found her for days? 
Amy renewed her struggle, but accomplished only the further abrasion of her
wrists.

	Malcolm, for reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on, was angry with
Claire.  Although he hadn't given her the opportunity to say a single word, he
had picked up something in her attitude that rubbed him the wrong way.  Besides,
his knee still hurt where she had kicked him.  He would have to come up with an
appropriate punishment for that one.  Perhaps he would whip the soles of the
feet.

	"Whoa," Malcolm told himself.  "We're getting vindictive here.  This is
supposed to be fun."  Nevertheless, at the moment, his idea of fun was to
inflict sufficient suffering on Claire that she would beg for mercy, which he
would delight in denying her.

	Malcolm's sensible side informed him that this was a bad time to revisit
Claire.  She could wait a while longer.  He went to a movie.  He chose a comedy
and was feeling much more light hearted when he returned for Claire several
hours later.

	The sound of the back door opening caused Amy both fear and relief.  The
footsteps that approached her were too heavy to be Claire's.  Amy wondered what
was going to happen to her.

	Amy's hands had gone numb and her cramped joints were causing her
increasing pain.  She thought she would acquiesce to just about anything that
involved untying her.

	Her ankles were released from her wrists and Amy yelped into her gag as
her knees began to straighten.

	"Easy, take it easy," the voice said.  "You're going to be very stiff. 
You don't want to move too suddenly."

	Amy was surprised by the solicitousness of the voice.  She winced as she
slowly straightened her legs.  She was rolled onto her back.

	"Bring your knees up slowly to your chin, then back down again."  Amy
complied and after two repetitions was once again reasonably flexible.  Then she
was picked up and carried outside.

	Amy lay on the floor in the back seat of a car.  She was hidden under a
blanket and the car had been driving for some time.  It stopped at
intersections, got on the freeway, got off the freeway, drove through city
traffic, got on the freeway again ...  The trip seemed interminable and Amy
began wondering if the driver was wandering around randomly so she wouldn't have
any idea how far she was being taken.  She took this as another sign that her
captor would release her when he was through with her.  Just the same, Amy found
herself wishing they would get where they were going so he could do whatever he
was going to do and get it over with.

	When the journey finally ended, Amy was carried inside and placed on the
floor with her back against the wall.  Her gag was removed.

	When she had been left in Claire's apartment, Amy had mainly been
concerned with whether or not she would be left there until she died.  In the
car, she had given more consideration to how to deal with her current situation. 
She already knew that she was bound too tightly for physical resistance to be of
any use.  Her other options were total submission and attempting to humanize
herself to her abductor.  Once her gag was removed, she opted for humanization. 
She would still have total submission as a fallback option..

	Amy worked the stiffness out of her jaw for a moment, then began
talking.  "Would you like to know my name?  It's Amy.  Amy Cooper.  I work at
Morgan National Bank.  I'm a loan officer.  Maybe you know that already.  I want
you to know I'm frightened.  I'm afraid of what you're going to do to me.  You
won't need to hurt me.  I'll do what you want.  Maybe we could be friends.  You
could tell me your name.  Not your whole name, just your first name so I'll know
what to call you.  I won't...

	"Amy, please be quiet a moment."  The voice was not unfriendly.  It
sounded concerned rather than threatening.  Amy was confused.  Had she not been
blindfolded, she would have been even more confused by the look on Malcolm's
face.

	Malcolm would have described himself as confused, had he been prone to
understatement.  The woman tied up on his floor may or may not have been Amy
Cooper, but she was definitely not Claire.  He had abducted the wrong woman.

	Amy felt herself picked up and placed in a chair.  Her blindfold was
removed.  She blinked and looked about.  She was sitting at what appeared to be
a round dinner table in a loft apartment across from a man she assumed was her
abductor.

	"I'm afraid we have a bit of a situation here..." Malcolm began.

	"Oh, really?" Amy thought to herself.  Considering the fact that she was
still bound, she chose to keep her comment to herself.

	"You see, when I abducted you, I thought you were Claire," Malcolm
continued.

	"Oh, I see," said Amy, unable to restrain herself any further..  "If I
was Claire, then this would all be okay."

	"Yes, but since you're not Claire, I have a problem."

	"You have a problem?"

	"Precisely."

	"Of course.  It's so obvious.  I'm the one who was attacked, I'm the one
who was abducted, I'm the one who's tied up, but you're the one who has a
problem.  How self centered of me not to have noticed.  What can I do to help? 
How can I be of service?  What assistance might I render?  What..."

	"One thing you might do for me is open your mouth a little wider so I
can put your gag back where it belongs."

	Amy looked at Malcolm.  She was pretty sure that his threat to gag her
again was rhetorical, but considering her current condition, she decided against
further comment.  She wanted to demand that he untie her, but that would require
him to move, and she rather liked him where he was at the moment--on the
opposite side of the table.

	"Despite your tone, you've got it right.  You won't have a problem until
after I put you back where I got you.  At that point, you'll have to decide what
to do about your little adventure this evening.  In the meantime, I've got two
problems.   The first is to put you back where I got you, and the second is to
convince you not to do anything about this evening, or at least make it very
difficult for you or the police to ever find me.  But before we get into all
that, I have a question."

	"And that would be?"

	"Why aren't you Claire?"

	"I'm her sister.  Is that close enough?"

	"That depends on how you feel about your current predicament.  You do
look a lot like her.  Would you like me to proceed as though you were Claire or
take you back where you came from?"

	"Proceed to what?" Amy wanted to know.

	"Considering your attitude so far, I think major spanking would be in
order."

	"My attitude?  What about you?  You attack me in the dark and abduct me
and I'm the one who needs a spanking?  I think you've got it backwards."

	"You're confused about how this works.  You're the one who's tied up, so
you're the one who gets the spanking."
	"I think you'd better take me back."

	"I thought you might say that.  But before we go, I have another
question, or rather the same question.  Why did I get you?  Where's Claire?"

	"You've got it backwards again.  I should be asking you.  She's missing
and you're the one abducting people.  Don't you know where she is?  And while
I'm on the subject, just what were you doing in Claire's apartment and why were
you trying to abduct her?"

	"I suppose that does seem rather odd.  I'll try to explain.  We play
this game where every once in a while I abduct her and drag her off for a few
days of debauchery."

	"And who exactly are you?  Are you her boyfriend?  She's never mentioned
you."

	"No, I'm just a friend."

	"Just a friend?  A friend who kidnaps her and drags her off for a few
days of sex and spankings?  Something's not right about this.  You can't be all
that close a friend if you didn't know she was missing.  Why would she be doing
all this with someone she doesn't know all that well?  You're not telling me the
whole story.  I think you know very well where she is."

	"Then why was I at her apartment?  I grabbed you because I thought you
were Claire."

	"I think you were there to rob the place and I just happened to walk in
on you."

	"Claire's car was in the lot.  Why would I rob the place if I thought
she was home?"

	"Because you're the one responsible for her being missing.  You knew she
wasn't there."

	"Amy, you realize that if you're right about this, you're in deep shit."

	Amy turned white.  She hadn't stopped to consider where her argument was
leading.  Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut.  This guy Malcolm wasn't
likely to let her go now that he knew that she was on to him.

	"Fortunately for you," Malcolm continued, noting the look on Amy's face,
"you're wrong, so you don't have anything to worry about, except possibly your
sister.  So tell me, how do you know she's missing?  When did you see her last?"

	Amy regarded Malcolm.  She had ceased to be frightened of him, but was
still suspicious.  She still didn't understand who he was or what was going on,
but decided to answer his questions and see where it led.  "About three weeks
ago.  I've been trying to contact her for over a week.  She's never home and at
her job they told me she hasn't been to work for over two weeks."

	"Did you leave a message on her machine?"
	"You can't.  You just get this weird recording and then it hangs up."

	"What weird recording?" Malcolm wanted to know.

	"Call her number and see for yourself."

	Amy noted that Malcolm didn't have to look up Claire's number but
couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

	Malcolm listened to the message. 

	"Amy, I'm going to take you back to Claire's apartment."

	Malcolm now seemed distracted.  Amy had the distinct impression that
Malcolm was disturbed by the message on Claire's machine.  Her own status had
changed from major problem to minor nuisance and Malcolm obviously wanted to
dispose of her as quickly as possible so that he could deal with more important
issues.   The message on Claire's machine apparently meant more to him than it
did to her.

	"You know something, don't you" Amy said.  "What is it?  What's happened
to Claire?"

	"Have you notified the police about Claire?"

	"No."

	"Do so," Malcolm said as he got up and approached Amy.  "I'm taking you
back now."

	"Wait a minute, damn it.  Now you've got me really worried and you
haven't told me anything.  What's going on?  Who are you, really?"

	Malcolm wondered how much he should tell Amy.  Would she even believe
him?  Would she believe that Claire had paid him to forcibly abduct her and
subject her to a few days of sexual servitude?  And would Claire want her sister
to know that about her?

	The only people who knew of Malcolm's business were his customers. 
Malcolm worked hard to keep it that way.  Neither he nor they would be served if
others were aware of his activities.  So what to tell Amy?

	"I'm just a friend.  Now, come on," Malcolm said, fastening a blindfold
over Amy's eyes and scooping her into his arms.  "We need to go."

	"Wait.  Stop.  Put me down."  Amy was completely exasperated.  "Aren't
you even going to untie me?"

	"I hadn't planned on it."
	Amy began struggling violently.  "Put me down.  I said put me down!"

	Malcolm set Amy back down in the chair.  "I thought you wanted me to
take you back."

	"I do, but not until I get some answers.  I want to know who you are and
what you know about Claire."  Amy did have some sense of the irony of a woman in
her present condition making demands, but she didn't care.  She was angry, and
she was frightened for Claire.

	Malcolm made a decision.  "Alright.  Against my better judgement, I'll
tell you.  Although I consider Claire a friend, my relationship with Claire is
primarily a business one."

	"What business?  I didn't know Claire was in business."

	"No, you don't get it.  Your abduction this evening was intended for
Claire.  She contracted for it."

	"You're trying to tell me she paid you to do that?"

	"Yes, that's it exactly."

	"That's ridiculous.  Why would anyone want that?  And why would Claire
pay for it?  She never had trouble attracting men.  She wouldn't need to pay for
sex."

	"You're right.  In general, women don't need to pay for sex.  Almost any
woman, once she's decided to have sex, can find someone to oblige her in fairly
short order, although few are that indiscriminate.  Good sex, on the other hand,
is a different matter."

	"So, you're like a prostitute."

	"I tend to consider myself a private contractor, but you could probably
make a good argument for that viewpoint."

	"It still doesn't add up.  I can't see Claire paying for sex, no matter
how good it is."

	"There's more to it than that.  Amy, some women have special needs,
special desires, that aren't fulfilled by ordinary sex.  I give them what they
want, what they need."

	"So your customers want to be tied up or spanked or whatever it is you
do to them, and you're telling me that's what Claire wanted.."

	"Yes."

	"I still don't believe it.  Why would Claire want that, and even if she
did, why would she pay someone for it?"

	"There is no why.  If that's what you want, then that's what you want. 
She has to hire it done because it can be hard to come by."

	"What's hard about it?"

	"Okay, suppose you're someone who likes to be tied up.  You don't just
like it, you need it, but you're also embarrassed by these needs.  So it's not
likely you'll just randomly run across some guy who'll do what you want, and
it's hard to ask for it.  But suppose you do bring yourself to ask your husband,
lover, whoever.  You're likely to encounter anything from derision to a bumbling
compliance where you have to direct the whole encounter.  'Okay, tie my hands
behind me...no, not like that, I can get loose...now tie my
ankles...tighter...put me across your lap...now spank me...harder...HARDER.' 
You end up in total control of the situation, which is the opposite of what you
wanted and it turns out to be worse than outright rejection.  It's fairly easy
for a woman to find someone to have sex with, but it's much more difficult for
her to herself get tied up.  Then, of course, there's always the danger that
she'll get more than she bargained for."

	"Assuming that's what she wants."

	"True.  Most women don't want that, but a significant minority do.  I
provide it with their safety guaranteed.  They know they'll survive the
experience."

	"And that's what you do.  You tie them up and spank them."

	"I do what they need.  It varies with the individual.  Some only want to
be tied up, others want to be spanked.  Some want to be dominated verbally, some
want to be humiliated, some want to be punished, some are turned on by pain,
some aren't.  Some want to be taken by force.  I usually have to find out by
trial and error, since in many cases she's either embarrassed to say what she
wants or sometimes doesn't know."

	"I see.  And what does Claire like?"

	"She seems to like a bit of everything.  She's a new customer, so I
haven't gotten really zeroed in on her.  I'm exposing her to a variety of things
to help her find what she likes."

	"I am not believing this."

	"Amy, I'm going to remove your blindfold and untie you, but should it
become necessary, I'll tie you up again."

	Amy rubbed her wrists as Malcolm rummaged in a file drawer.  After a
moment, he returned with a piece of paper.

	"This is Claire's last customer survey.  I destroy most of my source
documents, but these I save in case I ever need to prove a customer's
participation was voluntary.  I assume you can recognize Claire's handwriting."
	"Yes, this is her writing," Amy said, examining the paper.  "Oh...oh,
my...you did that to her?...and she liked it when...Oh, Claire...Claire."

	Malcolm watched silently as Amy examined the paper.  Finally she put it
down and looked at him.  She seemed bewildered, and somehow defeated.

	"So where is she now?" Amy wanted to know.

	"I don't know.  I saw her last about a month ago.  Tonight I was going
to fulfill her latest contract, but as you know things didn't work out as I
expected."

	"So now what?"

	"So now I take you back.  If you haven't heard from Claire by tomorrow,
go to the police.  I would prefer you didn't mention me."

	"I still think you're not telling me everything."

	"I'll contact you if I learn anything.  Now, I'm afraid I'm going to
have to take you back the same way I brought you here."

	"No."

	"I'm sorry, Amy, but in order to protect the privacy of my customers, no
one is allowed to know this location.  This is not optional.  I insist."

	"But...please..."

	Malcolm took Amy's hand.  "Stand up, please."

	Reluctantly, Amy stood.

	"Stand straight, Amy.  Shoulders back, feet together," Malcolm said
quietly.

	"Malcolm, I'm not one of your customers."

	"Don't worry, I'm not going to charge for this.  Now, cross your wrists
behind your back."

	Amy complied and her wrists were bound, then her ankles, then the
blindfold was reapplied.

	"Are you going to gag me?" Amy wanted to know.

	"Only if you make it necessary."
	The return trip was much like the trip out.  Amy was under a blanket on
the floor of the back seat.  She had no idea if they followed the same path back
or not.  When the car finally stopped, Amy was picked up and carried in.  She
was laid face down on a bed and her ankles bound to the footboard.  Then Malcolm
untied her wrists and removed her blindfold.

	"No, don't move yet," Malcolm told her as she tried to push herself up
on the bed.  "I'm going now.  I'll let you know if I learn anything."

	"So how do I contact you?"

	"You don't.  I'll call you."

	"You don't know my number."

	"Don't be so certain," Malcolm said and he was gone.

	Amy tried to get up to at least get a look at his car through the
window, but her ankles were still bound to the bed.  Malcolm had left her in a
position that made it awkward to reach the ropes on her ankles, but finally she
succeeded in freeing herself.  She went to the window, but he was long gone. 
She went looking for her shoes and found them by the front door where they had
lain since Malcolm had removed them.

	From Claire's, Malcolm drove to his regular apartment.  The loft
apartment was in an otherwise abandoned building in an old industrial district
and Malcolm used it exclusively for his sojourns with his customers.  He had
maintained the loft apartment there for several years, but had recently
purchased the building.  This enabled him to ensure that he was the only tenant. 
The building always looked deserted from the outside, but Malcolm had carefully
secured all the entrances.  He didn't want some random vagrant wandering in on
one of him when he was with a customer.

	As he drove, Malcolm considered his encounter with Amy.  Too bad he
couldn't get a contract out of her.  She was someone in definite need of a
spanking.  The main subject of his ruminations, however, was Claire.  He could
only think of one possible explanation for her disappearance, but before he got
too carried away, he needed to verify Claire's disappearance for himself.  It
was obvious that Amy was concerned about Claire, but Malcolm didn't know Amy
well enough to know if she might tend to exaggerate.  It wouldn't do to get all
worked up only to find that Claire had been off visiting her aunt.

	The next morning, Malcolm called Claire's workplace.  They confirmed
that she hadn't been in for two weeks and they were obviously puzzled and
concerned by her absence.  He called her apartment and got the same weird
message on the machine.  Malcolm drove to Claire's apartment building and
examined her car.  One of the tires was nearly flat and the windshield was
coated with a light layer of grime.  It didn't appear to have been driven in a
while.

	After looking to make sure no one was paying attention to him, Malcolm
let himself into Claire's apartment.  It had that same empty feeling he had
noticed last night.  He looked around.  There was a huge pile of mail on the
floor under the mail slot.  Malcolm looked at the postmarks.  The oldest was
over two weeks ago.  Clair's suitcases were in closet and he didn't see any gaps
in the clothes hanging in the closet or more than one or two empty hangers.  He
looked in the bathroom.  There was a toothbrush in the holder above the sink and
a half used tube of toothpaste next to it.  It didn't look as if Claire had
packed for any sort of extended absence.

	Malcolm returned home.  Time to check other possibilities.  He called
Mike and Grace.

	Mike and Grace had been among Manfred's former victims.  Malcolm had
maintained contact with them and they talked occasionally.  Grace had given up
her apartment and moved in with Mike.

	"Mike, it's Malcolm.  I thought I'd see if you two were interested in
going out for a drink one of these evenings."

	"Yeah, I would, but don't expect Grace."

	"Why not?"

	"She's left me, Malcolm."

	"Oh, no.  What happened?"

	"We had a fight Sunday.  I usually drive her to work and back, but
yesterday she insisted on driving herself.  She never came home."

	"Did she go to work today?" Malcolm asked.

	"They say she isn't in, but I think she might have told them she wasn't
in for me, if you know what I mean."

	"Mike, Claire is missing, and we didn't have a fight."  Mike was aware
of Claire, but didn't know the actual nature of Claire and Malcolm's
relationship.  He thought Claire was Malcolm's girlfriend.

	"Oh, Jesus.  Do you think...?"

	"I don't know yet, but I'm worried.  Let me see if Grace is in for me. 
I'll call you right back."

	A few minutes later, Malcolm called Mike again.

	"Mike, she's not there.  She didn't come in today."

	"Maybe they're not connected.  How long has Claire been gone."

	"Almost three weeks."

	"That's sort of far apart.  It's probably just coincidence.  Grace will
get over it and show up tomorrow."

	"Mike, I'm going to give you Claire's number.  I want you to call it,
listen to the answering machine, then call me back."

	"What for?"

	"Just do it, okay?"

	"Okay."

	Malcolm waited.  After a few minutes, the phone rang.

	"Mike?"

	"What do you think it means?" Mike asked.

	"I think it's probably an understatement.  I suspect Claire is extremely
sorry she's not there to answer the phone."

	"Then why the message?"

	"I think it's a little joke on the part of a mutual acquaintance."

	"God damn that little bastard.  If he's done anything to her, I'll take
him apart piece by piece.  I won't leave an unbroken bone in his body..."  Mike
paused and his tone changed from angry to worried.  "What are we going to do,
Malcolm?  You know what he's like.  We've got to find them."

	"I know, I know.  I'm working on it, but I'm not sure where to look. 
Why don't you call the others and see if they've had any incidents, then call me
back."

	Malcolm considered the situation while he waited for Mike's return call. 
He was now reasonably certain that Manfred had Claire.  He still wasn't one
hundred percent sure, but the disappearance of Grace put the probability  in the
nineties.

	Mike called back.

	"They haven't had any problems," Mike reported.  "I talked to all four
of them.

	"Well, it was at Grace's and Claire's that he got beat up, and now
they're both missing.  Maybe he'll leave the others alone."

	"We can only hope, although it might be useful if he'd show himself
again.  I told them to keep their guard up."

	"You called the police yet?"

	"No point.  They won't even take a missing person report until she's
been gone for three days.  We can't wait that long.  He's out for revenge.  God
only knows what he'll do to them."

	"Any ideas?"

	"Didn't you say you knew where he lived?" Mike asked.

	"Yeah, but he's gone.  There's a realtor's sign out front."

	"Okay, we'll start there.  I've got a buddy who's a realtor.  Give me
the address and I'll get the lockbox number, then we'll go through the house,"
Mike said.

	"Good idea.  He left rather suddenly, I think.  Maybe we'll find a clue. 
Can you get away?"

	"Yeah, pick me up in an hour.  That'll give me time to call my friend
and get the combination."

	Mike was waiting in front of the building where he worked when Malcolm
arrived.  They drove across town to Manfred's former residence, neither of them
saying much.  When they arrived, Mike twisted the dial on the front of the
lockbox and extracted the key.  They let themselves in through the front door.

	They were in the living room of a ranch style house built in the 50's or
60's.  The living room was average sized and empty.  They checked the kitchen
and bedrooms, but found nothing there, either.  The bathroom was likewise
normal, except that it had a cable TV outlet on the wall, which seemed slightly
odd to Malcolm, although he supposed some people might watch TV in the bathroom. 
The other rooms had also all had cable TV outlets, but there was nothing unusual
about that.

	The electricity was off, so Malcolm fetched a flashlight from his car
before they descended into the basement.  The land sloped down toward the back
of the house so that the rear entrance was at basement level.  Almost the entire
rear portion of the lot was occupied by a large cinder block garage which was
attached to the back of the house.  The garage was large enough for at least
four vehicles and the portion of it closest to the house was broken up into a
number of small rooms, all of which opened onto a hall which led from the garage
into the basement proper. 

	Like the rest of the house, the garage and adjoining rooms were empty. 
Each room had a cable TV outlet, with several in the main garage.

	The basement was laid out in mirror image of the garage.  Four small
rooms opened off the hall with a large room at the end opposite the garage. 
Once again, there were cable outlets in each room.

	Malcolm swept his flashlight around the large room.

	"Holy shit!"

	Malcolm moved the light back to the object that had caused Mike's
exclamation.  In one corner of the room stood a cage.  It was about seven feet
tall and four feet square, constructed of black steel bars each about an inch
square.  The door hung open and the top nearly brushed the low ceiling.  Malcolm
wondered how they had managed to stand it up, since the diagonal would seem to
be greater than the height of the room.  It must have been brought in in pieces
and assembled in place.  Even if they could have laid it on it's side, it
wouldn't fit through the door.

	"There's another one," Mike said, pointing along the wall to the
adjacent corner.

	"Wine cages," said Malcolm.

	"What?"

	"They're wine cages.  Restaurants and hotels use them to protect their
more expensive bottles of wine from pilferage."

	"I don't think he kept wine in there."

	"I know he didn't," said Malcolm, bending over and sniffing around the
floor.  "Smell that?"

	Mike bent over and sniffed.  "Urine."

	They looked around the rest of the room.  There were a few eye-bolts
screwed into the ceiling and holes in the wall where others might once have
been, but otherwise, nothing remarkable.

	"Let's have a look outside," Mike suggested.

	The two men made a circuit of the exterior, but once again found nothing
amiss, with one possible exception.

	"I don't think this house has ever had cable," Malcolm commented. 
"There's no drop from the pole, and I don't see a ground block or any exterior
attachments."
	"He probably didn't need it.  I think he produced his own video
entertainment."

	"That would explain all the cable outlets.  They probably weren't
outlets at all, but inputs for cameras," Malcolm surmised.

	"Too bad he didn't leave any videos.  We ought to be able to hang him
with one of those."

	"Assuming we find him.  He didn't leave us much to work with."

	"I'm surprised he didn't take the cages.  Without them there'd be
nothing."

	"I think it was too much trouble.  They're welded in place.  He'd have
to take them apart with a cutting torch to get them out of there.  Besides, they
don't really help us find him."

	"You're right about that.  There's nothing here that might lead us to
him."

	Malcolm didn't say anything to Mike, but the cages worried him.  They
indicated that Manfred was probably entertaining unwilling guests more often
than he had suspected, and perhaps more than one at a time.  Malcolm was
beginning to fear that he had underestimated who and what he was dealing with.

	Malcolm drove Mike back to his office, then returned to his apartment. 
Their only real accomplishment at Manfred's old house was to heighten their fear
for Claire and Grace.  Malcolm was now convinced that Manfred had forced Claire
to record the message for her machine as a taunt to anyone who might seek her.

	The next morning, Malcolm called Amy from work.

	"Amy Cooper."

	"Hello, Amy.  This is Malcolm."

	"How did you find me?"

	"Don't you remember telling me your name and where you worked?"

	"I guess I do, sort of."

	"I called Morgan National and asked for Amy Cooper.  It wasn't too
tough.  Anyway, I wanted to know if you'd heard from Claire."

	"No, have you?"

	"If I had, I wouldn't be asking you.  Have you called the police?"

	"I filled out a missing person report.  They said they'd check it out
and get back to me.  What have you learned?"

	"Nothing.  I called you hoping you'd tell me she was back and there was
no need for concern."

	"Meaning you feel there is need for concern.  There's still something
you're not telling me."

	"If I learn anything, I'll let you know."

	Malcolm was sorry he'd called Amy.  Not only had he learned nothing,
he'd increased her suspicion of him and raised her level of anxiety.  Although
he felt there was ample justification for anxiety, there was no point worrying
Amy excessively until something concrete could be done about the situation.

	Amy's level of concern had indeed been raised by the call from Malcolm. 
She decided to revisit Claire's apartment after work.  Perhaps she could learn
something there.  Her previous visit had been interrupted by her encounter with
Malcolm.  This time, she would take her time and examine the premises
thoroughly.

	Amy entered Claire's apartment, this time without incident.  She turned
on the light, then visited all the rooms, turning on all the lights, making sure
she was alone.  She then began a careful room by room examination of the
premises.  She quickly came to the same conclusion that Malcolm had.  All
Claire's stuff was there.  The only thing missing was Claire herself and
whatever clothes she had had on at the time.

	Amy examined Claire's clothes more carefully, hoping to find something
out of place or inconsistent, but all the clothes in Claire's apartment were
ones she'd seen before.  She went through Claire's mail, which was piled on the
floor in front of the mail slot.  Bills and junk mail, not even a card or
letter.  One piece did catch her eye.  It was a standard size envelope with a
post office box for a return address.  The thing that caught her eye was the
stamp.  Junk mail usually didn't bear first class postage.  Amy opened it.

	The envelope contained only a single white business card.

The Bit and Bridle
An Adult Social Club
4314 Walnut
couples only
dress code strictly enforced


	Amy turned the card over.  "Hope you can make it" was scrawled on the
back in blue ink.  It was signed "Cindy".  Amy looked at the front again.  This
was exactly the sort of clue she was looking for.  It was cryptic and mysterious
and not the sort of thing she would normally associate with Claire.  It was the
sort of thing that would have been intriguing even if Claire hadn't been
missing.

	Amy wondered just exactly what they meant by 'adult'.  Looking at the
'couples only' line, she began to form an image.  She decided it must be one of
those clubs where all the guys put their car keys in a hat, then each woman
would draw a key and have sex with the owner.  She considered the whole wife
swapping thing rather tawdry.  Although Malcolm had presented her with a whole
new vision of her sister, Amy couldn't see Claire being interested in something
like that.  Besides, Claire was single and not seeing anyone that Amy was aware
of.  Claire wasn't part of a couple.  If Claire was single, why was she being
invited?  The invitation was apparently from a woman, so she wasn't being
invited by some clandestine lover.

	The other thing that puzzled Amy was the name.  "Bit and Bridle" had to
do with horses.  Maybe they meant "Bridal" instead of "Bridle"--nobody could
spell these days--but that didn't go with "Bit".  Either way, it didn't make a
whole lot of sense, and what was the deal with the dress code?

	Amy decided the only thing to do was to check it out.  She had the card
in case an invitation or some such was needed and she looked enough like her
sister to fool anyone who didn't know them well.

	Amy looked at her watch.  It was about eight, plenty of time to go check
it out.

	The "Bit and Bridle" was identified by the tiniest of signs above the
door and was the only commercial building on the block.  Amy entered rather
tentatively and found herself in a small anteroom.  She looked around.  The
anteroom was decorated to look like a tack room, with bridles, harnesses,
saddles, and other equine accouterments festooning the walls.  The only occupant
of the room besides herself was a middle aged man wearing a fox hunting outfit,
complete with red coat, white pants, black boots, and silly hat.

	"May I help you, Miss?"  The man spoke with an English accent. 

	"I thought I'd stop in for a drink," Amy replied.  "You do have drinks
here, don't you?"

	"Yes, we do, but I'm afraid we don't allow entry to unaccompanied young
ladies."

	Amy was Claire's older sister.  She would normally have been flattered
to be addressed as a young lady, but on this particular occasion, she was pretty
sure the term was meant to diminish rather than compliment.

	"But I was invited," Amy protested, handing the card to the doorman.

	"So I see," the doorman said, examining the card.  "However, I'm afraid
our policy forbidding entry to unaccompanied females overrides your invitation."
	Amy's status seemed to be dwindling.  She was now a 'female'.  "So
you're not going to let me in."

	"I'm afraid not, Miss.  Not without a suitable escort.  I must, in fact,
ask you to depart.  If it's any consolation, I'll see to it that the young lady
who issued this card is reprimanded."

	Amy got the feeling that the reprimand implied something more than a
lecture or letter of censure.  Nevertheless, reprimand or not, Cindy had
retained the title of 'young lady' rather than 'female'.  Amy wondered just
exactly who Cindy was.

	Not willing to simply give up and go home, Amy sat in her car and
watched the entrance.  It was a Thursday night and didn't seem very busy.  A few
couples arrived and were admitted, or so she assumed, since they didn't come
back out.  There were only couples, she didn't see any singles try to enter.  It
seemed like normal bar business on a slow night.  The only odd thing she noticed
was that on three occasions the couples entered single file, the man first,
followed by the woman a few paces behind.  In each case, the man simply entered. 
He did not hold the door for his partner, nor even look back to see if she
followed.

	Amy returned home.  She fell asleep pondering the mystery of the Bit and
Bridle Club.

	The mystery haunted Amy all through the next day.  She just knew the Bit
and Bridle Club was the key to finding her sister.  She mentally flipped through
her list of friends, looking for a 'suitable escort'.  She even briefly
considered her ex-husband, but put the idea aside as ridiculous.

	Malcolm would likewise have spent the day haunted by the Bit and Bridle
Club had he known about it, but he didn't.  Instead, he spent the day trying to
figure out how to go about locating Manfred.  He considered hiring a private
detective, but decided he couldn't afford it.  Maybe he and Mike could go in
together on it.  Amy might even be able to pitch in something, although that was
a last resort, since he didn't want Amy to know about Manfred.  The reason he
didn't want Amy to know about Manfred was because he felt responsible for what
had happened to Claire.  If Amy knew about Manfred, she might blame him
(Malcolm) for Claire's disappearance, and Malcolm didn't want that.

	The only link to Manfred that Malcolm could see was the tape in Claire's
machine.  That seemed pretty flimsy, although given Manfred's fondness for
telephones and tape recorders it might be the sort of thing he'd do.  He was
fairly certain that it had been made by Claire under duress.  On his last visit
to Claire's apartment, he had only looked for signs that she had packed her
things and disappeared voluntarily.  This time, he wanted to examine her
answering machine, her mail, and whatever else might present itself.

	Malcolm called Amy.  He didn't want to meet her there again by accident.

	"Amy, this is Malcolm.  I've been thinking that it might be useful to go
back over Claire's apartment."
							
	"I already did that."

	"Oh?  Find anything?"

	Amy told Malcolm about the card and her trip to the club.  "It's such a
weird place.  I think they're some sort of wife swapping horse fanciers.  They
wouldn't let me in without an escort, though.  Maybe it's just as well.  I
wouldn't want to get involved in some kind of wife swapping orgy."

	"Well, you're right about the horse part, but wife swapping isn't what
they do."

	"You know about that place?"

	"I've taken the occasional client there."

	"Would you take me there?" Amy asked.

	"Yes, I'll take you there, but you need to know what you're getting
into."

	"So they're some sort of horse people, then."

	"Some sort, yes.  Horse women, anyway."

	"I like Horses," Amy said.

	"That's good.  If you go there, you'll be one."

	"What?"

	"It's a pony girl club."

	"And what, exactly, is that?"

	"A pony girl is a girl who pretends she's a pony.  She's harnessed and
treated like a horse  by her owner."

	"Owner?"

	"To be a proper pony girl, you need an owner.  To get you in, I'll have
to act as your owner."

	"I'm not sure I like this."

	"You don't have to go.  I can probably get one of my clients to go with
me."

	"No, I'll go.  It just all sounds pretty weird."

	"Don't say I didn't warn you.  You know all those bridles they've got on
the wall?"

	"Yes."

	"If you go in there, you'll be wearing one of them.  Are you sure you
want to go?"

	"Well..."

	"It's okay.  I can get someone else.  I'll let you know what I find out
about Claire."

	"That's okay.  I'll go.  I don't mind."  Amy wasn't really sure she
wanted to go, but she certainly didn't want Malcolm investigating the lead she
had discovered without her.

	"I'll pick you up this evening.  Here's what you should wear..." 
Malcolm did not share Amy's ambivalence.  Unlike her, he knew exactly what she
was in for and was very much looking forward to it.

	Malcolm picked Amy up at the bank.  She was still uncertain of Malcolm
and didn't want to reveal her home address, which was fine with Malcolm since he
didn't want Amy to know he knew it.

	Amy approached the car wearing a long coat.  She had changed into the
clothes Malcolm had specified before leaving work, but didn't want to be seen in
them by anyone she knew, hence the coat.

	Malcolm greeted Amy and asked her again if she was sure she wanted to
spend an evening as a pony girl.  Amy assured Malcolm that she was willing,
although she didn't feel nearly as convinced as she tried to sound.  As it was,
she wasn't entirely successful at concealing her trepidation from Malcolm, who
was secretly pleased.

	Malcolm parked a block from the club.  He helped Amy out of the car and
insisted she leave the coat behind.  This was Malcolm's first chance to get a
look at her outfit.  She was wearing a pair of lace up boots with chunky heels
which came nearly to her knees.  Above these she had worn her shortest mini
skirt below which the tops of her stockings were visible.  A short sleeved low
cut sweater made an inadequate attempt to cover her torso.  As requested, she
wore no bra.

	Amy felt quite exposed in this outfit, but Malcolm assured her that by
pony girl standards, it was quite demure.

	Malcolm strode off down the sidewalk, leaving Amy to clump along behind. 
The door of the club had already closed behind Malcolm when she got to it.  Amy
opened it and entered.

	"Good evening, sir," the doorman greeted Malcolm.  "May I assist you in
outfitting your guest?"

	On her previous visit, Amy had wondered if the doorman's accent was real
or feigned.  She decided he must truly be English.  He had managed to be
helpful, discreet, obsequious, and snooty all in the same sentence.

	"If you would, please, Gerald.  We need gloves, cuffs, collar, bridle,
the works."

	"Of course, sir.  Shall we start with the gloves?"

	Malcolm accepted a pair of long black leather gloves from Gerald.  He
nodded to Amy who rather timidly extended an arm.  Malcolm slid the glove up
Amy's arm, almost to the shoulder.  Amy wriggled her fingers, trying to work
them into the fingers of the glove, but there didn't seem to be any.

	"Make a fist," Malcolm instructed her.

	Amy did so and Malcolm worked the glove into place around her hand.  The
operation was repeated on her other arm.

	"Cuffs, sir?" inquired Gerald.

	"Metal, I think."

	"A wise choice, sir," said Gerald, handing Malcolm a pair of silver
handcuffs.

	Amy reluctantly allowed Malcolm to draw her arms behind her.  Malcolm
latched one cuff around each wrist, then snugged them down so that her gloves
were held in place.  Amy was now unable to unclench her fists.  She realized
that she had no use of her hands whatever.

	"In for a penny, in for a pound," Amy thought to herself as Malcolm
locked leather cuffs around her ankles, then joined them with the short length
of chain presented by Gerald.

	Amy's chin was on her chest as she tried to watch Malcolm fastening the
hobble chain to her ankles.  Malcolm finished, then wound his hand in Amy's
hair, returning her head to an upright position.  He accepted a wide leather
collar from Gerald and fastened it around her neck, tightening it to a degree
which caused Amy to complain.

	"Hush," Malcolm scolded.  "Pony girls are not allowed human speech."

	"In this getup, my only option is likely to be telepathy," Amy croaked,
her throat constricted by the collar.

	"You've seen the horse acts on TV.  One stomp for 'yes' and two stomps
for 'no'.  And no stomping without permission."

	"Now, we've got to do something about your posture," Malcolm continued.

	"My posture is just fine," Amy complained.

	"Not by pony girl standards, it isn't," Malcolm said.  "If you please,
Gerald."

	Gerald handed Malcolm a pair of short straps.  Malcolm buckled one 
around each of Amy's upper arms, just above the elbow.  Amy gasped as Malcolm
pulled her arms sharply behind her back and fastened them together with a double
ended snap hook, leaving her elbows about four inches apart.  Amy's shoulders
were now held back and caused her to hold her  upper body more stiffly erect
than ever before in her life.

	"Oww, don't.  It's too tight."

	"Not by pony girl standards, it isn't. I told you to be quiet.  Gerald,
the bridle, please."

	"Yes, sir.  Will that be the standard, or might I suggest the total
control model?"

	"I think the standard will be sufficient."

	Gerald plucked a handful of leather straps off the wall and handed them
to Malcolm.  Malcolm shook out the straps and held the center of the bunch up to
Amy's face.

	"Open your mouth, Amy."

	Amy clamped her jaws and backed away.  The object which Malcolm had been
trying to put in her mouth consisted of a bit about five inches long and a
little over a half inch in diameter.  Mounted on pivots at the center of the bit
were a small plate with stubby spikes on the underside and a long narrow
cylinder with a rounded end.  A lever projected from each end of the bit at
right angles to the axis and a long thin leather strap hung from the end of each
lever.  Amy didn't know what this stuff was for, but she was certain she didn't
want it in her mouth.

	"Right as always," Malcolm commented to Gerald.  "Bring me the total
control bridle."

	Gerald handed Malcolm another bridle in exchange for the original one.

	Malcolm ran his hand up the back of Amy's neck and seized a handful of
her hair, then pulled, tilting her head back.

	Amy's eyes widened when he held the new bridle up to her face.  Rather
than being smooth, the pivoting cylinder on this model was covered with stubby
spikes similar to those that had been on the metal plate.  The metal plate was
missing, replaced by a pair of rowels bristling with long needle like points.
	"I may need your assistance getting this one on her," Malcolm told
Gerald as Amy began to struggle.  Gerald seized Amy from behind and held her as
Malcolm began to force her mouth open.

	"Please," Amy begged through clenched teeth.  "Not that one.  I'll let
you put the other one in."

	"See that you do," Malcolm told her.  "I need to go in there, I can't go
in there without you, and you can't go in without one of these."

	Malcolm retrieved the standard model and Amy opened her mouth allowing
Malcolm to work it into place.  The long cylinder rested at the back of her
throat and the spiked plate rested on her tongue.  The spikes were uncomfortable
and though not really painful, they held her tongue immobile.  The straps
dangling from the levers at either end of the bit were apparently reins.

	Malcolm buckled a strap behind her head, fixing the bit firmly in place. 
Straps from either end of the bit met at the bridge of her nose in an inverted
'V'.  A strap from the apex of the 'V' ran up across the top of her head then
down and buckled in the back.  Malcolm tightened another strap under her chin
which held her jaw closed and forced her to bite down on the bit.  Amy's mouth
and tongue were now held in place, rendering speech impossible.

	Amy was beginning to panic.  This was turning out to be a lot more than
she had bargained for.  She had been foolish to allow herself to be put in this
position, and now there was nothing she could do about it.

	"What color plume would you like, sir?" Gerald inquired.

	"Lavender, I think."

	"A fine choice."  Gerald produced a large lavender ostrich feather which
Malcolm affixed to the strap on top of Amy's head.

	"Would you care to install a tail, sir?"

	"Not on this occasion."

	Amy wondered what the 'installation' consisted of, but was grateful she
wasn't going to find out.

	"Now, I think we're ready," Malcolm said to Amy, gathering her reins
into his right hand.

	"If I may be so bold, sir," Gerald interrupted, proffering a riding
crop.  "One additional accessory.  I fear you'll find it necessary with a guest
so inexperienced as she."

	"Right you are, Gerald," said Malcolm, accepting the crop and slapping
it against his own thigh with a loud crack.

	Amy reacted to the noise and began backing away fearfully.

	"Come back here," Malcolm commanded, tugging sharply on the reins.

	The tug on the reins caused the levers to pivot in the bit.  The spiked
plate mashed Amy's tongue painfully into her immobilized lower jaw and the
rounded cylinder was pushed down her throat, causing Amy to gag and cutting off
her air supply.

	Amy desperately lurched forward to put some slack in the reins, but
tried to overstep the length of her ankle chain, causing her to stumble and fall
heavily against Malcolm who caught and righted her.

	"You're not going anywhere without me," Malcolm informed Amy, holding
the reins in his fist before her face.

	"One final suggestion, sir," Gerald said.  "I'm afraid we're a bit
overdressed."

	"Yes, we are, aren't we," Malcolm replied, accepting the scissors
offered by the all too helpful Gerald.  He slid the scissors up Amy's arm to her
shoulder and snipped.  A second snip up her other arm and Amy's sweater was
converted to a tube top.  Then Malcolm slipped a hand into the top of Amy's
former sweater and pulled it away from her body.  It was obvious what he was
going to do next.

	Amy renewed her struggles, which angered Malcolm.  "On your knees,"
Malcolm commanded.  He jerked down on the reins and the bridle performed its
function.  Amy fell to her knees with alacrity.  She ceased her struggles and
Malcolm eased off on her reins.

	Amy knelt quivering as Malcolm resumed the destruction of her sweater. 
He snipped up the front, then pulled the garment away, leaving her exposed from
the waist up.

	"Stand," Malcolm ordered and Amy complied.  "For tonight, you are a pony
girl and I am your owner.  Obedience is expected.  If you disobey, if you
embarrass me, if you displease me in any way, I will make you aware of my
displeasure," Malcolm said, tapping the end of the crop meaningfully against
Amy's breast.  "Do I make myself clear?"  Amy gulped and nodded, then squealed
as Malcolm slapped the crop against her nipple.

	"You're a pony girl.  You don't nod.  It's one stomp for 'yes' and two
for 'no'.  Do you understand?"

	Amy lifted her foot to the limit of her ankle chain and stomped it down
on the floor.  "Good," declared Malcolm.  "And we aren't going to have any more
misbehavior, are we?"  Amy stomped twice.  She hated it.  Of all the indignities
she had suffered this evening, this stomping routine was somehow the most
humiliating.  Nevertheless, she would comply.  The crop and bridle would see to
that.

	"We're going in now," Malcolm informed her.  "We're early, so there
won't be many here yet."  Malcolm set off for the door in the far wall, and Amy
shuffled along behind, desperately trying to keep up so her reins would not go
taut.

	Once inside, Amy looked around.  The room was mostly filled with tables. 
There was a bar along the far wall.  The place also had a dance floor and a
stage.

	"Face straight ahead," Malcolm instructed Amy.  "Don't go gaping about. 
I don't want you attracting attention."

	Amy continued to examine the room as best she could without moving her
head.  There were a few couples at tables.  The chairs were used only by the
men.  The pony girls either stood or knelt beside them.  A few other couples
moved about, the owner always leading his pony by her reins.

	"There's someone over there I need to see," Malcolm announced.  "You
wait here until I return for you."  He led Amy to what appeared to be a towel
bar attached to the wall about level with her shoulders.  Malcolm looped Amy's
reins around the bar and walked away.

	Amy stood tethered, staring at the wall a few inches in front of her
face.  Never had she felt so controlled.  She wanted to look and see who Malcolm
was talking to, but was prevented by her reins.  She would stand here and stare
at the wall until Malcolm came and led her away, at which point she would follow
wherever he led.  She would be permitted no choice in the matter, nor did she
have the means to express any choice.

	  Someone walked up beside Amy.  She tried to see who it was, but didn't
have sufficient slack in her reins to turn.  Another set of reins was looped
around the bar next to Amy's.  The footsteps of the newcomer's owner retreated.

	Amy tried to get a look at her new companion and finally managed to do
so by bending her knees and leaning close to the bar.  The woman standing next
to Amy was naked except for boots, gloves, and harness.  A wide belt encircled
her waist and a strap descended from its center to her crotch.  She stood
stiffly erect, not moving a muscle and showed no curiosity about Amy.  There was
dried blood on her lips and between her teeth.  Amy correctly surmised the woman
had been fitted with the total control bridle.

	Amy squealed as a sudden scorching pain caused her to jerk her head up,
which led to additional distress as the bridle tormented her mouth.  Malcolm had
lashed her across the back of her thighs with his crop.

	"You were told not to go gawking about," Malcolm reprimanded her.  "If
you're going to insist on embarrassing me in public with behavior like that, I
just might find it appropriate to have you disciplined in public."

	"Backwards again," Amy thought.  "You lead me around half naked in
chains and you're the one who's embarrassed?"  It occurred to Amy that it was
probably a good thing she was unable to speak at the moment.  This was a
different Malcolm she was dealing with.  With the exception of her abduction,
which had been an error, and for which Malcolm had been apologetic, she had
known Malcolm to be polite and generally considerate.  This Malcolm expected to
be obeyed, and was quite prepared to enforce his will should she prove
uncooperative, as attested by the searing pain across the back of her legs.  All
too aware of the helplessness of her current condition, Amy chose to emulate the
unflinching posture of the woman tethered beside her.

	"Much better," Malcolm commented as he loosed her reins from their hitch
and led her away.

	Amy looked around as best she could as Malcolm led her across the room. 
What attracted her attention the most was the other pony girls.  Most of those
she saw were attired like her companion at the hitching bar--naked except for
boots, gloves, and harness.  Many had rings through their nipples, usually
joined by a short length of chain, although she saw one girl being led by her
owner with her reins threaded through her nipple rings.  Just seeing it made Amy
cringe.

	Malcolm led Amy to a table in the back of the room near the door.  He
sat in a chair and instructed Amy to kneel beside him.  "Keep your eyes open,
but don't turn your head," he told her.  Amy wanted to ask what she was watching
for, but was, of course, unable.  Nevertheless, Malcolm had positioned her so
that she had a good view of most of the room, as well as a view of newcomers as
they entered.

	More people were arriving and Amy began to realize that Malcolm had been
correct.  By pony girl standards, her current level of restraint was not
particularly harsh.  Some women arrived in corsets that had been laced
unbelievably tightly.  Some had their arms strapped to their sides, but those
with their arms bound behind them were bound so that their elbows actually
touched.  Amy seemed to be the only one whose ankles were chained.  The others
all moved with a high stepping prancing gait.  Almost all had tails, long
horselike tails that dangled to their ankles, tinted to match their plumes.  Amy
at first thought that they were affixed to the strap that ran from their waist
belt through their crotch, but as one pony passed particularly close, she saw
that the tail passed through a hole in the strap.  The tail had indeed been
installed, and Amy winced once again, imagining what it would be like to have to
prance about with one implanted in her own posterior.

	Amy watched Malcolm out of the corner of her eye.  He could look around
all he wanted and was actively scanning the room.  She hoped he had a better
idea what he was looking for than she did.  She also wanted to know who he had
been talking to while she had been tethered at the wall.  He had not bothered to
inform her of what he'd learned and it was, of course, impossible for her to
ask.

	A spotlight appeared on the stage, illuminating a man in a riding outfit
similar to Gerald's, although this man was both taller and heavier than Gerald. 
He adjusted a microphone on his lapel, then addressed the crowd.

	"Good evening, gentlemen."  The man had an English accent, not unlike
Gerald's.  "Mr. Knowles, whom most of you know, has cause for complaint with his
mare, Cindy.  He has elected to admonish her publicly, and so we invite the
attention of yourselves and your guests so that all may be instructed by what
she must now endure."

	Two heavy vertical pipes were fixed to the floor of the stage and a
crossbar attached between them at a height of about four feet.  A pony girl was
led onto the stage to stand before the crossbar.  Her arms had been cruelly
twisted up behind her so that her wrists were bound together above her elbows. 
Her reins were fastened to the crossbar, then a light chain was fastened from
each nipple ring to the crossbar.  She was then required to spread her legs so
that the slack was taken out of her reins and nipple chains.  Her ankles were
chained to the floor.  Even from the back of the room, the apprehension on
Cindy's face was apparent to Amy.

	Cindy's owner unbuckled her crotch strap from her waist belt and
extracted her tail.  He slowly worked a new tail into her.  This one was bright
red and once it was in place, Cindy began to writhe and squirm, grinding her
hips.  Her movements were restricted by her reins and nipple chains, and the
yelps she was now giving voice to were sometimes cut off as the cylinder
attached to her bit was forced down her throat.

	Cindy was left to suffer her fiery new tail for some fifteen minutes or
so.  Amy watched her torment, both fascinated and horrified.  Finally, as
Cindy's struggles began to diminish, her owner approached her.  He carried his
crop and began to lash her with it.

	Amy had never seen anyone whipped before.  Cindy was standing with her
legs spread, attempting to keep her balance as she was whipped.  She seemed to
be trying to lean away from the bar, despite the tension this put on her reins
and nipples.  At one point, she leaned too far forward in an attempt to ease the
tension and fell against the bar.  As soon as she touched it, her body convulsed
and she leapt backward.  The bar was apparently electrified.  It was part of 
Cindy's punishment to stand fast as she was whipped, in order to avoid the
further suffering imposed by the bar or the restraints attached to it.

	Cindy howled pitifully throughout this part of her ordeal, and Amy
looked away, unable to watch any longer.  Was this the Cindy of the card?  Was
this the reprimand Gerald had promised?  Was Cindy suffering for Amy's attempted
intrusion?

	Malcolm placed the end of his crop under Amy's chin and redirected her
gaze to the punishment of Cindy.  "Didn't the gentleman say you were to watch
and be instructed?  If you don't wish to learn from Cindy's example, I can
arrange for you to learn from experience."

	Amy returned her attention to Cindy.  Even though she felt somewhat
responsible for what was being done to Cindy, she had no desire whatever to join
her.

	At last, it was over and Cindy was released from the bar.  She found it
painful to watch Cindy's agonized expression as she was led away and was glad
when Cindy passed from her line of sight.  She felt sorry for Cindy, but also
angry.  How could people do this to someone?  What had happened to Cindy to
cause her to fall into the clutches of these people?  Had she been someone evil
in a past life to cause her to be so victimized?

	Amy's musing was interrupted by a particularly striking sight.  A man
had entered leading a pair of matched pony girls.  They were tall and slender,
with dark hair drawn tightly back in the Robert Palmer style.  Their faces
seemed quite similar, although it was hard to be certain because of the bridles
and facial harnesses they wore.  They were, however, so similar in other
respects that Amy wondered if they might be twins.  Their bodies were
proportioned identically, with arms and legs of equal length.  Even their
breasts were the same size and shape.  They pranced proudly behind their owner
in perfect lockstep.  Their mien was haughty rather than subdued, which Amy
thought was odd, considering their rather stringent bondage.  Were these two
women actually proud of their degradation?

	Amy yelped as Malcolm slapped his crop across her nipples.  "Eyes
front," he commanded.  Amy realized she had turned her head to follow the
prancing pair, and reluctantly returned her gaze to the front, allowing them to
pass from sight.

	A man approached Malcolm and Amy's table.  Amy was surprised to see that
the pony he led was her companion from the hitching bar.  She pranced behind her
owner in an overly energetic but unenthusiastic fashion.  Her body above the
waist remained absolutely rigid, and rather than exhibiting the pride of the
pair of ponies Amy had just observed, this woman radiated an intensity that
caused Amy to think that the woman was extremely frightened.  Amy looked
directly into the woman's eyes, but was unable to engage her attention. 
Although she was directly in the path of the woman's gaze, she looked right
through Amy.  Her stare was not vacant.  Instead, Amy perceived an intense
concentration as the newly arrived pony sought to avoid eye contact without
shifting her eyes aside.

	The man seemed unremarkable.  He was medium height and build, and unlike
many of the men here who wore some form of riding outfit, he wore slacks and a
sport shirt.  He seemed average in every way, except for his rather intense
gaze, which was fastened on Amy.

	"Your pony seems inexperienced," the man said to Malcolm, seating
himself in an empty chair."You should let me train her for you."  The man faced
Malcolm as he spoke, but always his gaze returned to Amy, accompanied by a
rather quizzical expression.

	  He gave a light tug on the reins and his pony quickly knelt beside
him.  Amy could see a slight ooze of fresh blood begin to appear around the
woman's bit.

	"I should?" Malcolm asked.

	"Yes.  I do that, you know--train ponies.  Here's my card."

	Malcolm examined the card he had been handed.  "Take Ingrid, here.  A
week ago, she was completely undisciplined.  No one could do a thing with her. 
As you can see, she's coming along quite nicely."

	"Is she, now?"

	"Yes, indeed.  In another week she'll be completely trained.  I can do
the same for your friend there.  My partner and I specialize in rapid results. 
Give us two weeks and she'll be a completely different woman.  Her only thought
will be to obey."

	"I see.  Have you trained many girls?"

	"Quite a few.  We work with them intensively to produce a quality
product.  We're sort of a pony girl boot camp.  Our rates are reasonable and
I've got an opening now.  I could take her tonight if you wish."

	"I must admit it's an intriguing idea.  As you've apparently noticed,
Amy here is new to her bridle.  It probably wouldn't hurt to have her taught
some proper discipline."

	Amy was aghast.  The events of the evening had been disconcerting,
uncomfortable, surprising, even painful, but the stranger's suggestion was truly
frightening.  Should Malcolm agree, she would be led away by the stranger,
helpless to resist or even protest, and she was frightened of this man.  Amy had
seen what had been done to Cindy, Amy had looked into Ingrid's eyes, and Amy was
afraid.

	Malcolm, for his part, was interested in the service the man was
offering because of it's similarity to his own business.

	"So what's this going to cost me?" Malcolm wanted to know.

	"Three thousand dollars.  That's fifteen hundred a week for two weeks
and we guarantee results.  If you're not satisfied, we'll process her again."

	"Will I be able to see her while you have her?"

	"No.  We'll want to keep her totally focused on her studies and that
would prove a distraction."

	"So if I go ahead with this, how does it work?"

	"You pay me and I take her away.  If don't wish to pay the full amount
now, you can pay half and the other half when we bring her back."

	"I see.  What forms of payment do you accept?"

	"We'll take cash or check.  If you like, you can write a check for half
and we'll hold it for a few days before we cash it."

	"Credit cards?"

	"Sorry."

	"What if I don't want to do it now, but change my mind later?  How do I
contact you?  I don't see a number on your card."

	"Let Gerald know.  He'll let me know next time I come in and we'll
contact you.  Or, you could give me your number and I'll check with you
periodically."

	"I'll have to think about it."

	"Like I said, we have an opening.  I could make you a deal."

	"What sort of deal?"

	"How 'bout half price and nothing down?  Just hand me her reins and I'll
take her with me.  We'll start on her tonight and in two weeks you'll have the
most obedient pony you could ever wish for, guaranteed."

	"Sounds interesting.  Where do I pick her up when you're done?"

	"You don't.  We'll deliver her to any place you specify.  By the way, my
name's Sebastian.  Don't worry about a thing.  I know you'll be pleased," said
Sebastian, reaching for Amy's reins.

	Amy leaned away from Sebastian, trying desperately to object, but able
to make only the most inarticulate sounds.  She started to rise, intending to
flee as fast as her hobble chain would permit.

	Malcolm's arm snaked out and seized Amy's reins.  He jerked sharply
downward and Amy tumbled to her knees.  "Thanks for the offer, but not tonight."

	"But you see how undisciplined she is.  Why not let me take her?  I can
promise she'll never again disgrace you like she just did.  If price is the
problem, perhaps we can offer you a somewhat larger discount."

	"You have my attention," Malcolm said.

	"Tell you what.  We'll do the whole job for a thousand.  You don't pay
anything until we bring her back.  We can even arrange payments if you like and
no interest."

	"That's a very generous offer."

	"Good.  It's all settled, then.  You won't regret it," Sebastian said,
reaching again for Amy's reins, which were now wrapped tightly in Malcolm's
hand, holding Amy in place.

	Amy was in a frenzy.  Sebastian was being very persuasive.  If Malcolm
relinquished her reins, she was lost.  Never in her life had she been so
frightened.

	"Thanks, but no thanks," Malcolm said.

	"Are you sure?  What can I do to change your mind?  You really should
let me take her.  Look at her.  You see how she is?  She wants to flee, to
resist.  I can make her obey, make her submit, remove every last shred of
resistance, every thought of rebelliousness.  Just send her with me.  I'll force
her total surrender."

	Sebastian was practically foaming at the mouth.  Amy knelt, quivering,
awaiting Malcolm's decision.

	"Sorry, Sebastian, but she stays with me.  I'll tell Gerald if I change
my mind."

	"Have it your way," Sebastian huffed and turned to go.  "Come, Ingrid,"
he said, giving her reins a particularly vicious yank and causing the kneeling
Ingrid to lunge forward and fall on her face.

	"Up, you stupid slut, up," Sebastian raged.  "You have not earned a
passing grade."  Ingrid struggled to her feet, blood leaking from the corners of
her mouth and tears streaming from her eyes as she was led away.

	"Wasn't that interesting," Malcolm commented, mostly to himself. 

	He placed the card Sebastian had given him on the table within the range
of Amy's vision.  Amy read the card. 


S & M Enterprises

Instruction for Women in the Equestrian Arts

Basic Training
Show/Dressage
Racing



	Racing?  Did these guys race their ponies?  The rest she sort of
understood.  The matched pair she had seen had obviously been show ponies, but
she hadn't considered racing.  Despite her revulsion at the whole idea, she
couldn't help but wonder what a race would be like.
	Malcolm interrupted Amy's thoughts by placing his hand under her chin
and tilting her head to look into her eyes.  "Did you really think I was going
to let him have you?"

	Amy nodded, tears leaking from her own eyes.

	"And what did I tell you about how to answer a question?  Maybe I should
have sent you with him.  You're definitely in need of training.  Shall I call
him back?"

	Amy raised one knee and stomped her foot twice.

	"That's better.  Now, it's time I took you home.  I think we've learned
all we're going to tonight."

	"And just what have we learned?" Amy wondered.  Regardless, she was
relieved to be going.  She couldn't wait to be released from her bonds, and she
especially wanted that horrid bit out of her mouth.

	Malcolm led Amy back into the entry/tack room.

	"Good night, Gerald."

	"Good night, sir."

	"Gerald, if it's alright, I'd like to borrow the equipment for the
evening.  I'll have it back tomorrow."

	"Quite alright, sir.  I'll make the appropriate notations on your tab."

	"Thank you, Gerald.  Have a pleasant evening."

	"And you as well, sir.  I wish you the full enjoyment of your guest."

	Amy was furious with Malcolm for not releasing her, but she was also
frightened.  Gerald's parting remark suggested that Malcolm intended to take
full advantage of her inability to resist.  Her night at the Bit and Bridle had
made it abundantly clear how helpless she was and what might be done to a woman
who didn't cooperate.  She had assumed that when the evening was over, Malcolm
would take her back to the bank, where she would pick up her car and drive home. 
Where was she being taken?

	Malcolm put Amy in the car and buckled her seat belt.  He was amused by
the look on her face.  She was angry, but she was frightened, too.  That was
good.

	Malcolm considered the events of the evening as he drove.  He had not
seriously thought that he would learn anything of consequence regarding Claire's
whereabouts at the Bit and Bridle, but Amy had wanted to go and he couldn't
resist the opportunity to own her for an evening.  Once there, however, the
events of the night had proven curious indeed.  His thoughts about the
punishment of Cindy paralleled those of Amy.  Was she the one on the card, and
was she being punished for Amy's attempted solo entry?  If so, what did it mean? 
In due course, he would ask Mr. Knowles, or perhaps Cindy herself.

	Then there was Sebastian.  He had seemed unusually interested in Amy. 
Malcolm had seen him around once before, but hadn't talked to him.  On that
occasion, he hadn't seemed to be soliciting business.  Also, there was something
about the way he had looked at Amy.  He hadn't been after business; he'd been
after Amy.  Why?  And who might be the 'M' of S & M Enterprises?  And had that
little pun been a product of the same mind that had placed the odd little
recording on Claire's answering machine?  His evening at the club had produced
lots of questions and no answers, but that was still more than he had expected. 
He wasn't sure what any of this had to do with Claire, but events had been
sufficiently odd to warrant further inquiry.

	Amy was bursting with questions.  What about Cindy?  Who was Sebastian,
and why had Malcolm found him so interesting?  Who had Malcolm talked to when
she was tethered at the wall with Ingrid?  And most of all, what about Claire? 
Malcolm remained silent, and Amy's frustration grew.

	Amy began to recognize the streets.  Was Malcolm taking her home?  How
did he know where she lived?  Amy's frustration increased as Malcolm drove.  To
her disgust, a new frustration had begun gnawing at her and she began to
anticipate arrival at their destination with considerable ambivalence.  As she
pondered this, Malcolm pulled into her driveway.  Amy hoped none of the
neighbors was watching as she was led, bound and topless, onto her front porch. 
Malcolm had gotten her key from her coat pocket.  He unlocked her front door and
pulled her inside.  

     "On your knees," Malcolm commanded, once inside, and Amy once again knelt
in submission to the imperative of her bridle.

	Amy was surprised when Malcolm began unbuckling her bridle.  Once the
bit was finally out of her mouth, she worked her jaw to relieve the stiffness
and licked her lips which had become very dry.  She wanted to speak, to ask
questions and demand explanations, but her other need had grown to the point
that it was now primary.  She didn't want to embarrass herself by saying
something that would encourage Malcolm in what she thought he was about to do. 
Even more embarrassing, she didn't want to say anything to discourage him.

	Malcolm stroked her cheek and ran his hands through her hair, restoring
order to the disarray caused by the straps of the bridle.  Amy nuzzled her face
against his crotch, feeling the hardness there that she had inspired, and
pressed her face more closely against him.  He unzipped his fly, and Amy took
Malcolm into her mouth.

	Amy was furious.  How could she have done that?  It was so humiliating,
kneeling before him, chained and collared, serving him with her mouth.  How dare
she?  And then he'd left, with no thought for her own need.  He'd removed the
remainder of her bonds and just left.  Left her unsatisfied, her curiosity
unsatisfied, her aching need unsatisfied.  How could he?  How dare he?

	Amy lay in her bed, her hands clasped tightly behind her, pretending she
was still locked in the handcuffs.  She was being punished.  She was punishing
herself by denying herself the release she ached for.  Time passed and her need
grew, rather than diminished.  Finally, she reached between her legs and granted
herself that which she had withheld.

	Amy lay in her bed, gasping and sobbing.  She wept at her own weakness,
that she had been unable deny herself, that she had yielded to feelings so
shameful, but also she wept for what she had missed.  It had been a very long
time since she had experienced anything so intense.  What was happening to her? 
What had Malcolm done to her?  What had she done to herself?  Again she lay with
her hands clasped behind her, pretending to be punished.  Again her need came
upon her.

	Malcolm shared none of Amy's ambivalence.  Short of actually locating
Claire, the evening had been entirely satisfactory.  He at least had some leads
to pursue, whereas he had previously had nothing, and although he had not quite
had the full enjoyment of Amy, he had enjoyed her very much indeed.  Next
time--yes, he was quite confident there would be a next time--perhaps he would
forego the hobble chain and teach her to prance with the other ponies.  Unlike
Amy, Malcolm slept quite soundly that night.

	Amy was a most unhappy woman when she awoke Saturday morning.  She had
functioned as a pass for Malcolm to gain entry to the Bit and Bridle and had
received nothing in return.  What she had witnessed there made Claire's
disappearance seem all the more ominous, but Malcolm had told her nothing.  She
had been under his complete control every second, and he had seen to it that she
received no useful information.  Not only that, but she had reacted to her
evening as a pony girl in ways that made her cringe to even think about.  She
was certain Malcolm knew more than he was telling her, and once again began to
wonder if Malcolm was responsible for Claire's disappearance.

	Amy groaned as she thought of her car.  Malcolm had picked her up at
work but brought her home, so it was still at work.  She was mentally
enumerating people she could call on to give her a ride downtown on Saturday
morning when she glanced out the window and saw her car in the driveway. 
Malcolm had apparently returned it in the night.  She wondered how he had done
it by himself.  She somehow couldn't see him getting someone to help him shuffle
cars and having to explain why he was doing it.

	Malcolm spent the morning doing chores, then in the late afternoon,
returned the equipment to Gerald.  While there, he made contact with Mr.
Knowles.

	On Sunday, Malcolm gave Amy a call.

	"Why, Malcolm, what a surprise.  How nice to hear from you.  And what is
it you need from me this time?  Am I to dance naked in public for you?  Perhaps
you need someone you can burn at the stake.  Maybe you know an Arab sheik who
would like to buy me.  Perhaps you need someone on whom to perform bizarre
medical experiments..."

	"Tell me the truth, Amy.  I'm not the first person to keep you gagged,
am I?"

	"Whatever can you mean?  Just because I have the temerity to object to
being tied up, stripped, and led around like your pet skunk, you seem to
think..."

	"Amy," Malcolm interrupted,  "I'm having lunch with Cindy tomorrow. 
Would you like to go?"

	"Yes."

	"Be at the Fried Lagoon at one o'clock."

	"I think you mean the Fried Legume."

	"Whatever.  The one at Twelfth and Central.  Let me do the talking." 
Malcolm hung up.

	Let him do the talking, indeed, Amy thought.  She intended for him to do
considerable talking before he got out of her sight again.

	Amy saw Malcolm's car in the lot as she arrived.  She parked her own car
and hurried in.  She didn't want to miss any of this conversation, since she had
no confidence that Malcolm would fill her in on what had transpired before her
arrival.

	Once inside, she saw that Malcolm was sitting alone.  She went to
Malcolm's table and was barely seated when Cindy entered.  Malcolm got up and
escorted Cindy to the table, introducing her to Amy.

	"I remember seeing you at the club," Cindy said to Amy.  "It was your
first time, wasn't it?  So how do you like being a pony girl?"

	Malcolm rolled his eyes as Amy replied.

	"It's just the most wonderful thing.  I can't believe I waited so long
to let someone tie me up, put something in my mouth that would strangle me every
time he tugged on it, then lead me around to show my nipples to everyone who
cared to stare at them.  If only I had known.  And what about you?  You must
have had the most fun of all.  I guess you just haven't lived until you've been
tortured in public."

	"Is she for real?" Cindy asked Malcolm.

	"I think she just made the same comment about you.  She's just not as
concise as you are," Malcolm replied.

	"Now, ladies, I think we should deal with the subject at hand before the
conversation degenerates any further," Malcolm continued.  "Amy, show Cindy the
card."

	Amy took the card out of her purse and pushed it across the table toward
Cindy.  "I found this in my sister Claire's apartment.  Is it from you?"

	Cindy examined the card.  "Yes, I sent it to her.  We met one day at the
libary.  I don't remember how the subject came up, but I ended up telling her
about the club.  I mailed her the card.  She said she knew someone who might
bring her."

	"You mean Claire wanted to go there?  Did you tell her what it was like? 
What they'd do to her?"

	"Of course I told her.  She found the idea of being a pony rather
thrilling."

	"Thrilling?  That's not thrilling, it's criminal.  I can't believe all
those women being victimized like that and no one's trying to stop it."

	"Amy," Malcolm said, "those women aren't victims.  They're volunteers."

	Amy just stared, looking first at Malcolm, then at Cindy.

	"Tell her, Cindy," Malcolm said.

	"You mean you really don't get it?"

	"I guess I don't," Amy said.

	"Malcolm's right.  We're pony girls because we want to be."

	"But why would anyone want that?"

	"I'm not sure I can explain, but I'll try.  It turns me on to be
controlled, to be owned, to be constrained.  When my owner puts the bit in my
mouth, I know I'm completely his."

	"But he whipped you.  Did you like that?"

	"No.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot, but it's part of the package.  If I can't
be punished, then I'm not truly owned.  Being punished doesn't turn me on, but
submitting to punishment does.  That may sound like a fine distinction, but I
don't know how else to put it."

	"Weird.  So where's your owner now?"

	"At work, I suppose.  Being a pony girl is only a weekend thing for me. 
It's like bondage with glitz.  Greg, my owner, picks me up on Friday night and I
spend the weekend in harness.  It's paradoxical how liberated I feel as I'm
being strapped into it.  Then on Monday it's back to the grind."

	"I guess I still don't get it."

	"Then why were you there?"

	"Looking for Claire.  The card from you was the only clue we had.  I
tried to come alone, but they wouldn't let me.  That's why you were punished."

	"What?  No, it isn't.  I was punished because I promised I'd do
something for my owner, then forgot."

	"But Gerald said..."  Amy told Cindy about her first attempt to enter
the club and Gerald's remark that he would have Cindy reprimanded.

	"Oh, that's just Gerald," said Cindy.  "He was just trying to lay a
guilt trip on you."

	"Well, he succeeded.  You can't believe how awful I felt when I saw what
they did to you and I thought it was my fault."

	"I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  I assure you my punishment had nothing to
do with you."

	"So next time that happens, I should just sit back and enjoy the
spectacle."

	"That's what everyone else does."

	"Weird."

	After Cindy's departure, Amy ordered more coffee.  She was sitting in
the booth to the outside of Malcolm and had no intention of moving until she got
some answers.

	"Well, there's one lead up in smoke," Malcolm said.

	"So what others are there?

	"I want to know more about that Sebastian character.  There was
something odd about him."

	"Like what?"  To Amy, everyone at the Bit and Bridle was odd and she was
unable to distinguish that Sebastian had been more odd than the others.

	"Like the way he kept looking at you.  Didn't you notice?"

	"Yeah, I noticed he kept looking at me, but with my tits hanging out, I
wasn't all that surprised by being stared at."

	"There was more to it than that.  Did you notice how he kept cutting the
price?  He wasn't after new business, he was after you. Have you ever seen him
before?"

	"No.  I'd have remembered that guy."

	"Maybe he's seen you before."

	"I hope not.  He's scary.  I don't want to end up like Ingrid."

	"That was the other odd thing."

	"What?"

	"Ingrid.  I told you all the pony girls were there because they liked
being pony girls, but I'm not so sure about Ingrid.  I don't think she really
wanted to be there.  You remember when he told her she failed the test?"

	"Yes, she was terrified.  It sent chills up my spine."

	"Exactly.  I don't think she was consulted when the decision was made
that she would become a pony girl."

	"But what has that got to do with Claire?" Amy wanted to know.

	"I don't know.  The only link is his interest in you.  You look a lot
like your sister."

	"That seems a bit thin."

	"Got any better ideas?  What did the police say?" Malcolm asked.

	"They said they're looking, but I don't think they're looking very
hard."

	"They don't look very hard for missing women unless the woman in
question was fucking a congressman."

	"So what about the other guy?"

	"What other guy?"

	"The one you went to see when you left me tethered at the wall."

	"Oh, that didn't have anything to do with Claire.  I was inquiring about
a former client who has since become a pony girl."

	"What about her?"

	"Just casual curiosity.  It was really none of your business, which is
why I didn't include you."

	"So now what?"

	"So now it's back to the Bit and Bridle.  We need to do some further
checking on our friend Sebastian."

	"Oh, no.  You're not getting me to go back there."

	"It's okay.  I can get someone else."

	Amy declined further comment.  She didn't want to be harnessed like that
again, but neither did she want to miss out on whatever Malcolm might learn.

	"In the meantime," Malcolm continued, "let's go back by Claire's
apartment and see if she has any new mail of interest."

	Not having any better ideas for finding Claire, Amy agreed to meet
Malcolm there.

	They put Claire's mail on the kitchen table and sorted through it. 
There were a few bills, some junk mail, but nothing of real interest.  Claire's
rent was due and would have to be paid soon.  Malcolm told Amy he would pay it
if Claire didn't turn up by the due date.

	While Malcolm checked the answering machine, Amy went to the bedroom and
started going through Claire's things again.  In Claire's underwear drawer, she
found a pair of handcuffs with two keys.  She was surprised that she had missed
them the last time, but she hadn't gone through Claire's underwear all that
thoroughly.  Amy slipped the handcuffs into her purse and said nothing to
Malcolm about them.

	As they left to go their separate ways, Malcolm gave Amy a card.

	"Here's my number.  Call me if you need anything."

	One of the things that had annoyed her about Malcolm was the fact that
she couldn't contact him and had to wait for him to call her.  The card would
put a stop to that, but why had he given it to her?  Had she passed some sort of
test of her own?

	On his way back to work, Malcolm checked his mail, which included a
contract from Suzanne.  Suzanne was probably Malcolm's most complicated
customer.  What turned her on was being ordered around.  She wasn't excited by
bondage or the things that Malcolm's other customers liked.  She just wanted to
be told what to do--preferably in minute detail.

	Malcolm acquired most of his customers through working various places as
a temp, but Suzanne had been different.  He had found her in a bar.  He'd gone
out for a drink after work with some of his coworkers at one of his assignments
and had noticed Suzanne at the bar.  She had been sitting alone, fending off
advances from the various men who hung around in bars and made advances upon
unaccompanied women who hung around in bars.  Malcolm's companions had likewise
noticed her and one of them decided to try his luck.  He approached, offered to
buy her a drink, and returned in short order.

	"What a snooty bitch," Randy commented on his return.

	Malcolm watched her deflect yet another guy and thought he recognized a
stereotype.  His observation was that everyone was being entirely too nice to
her.  In one of his more inspired moments, he went over, laid his card in front
of her, and said, "Call me tomorrow night at 8:30 sharp."  He turned on his
heel, walked away and sat down at his table with his back to Suzanne.

	"What did you say to her?  She's staring at the back of your head so
hard your hair might catch fire."

	"I told her to call me."

	"That's all?  You just asked her to call you?"

	"No, I told her to call me.  Important distinction.  Is she still
staring?"

	"Yeah."

	"Time to go," Malcolm said and he did, leaving not only Suzanne, but his
companions, staring at his departing backside.

	Malcolm was only mildly surprised when Suzanne called as instructed. 
The conversation led to a contract.  Like many of Malcolm's customers, Suzanne
found it difficult to tell him what she wanted.  Not only was she embarrassed to
admit what she wanted, but asking for it seemed to spoil it for her.  She wanted
men to tell her what to do and it sort of defeated the purpose if she had to
tell them what to tell her.  As a result, his first contract from Suzanne was a
near disaster.

	Malcolm, still a little fuzzy on what moved Suzanne, abducted her in his
usual manner and took her to his hideaway where she was subjected to a generic
bondage routine.  It didn't take Malcolm long to realize that Suzanne was
totally turned off by the proceedings so far, but had no idea what to do to
recover the situation.  He stopped things midstream and asked Suzanne what the
problem was.  This was exactly the wrong thing to do and Suzanne responded by
being a total bitch.  Malcolm proceeded to make things worse by offering to take
her home and refund her money.  He was trying to figure out how to handle her 
when he realized he was acting just like the guys in the bar.

	While he was coming to this conclusion Suzanne proceeded to berate him
as a fool and a buffoon.  "So you think that's good enough?  You just give the
money back and run away, then you..."

	"Suzanne, shut up," Malcolm said in his most commanding voice, and she
did.  "Now, stand up.  Straight, don't slouch.  Feet together, head up.  Good. 
Now, don't move from that spot until I return."

	Malcolm left the room intending to take a few minutes to consider what
to do next.  He felt he was on the right track, but still didn't totally get it. 
He sat and pondered his dilemma to no great effect.  He finally decided to just
wing it.

	Suzanne was standing exactly where Malcolm had left her.  She had her
skirt up and her fingers in her crotch frigging away furiously.  Malcolm now
felt like he was on familiar ground.

	"Suzanne, stop that."  She immediately ceased her activities.  "I can
see we're going to have to be punished."

	"Why?"  She seemed truly bewildered.

	"You weren't given permission to do that.  You were told not to move."

	"I was told not to move from this spot.  I didn't.  I've done everything
you said.  I'm standing straight, feet together, head up, and I haven't moved
from the spot.  You didn't say anything about my hands."

	Another piece of the puzzle fell into place for Malcolm.  Suzanne had
indeed done exactly as he had instructed, and had remembered his instructions
better than he had.  She would do exactly as she was told, but would also do
whatever she pleased that didn't violate any instructions.

	"Get undressed and lie on the floor."

	"In what order?"

	"In the order I told you.  Take your clothes off, then lie on the
floor."

	"No, I mean what order do you want me undress in?"

	Malcolm proceeded to micro-manage Suzanne's disrobing.  She happily
complied with his every command and he began to realize that she liked being
controlled at this level.

	It took two more contracts for Malcolm to really get a handle on
Suzanne.  She was happy as long as she was being ordered about.  She still
didn't like being tied up, but would submit if ordered to.  Doing it didn't turn
her on, however.  She would happily submit to any form of sex as long as she was
ordered to do it, once again preferably in detail.  She did expect to be
punished if she failed to obey an instruction and since it turned him on to
punish her, Malcolm tried giving her extremely complicated instructions hoping
to trip her up, but it didn't work.  Her memory was much better than his and she
seemed to cherish each detail of each order.

	Taking all this into account, Malcolm began thinking about Suzanne's
next adventure.  He began all of his other clients' adventures with an abduction
or something similar, but Suzanne simply received a sheet of instructions.

	When he got home that evening, Malcolm began writing out the
instructions for Suzanne.  He read over the instructions he had written then put
them in an envelope which he then placed inside another envelope with
instructions not to open the inner envelope until he called and told her to do
so.  In the meantime,  she was not to touch herself in any way that would cause
pleasure, nor was she  permitted to have an orgasm.  The last instruction was a
result of Malcolm's having learned that after receiving the instructions for her
last encounter, she had read them over and over while fingering herself.

	There was a loophole in the instructions that Malcolm was pretty sure
Suzanne would spot.  He hoped it would distract her from the little trap he had
also placed there for her.  It had become a sort of game between them that he
would try to trip her up, but he was seldom successful.  When she did make a
mistake, he would punish her.  She hated that, but if he didn't do it, she felt
like she'd gotten away with something and turned into the total snooty bitch she
had been at the bar.  Even though she really hated it, she would submit to
punishment if she screwed up.  To Suzanne, fair was fair.  It all seemed pretty
weird to Malcolm, but Suzanne was the customer, so in spite of the fact that she
was surrendering herself to him, she ultimately called the shots.  A customer
was a customer.

	Malcolm had no sooner gotten the envelope addressed and stamped than the
phone rang.  It was Amy.
	"Malcolm, could you come over and help me?  I have a problem."

	"What kind of problem?"

	"Just come over.  Please."

	"Alright."

	"Just come in when you get here.  The door's unlocked."

	Upon arrival, Malcolm let himself in the front door.  Amy was sitting on
the couch in the living room.  She was naked from the waist up.  She wore a pair
of jeans which were open in the front and not quite pulled all the way up. 
Malcolm suspected she hadn't been wearing them when she'd called.  Her wrists
were locked behind her in the handcuffs.

	"And how did we get like this?" Malcolm inquired.

	"I found these handcuffs at Claire's.  I decided to try them out, but I
can't get the keys to work."

	"That's because they're the wrong keys.  Don't worry.  I brought the
right ones."

	"You...these are your handcuffs, aren't they.  You tricked me."

	"No, I didn't."

	"Yes, you did.  Now let me go."

	"You're confused about which one of us locked those handcuffs on you. 
All I did was provide you with an educational opportunity.  You did the rest."

	"But you still tricked me.  You left the wrong keys."

	"It wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't used them."

	Amy looked sheepishly at Malcolm.  "Let me go.  Please."

	Malcolm pulled Amy to her feet.  He backed her up to the wall, then took
her head in his hands, tilting her face up toward his.  "And what have we
learned?" he asked her.

	Amy looked up into Malcolm's eyes.  Her jeans had slid half way down her
thighs.  "Please," she whispered.

	"Please what, Amy?"

	"Please.  Just...please."

	"Not tonight," Malcolm said quietly.  "You have to be a pony girl again. 
It will be then."

	"When?"

	"I'll call you."  Malcolm turned to leave, stopping to set a pair of
keys on the coffee table.

	Amy sank to the floor.  Malcolm had done it again--made a fool of her. 
She made no move to get the keys Malcolm had left.  She was being punished. 
Punished for being such a fool, for falling into Malcolm's trap, for revealing
herself to him, for begging him.  Her hands would remain locked behind her in
the cuffs.

	After a while, Amy worked her jeans the rest of the way off, then went
to the coffee table and began fumbling with the keys.  She required the use of
her hands.

	It was a long week for both Amy and Malcolm.  Malcolm planned to return
to the Bit and Bridle on Friday and the intervening days were just dead time
which he spent worrying about Claire and Grace.  Malcolm was also concerned that
the whole pony club connection was a red herring.  However, he had no other
leads and no choice but to pursue the matter.  There was also the fringe benefit
of having Amy as his pony girl for another night.

	Amy didn't look at it quite that way.  She was becoming more worried
about her sister, but like Malcolm, didn't have any other ideas.  Unlike
Malcolm, she was not looking forward to her next pony girl experience.  On
several occasions, she nearly called Malcolm and told him to find someone else
to go with him, but her increasing concern for her sister stopped her on each
occasion.

	On Thursday morning, Malcolm called Amy at the bank and told her he
would pick her up at her house Friday evening.  She was instructed to dress the
same as last time.  Somewhat reluctantly, Amy agreed.  That evening, she tried
on the handcuffs again, "just to get used to it," she told herself.

	The ride to the club was conducted in silence.  Malcolm was anticipating
having Amy in harness.  Amy was anticipating the same and pouting.  Upon
arrival, Malcolm got out of the car and headed for the door, leaving Amy to
follow along behind.

	Amy hurried to catch up to Malcolm and stayed close behind him.  As they
neared the door, Amy stepped in front of Malcolm and entered first.  Malcolm
trod on her heels as she stopped short.

	"If you'd sent her with me, she'd be behaving herself by now," said
Sebastian.  He was just completing the harnessing of his pony girl, who did not
happen to be Ingrid.  She stood stiffly erect, as had Ingrid, but her eyes
darted about nervously.

	"You have a point," replied Malcolm.

	"Perhaps you'll reconsider."

	"Perhaps.  See you inside."

	"Come, Trish."  Sebastian gave a tug on Trish's reins and she pranced
away behind him.

	"I'm not so sure about this," Amy said to Malcolm.  She had been
unnerved by the unexpected encounter with Sebastian and was having second
thoughts.

	"That's okay," Malcolm told her.  "I'll take you home.  I can find
Claire without you."

	"That's not what I meant..."

	"Yes, it is.  What else could you have meant?"

	"Okay, okay.  Tie me up.  I'll go in there."

	"Are you sure?"

	"Yes, I'm sure.  Just do it before I change my mind."

	Amy didn't sound all that sure to Malcolm, but it didn't matter.  Once
harnessed, there would be no mind changing.  Malcolm slipped her coat off her
shoulders.

	"Off with the sweater."

	Amy reluctantly removed her sweater.  It was better that it was removed
by herself rather than Malcolm.

	Malcolm signaled to Gerald, who began bringing paraphernalia.  The
gloves were slipped up her arms, and once again Amy's hands were unusable.  Her
wrists were pulled behind her, but this time, rather than the handcuffs, Malcolm
strapped her wrists together.  Where before she had had a couple of inches
between her wrists, now she didn't.  Her collar was locked about her throat,
then she was required to open her mouth and accept the bit.  As the bridle was
being buckled into place, the feeling of helplessness returned, even stronger
than last time.  Malcolm now had complete control of her and this condition
would persist until he chose to release her.  She understood what Cindy had said
about surrendering herself.  The difference was that she wasn't so sure she
liked it.

	Malcolm buckled the straps on Amy's upper arms, then pulled her elbows
together.  This time he left only an inch between them.

	Gerald brought Malcolm the plume, which was affixed atop her head, then
the crop.

	"Will you be requiring a tail this time?" inquired the meddlesome
Gerald.

	"Yes, I think that would be good," said Malcolm, accepting a lavender
tail.

	Amy started to back away, but a light tug on the reins brought her to a
halt.  It was too late to protest.

	Malcolm led Amy to a bar that was about waist high and caused her to
bend over it.  He looped her reins through a ring on the wall, leaving her
trapped in her bent over position.  He slid her skirt and panties down her legs,
then alternately lifted each foot, and Amy was now naked but for her boots and
harness.  Malcolm cinched a broad belt around Amy's waist, then worked the tail
through the crotch strap which dangled from the rear of the belt.  Amy yelped
and squirmed as the plug from which the tail sprouted was worked into her.  Once
in place, the crotch strap was pulled tight and buckled in front.  Amy's  reins
were unhitched and she stood somewhat uncertainly upright.  She was now
outfitted in the same manner as the majority of the ponies she had observed.

	"Don't let that fall out," Malcolm cautioned her.  "If I have to replace
it, you may get one like Cindy had."  Amy realized that Malcolm was teasing her. 
With the crotch strap in place, her tail would remain firmly implanted.

	Amy followed as Malcolm led her into the club.  They had arrived later
than last time and it was already well populated.  From the door she had a
pretty good view of the interior without turning her head.  Her eyes darted
about, searching fearfully for Sebastian, but she didn't see him.  She did see
Mr. Knowles seated at a table near the center of the room, Cindy kneeling beside
him.  Malcolm led her in that direction.

	Malcolm knelt Amy next to Cindy, then sat down across from Mr. Knowles.

	"Hello, Greg."

	"Hi, Malcolm.  I see you've got your new pony with you again.  Cindy
didn't seem to think she'd be back."

	"You know how it is with women and horses.  Being one is even better
than having one."

	"I know what you mean," Greg replied.

	"What a load of crap," Amy wanted to say, but couldn't.

	"I'm curious about something," Malcolm continued.  "What do you know
about this Sebastian character?"

	"Not a lot.  He's a rather curious case, though."

	"How so?"

	"He was always sort of a wannabe.  He used to come in on rare occasions
with his girl friend.  It was obvious that she had no interest in being a pony
girl.  He'd put her in the absolute minimum harness necessary to get in and
she'd slouch around behind him for an hour or two, then they'd leave.  Even when
she was in harness, you could tell who was in charge in that relationship.  He
would never really control her.  I don't know what price she extracted from him
for her couple of hours as a pony girl, but I'm sure he got the short end of the
stick."

	"What happened to the girlfriend?"

	"The last time he brought her in was right before he started bringing in
all these other women.  On that occasion, she was the prototype of her
successors.  The change was amazing.  He put her in full harness, complete with
tail and total control bridle.  I think it was the first time anyone had
actually used one of those.  We just keep them around for show, but he actually
put it on her."

	"She didn't object?"

	"Not a peep.  He held it up so she could see it, taunting her with it. 
She looked like she wanted to scream, but she didn't.  She opened her mouth on
command and accepted it.  Then he took her inside and paraded her around for the
rest of the evening."

	"He came to me last week and told me he was a trainer.  He wanted to
take Amy for training."

	"That's the odd thing.  He used to come in here and mope around leading
his sulky girl friend.  Then suddenly one week she's a perfectly obedient pony
and now he comes in with a different girl every week and acts like he's some big
shot.  I must admit these new girls are very obedient, but there's no joy in
them.  One would almost believe they didn't want to be pony girls.  I'd find it
all extremely odd if I gave a damn."

	"So where does he get his customers?  Who are these women he brings in?"

	"No one knows.  He doesn't normally solicit business here.  Most of us
who come here are regulars.  We all know each other, but the girls he brings in
are all strangers.  Each makes her single appearance and isn't seen again."

	"That reminds me of something.  He told the girl he had last week that
she failed the test or something like that.  I wonder if it's part of his
training routine to bring them here for an evening."

	"That would seem to fit, but for what or for whom he's training all
these women is unknown."

	"I'd like to find out.  He told me he had a partner."

	"That might explain it.  The results he gets seem out of line with what
I knew of him before.  I wouldn't be surprised to learn someone else is in on
the deal."

	"So what does he do when he's here?" Malcolm wanted to know.

	"Mostly, he just parades his current pony around.  I think he's looking
for acceptance.  Nobody ever took him seriously  before, and I think for him the
slight was not slight, if you see what I mean."

	"So, did it work?  Is he accepted now?"

	"Not really.  Most of us feel that the transformation from wimp to jerk
was not an improvement."

	"And what about the girls?  You said they weren't joyful?"

	"There's no playfulness in them, no pride in their prancing, no...I
don't know.  I'd bet, though, that none of them look forward to their evenings
here.  Not the way Cindy or the other girls do."

	"I got that impression myself.  Ingrid, his girl last week, did not seem
to be enjoying herself.  Does he always use the total control bridle?"

	"Always, at least every time I've seen him since the transformation. 
Maybe it's just  overreaction on his part.  He had to practically beg his old
girl friend to take a standard bridle and at that he never put it on tight.  It
just sort of hung on her.  Now every girl gets the total control bridle."

	"Do any of them ever object?"

	"No, not that I know of.  I don't know what he does to them, but it's
obviously a lot worse than being put in the total control bridle."

	"Has he ever brought this girl in?" Malcolm asked, showing Greg a
picture of Claire.

	"I don't think so.  It's hard to be certain, since I only see them
bridled and they don't look quite the same that way.  Why?  Who is she?"

	"She's a friend.  She seems to be missing."

	"Cindy told me you were looking for someone.  You really think Sebastian
is involved?  That worries me."

	"Why?  I thought you said you didn't give a damn."

	"About Sebastian, I don't, but what you're suggesting has criminal
implications.  We don't do anything illegal here, but police scrutiny would
still be embarrassing for many of us.  We value our privacy."

	Amy thought a little embarrassment might be good for some of these
people, but then it occurred to her that if the police were to arrive right now
and start asking questions, maybe taking pictures, she herself would be
extremely embarrassed.  She wouldn't want to have to admit to anyone that she
had consented to her current condition, and she certainly wouldn't want her
picture taken.

	Greg looked past Malcolm and Malcolm turned to see what he was looking
at.  Sebastian was behind him and about five tables away.  Except for Trish, who
knelt stiffly beside him, he was alone for the moment.

	"Let's go have a talk with our friend," Greg suggested.

	"Yes, let's," Malcolm agreed.  Both men rose and Amy and Cindy started
to rise as well.

	"Stay," Greg commanded Cindy, who immediately dropped to her knees.

	"You, too," Malcolm told Amy, pulling downwards on her reins and forcing
her to her knees.  Amy watched in dismay as Malcolm looped her reins around a
bar that circled the table on the underside.  She would not be going anywhere.

	"Hello, Sebastian," Greg greeted him.  "We were just talking about you."

	"Oh?"

	"Yes.  Malcolm here is considering training for Amy and he was asking me
about you.  I don't really know all that much, so we decided to come to the
horse's mouth."

	"I see.  And what is it you want to know," Sebastian replied, somewhat
defensively.

	"Well, for one thing, how do you train your girls?  What sort of regimen
do you put them through?" Malcolm asked.

	"I'm sorry, but we don't discuss our methods.  That's our trade secret. 
What you should do is judge by the results.  Look at Trish here.  She's
perfectly obedient.  I think you should be more focused on what we produce
instead of how we produce it."

	"That's a fair point," said Greg.  "So what about Trish, here?  Where
did she come from?"

	"We don't discuss our clients, either.  Who she is and how she came to
be here is none of your business.  If you sent someone to me for training,
anyone who inquired about her would get the same answer you just got."

	"That's good to know.  Your discretion is admirable," said Greg.  "Now
about her training, just how well trained is she?"

	"See for yourself," Sebastian said, handing Trish's reins to Greg. 
"Take her for a spin."

	"Thanks," Greg said as he got up and led Trish away.

	"So you're seriously considering having your new pony trained?"
Sebastian inquired of Malcolm who had remained seated at the table.

	"I'm considering it."

	"I guarantee you'll be pleased with the results."

	"I'm not saying I wouldn't.  I'm just not sure I want to give her up for
the time required, not to mention spending all that money."

	"I understand, but I offered you a very good deal last time.  That offer
stands, but I'll make you a better one tonight.  Send her with me tonight and
I'll do her for only $500.  That's a one time offer, good tonight only."

	"I'm still not sure."

	"But think what you'll get.  Imagine having a woman who will do anything
she's told, no matter what it is.  Think how many men would give a lot more than
I'm asking from you to have what I'm offering."

	"It sounds intriguing," Malcolm said, trying to draw Sebastian out. 
"How many men do?"

	"Do what?"

	"Pay more than what you're asking from me to get what you're offering?"

	"Enough.  We manage to keep busy."

	"I can imagine.  So why my pony?  It sounds like you can keep busy
without cutting your price.  Why do you offer me such a good deal?"

	"Well, you know, I'm always eager to help a fellow pony club member."

	"So you're offering me this good deal out of comradeship and general
bonhomie."

	"Yeah.  You really should take me up on this.  After tonight it will
cost you another $500."

	"So if I'd taken you up on it last time, it would have cost me another
$500, too.  Maybe I should wait.  I might get an even better deal next time."

	"I promise you this is the best deal you're going to get.  You should
take it while you can."

	Greg returned with Trish.

	"Well, what do you think?" Sebastian asked Greg.

	"I'm impressed.  I certainly can't fault her obedience."

	"You see," Sebastian said to Malcolm.  "Wouldn't you like for people to
say that about your pony?"

	"I'll think about it.  Thanks for taking the time to chat." 

	"Well, but you should really consider..."  Malcolm caught Greg's eye,
inclined his head toward their table, and the two men departed, leaving
Sebastian in mid splutter.

	"What did you think?" Malcolm asked Greg.

	"Malcolm, that woman is terrified."
	"That was my impression of Ingrid, the one he brought last week.  So
what's the deal with Trish?"

	"She was trying way too hard.  I asked her if she was okay with being a
pony girl.  She stomped once, but I think she was too frightened to give any
other answer.  So I told her I wanted a blow job, told her I wanted to fuck her,
told her I wanted to whip her.  It was yes to everything.  I think if I'd told
her to hurl herself off a cliff, she'd have done it.  Her attitude was almost
contagious.  I was afraid that if I gave Sebastian a negative report on her, she
really would have hurled herself off a cliff.."

	"You think she needs rescuing?"

	"She claims not to.  I asked.  I'm not sure I believe her."

	"Sebastian would never let you get her alone if he wasn't sure how she'd
answer that question."

	"I know, but I have no intention of intervening unless she asks.  You
can do what you want."

	"Well, for reasons that don't have a hell of a lot to do with Trish, I'm
going to pursue the matter."

	"I knew that's where you were headed.  My only request is that you try
to leave the rest of us out of it."

	"I'll let you know if there's going to be any splashover."

	Amy and Cindy were kneeling where they had been left as Malcolm and Greg
seated themselves at their table.  Cindy showed no reaction, but Amy was
obviously furious at being excluded from the conversation with Sebastain.  She
squawked through her bit and tugged at her reins.

	"Sebastian's lowered his price again," Malcolm informed Amy.  "He says
he'll train you for only $500.  Maybe I should let him.  Maybe then you'd
behave."

	Amy ceased her struggles and shrunk from Malcolm.

	"Yes, maybe I should," Malcolm mused.  "He seems to be able to improve
your behavior without even being here.  Imagine what he could do if he had
custody of you for a couple of weeks."  Amy was now shaking her head.  "Besides,
that would be an easy way to find out what's going on.  When he brought you
back, you could tell me all about it."  Amy was shaking her head even more
vigorously.  "Assuming he brought you back.  There is that little wrinkle."  He
looked into Amy's ever widening eyes.

	"For now, I think you'll stay with me.  You have other duties yet this
evening.  Stand."	

	Slowly, Amy stood.  Malcolm circled her, looking her up and down.  This
brought Amy's attention back to her own nakedness, causing her to blush. 
Nevertheless, she remained stiffly erect as she had seen Ingrid and Trish stand.

	Seizing her reins, Malcolm led Amy from the club.  He nodded to Gerald,
who handed him Amy's coat.  Malcolm wrapped the coat around Amy, buttoning two
buttons in front, then led her out the door.  He would have liked to lead her to
the car without the coat, but for obvious reasons, leading naked women from the
club was frowned on by the management.  After helping her into the car, he
surprised her by binding her ankles tightly together, then blindfolding her.

	Amy found the car ride to be intensely uncomfortable.  Her arms and
shoulders already ached and leaning back in the seat magnified her discomfort. 
Sitting upright tended to ease the tension, but that drove her tail deeper into
her, which was even worse than the pain in arms.  She wondered if Malcolm knew
how distressing her position was.

	Malcolm was not only aware of Amy's discomfort, he was, in fact, quite
turned on watching her squirm in her seat.  He managed to tear his eyes away
from her in time to avoid rear ending the car in front of him.  He turned down a
side street, seeking a route where it would be less likely that someone would
notice his passenger's blindfold and bridle.

	Amy thought she knew where she was being taken.  Malcolm had blindfolded
her on one previous occasion, when he had transported her to and from the secret
location where he entertained his clients.

	At long last, the car ride ended.  Amy was pretty sure it hadn't really
been as long as it had seemed.  She heard Malcolm get out of the car.  Amy
pressed her feet against the floor, holding her butt off the seat, but forcing
her arms back against it while she waited for Malcolm to let her out.

	Amy's door opened.  Malcolm did not unbind her ankles.  Instead, he
picked her up and carried her up a flight of stairs, then set her down.  He
unhooked her elbows and some of the strain on her shoulders was relieved.

	Malcolm untied Amy's ankles then removed her blindfold.  Amy looked
about.  She was in a smallish room, wood paneled with a high ceiling.  The walls
on either side were lined with cabinets, the doors to which were closed.  The
principal feature of the room was what appeared to be a log somewhat less than a
yard in diameter.  The surface was smoothed and varnished and it rested on a low
A-frame trestle.
	Malcolm tugged on Amy's reins and positioned her at the end of the log,
facing along its length.  He unbuckled and removed her belt and crotch strap,
but left the tail in place.

	"Amy, when I release your wrists, I want you to bend over and wrap your
arms around the log."

	Amy shook her head and tried to back away, then screeched as Malcolm's
crop delivered a stinging blow across her backside.

	"Did I say maybe?"

	Amy stomped twice.  Between her bridle and the crop, Malcolm would have
his way.  Better to capitulate than to be beaten into a submission which was
inevitable anyway.

	"Are we going to be an obedient pony?"

	Amy stomped once.  Malcolm unbuckled the strap confining her wrists and
Amy reluctantly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the log.  Malcolm
joined Amy's wrists with a short length of chain, threading it through a ring on
the underside of the log, thus preventing her from sliding her arms forward or
back along its length.  He pulled one of her ankles to the side and secured it
to the leg of the trestle, then did the same to the other ankle.  Amy was now
bent over hugging the log with her ankles bound about three feet apart.  Malcolm
unbuckled and removed her bridle.

	"What are you going to do to me?"  Amy asked as soon as her jaws had
sufficiently recovered from their captivity to allow her to speak.

	"I'm going to give you what you asked for last time.  I told you it
would be tonight."

	"I've changed my mind."

	"I'll give you a little time.  Perhaps you'll change your mind again."

	"Oh, yes, of course I will.  And even if I don't, how convenient for you
that I'm tied down.  I'm sure the utter romance of it all, being bent over and
naked and everything, would turn any girl's head.  Why didn't someone think of
this before?  Maybe you could get a patent, or has someone already patented
rape?"

	"Open wide, Amy," Malcolm demanded, holding the bridle in front of her
face.


	"No, Malcolm.  Please don't.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make you
angry, but you've got to understand..."
	"And what is it that I've got to understand?"

	"That was last time.  What I may have wanted then isn't what I want now. 
You can't do this and pretend that you have my consent."

	"Don't worry.  I won't do it without your consent," Malcolm said.

	"So, are you going to let me go?"

	"I didn't say that.  You're going to stay where you are for a while. 
Perhaps you'll change your mind."

	"So you're going to keep me tied up until I give in.  I don't think you
know the difference between consent and coercion."

	"We'll see.  In the meantime, perhaps we might deal with your obedience
problem," Malcolm said, tapping her lightly with his crop.

	"My what?  You're going to beat me?  Malcolm, no.  Ow!  Malcolm...ow. 
Stop it."

	Malcolm noted that Amy was demanding that he desist rather than begging
him to.  He increased the severity of the blows.

	"Malcolm, stop...Please stop, please...I'll be good, I promise...oww."

	Malcolm continued with Amy's punishment until her pleas dissolved into
tears and incoherent shrieking.  When he stopped, Amy was hugging the log with
all her might and gasping for breath.  He gave her a few moments to calm down,
meanwhile running his fingers softly along the interior of her thigh.

	"Have we resolved to be obedient?"

	"Yes," Amy gasped, still not completely composed.

	"Yes, what, Amy?"

	"Yes, I'll be obedient.  Just tell me what you want," Amy replied
resignedly.

	Malcolm drew his hand up between Amy's legs.  She was well lubricated
and obviously aroused.  He ran his fingers over her slit, teasing, not
penetrating.  Amy's breathing quickened.

	"I want you to tell me what you want.  Shall I call a cab and send you
home?"

	"Do what I asked for last time.  Do I have to stay tied down like this?"

	"Yes, you do.  And you didn't exactly ask for anything last time.  All
you said was 'please'."

	"Do me, Malcolm.  Please, do me."

	"Do what to you, Amy?  What do you want me to do to you?  You have to
say it," Malcolm said, thrusting his finger deeper into her, causing her to
gasp.

	"Fuck me, damn it.  Just fuck me."

	"You forgot the 'please'.  A woman in your position doesn't make
demands.  I want you to beg."

	"Don't make me," Amy whined.

	"Beg."

	"Please fuck me, Malcolm.  I need you to do it.  Please fuck me. 
Please."

	"That's better," Malcolm said and plunged into her.

	Once again Amy was hugging the log with all her might and shrieking.

	Amy lay limp as Malcolm released her from her bonds.  He helped her to
her feet and she wrapped her arms around him.

	"Let's go to bed."

	"It's time to take you home."

	"And then what?"

	"And then it's another day."

	Amy sat quietly on a stool as Malcolm bound her wrists and blindfolded
her.  He put his hand in the middle of her back, indicating she should stand. 
Instead, she extended her legs and crossed her ankles.  Malcolm took the hint
and tied her feet, then scooped her into his arms.  Amy liked it when he carried
her.  She lay her head on his shoulder.

	Amy was carried into her house and laid on the bed.  She was still
blindfolded, but she had no doubt where she was.
	"Now what?" she asked as Malcolm removed her blindfold.

	"Now it's time for me to go."

	"Stay with me," Amy whined.  Was she begging again?

	"I have to go."

	"Are you going to untie me?"

	"Somewhat.  Where do you keep the handcuffs."

	"I threw them away."

	"I see," Malcolm said.  He opened the top drawer in the night stand. 
The handcuffs lay inside.  "I guess it must have been the other pair you threw
away."

	"Oh," was all Amy could say.

	"You'll be punished for lying."

	"What are you going to do?"

	"You'll see.  Wait here," Malcolm commanded unnecessarily and left the
room.

	After a short while, Malcolm returned.  He removed Amy's blindfold and
untied her ankles.  When he untied her wrists, she put her arms to the side and
pushed against the bed, attempting to rise.

	"Oh, no you don't," Malcolm said and jerked her hands behind her,
locking the handcuffs on her wrists.  "Okay, here's the deal.  I've hidden the
keys to your handcuffs somewhere in the house.  You'll have to find them in
order to free yourself.  They shouldn't be hard to find, but if you can't, call
me and I'll come over and free you--but there'll be a price."

	"But, what if..."  It was too late.  Malcolm was gone.

	Amy was furious.  She had lain on the bed for a few minutes after
Malcolm's departure, trying to summon the will to get up and look for the keys
but had instead fallen asleep.  The sky was light when she had awakened.  It had
taken her three hours to find the keys which had been laying on top of the dirt
in one of her potted plants.  It wasn't spending the night handcuffed that made
her angry, although the search for the keys had certainly contributed to her ill
humor.  What made her mad was that Malcolm had done it to her again.  She had
been stripped naked, tied up, led around on a leash and whipped, then forced to
beg for sex.  What was she, some bimbo slut?  "Oh, Malcolm, please, please,
please fuck me."  Amy was furious with herself.  After a performance like that,
she couldn't even pretend she'd been raped.  And after all that Malcolm had
prevented her from learning anything about Claire--if anything had been learned. 
She had no way of knowing since she had been purposely excluded from the
conversation.

	Amy was angry at Malcolm, angry at herself, angry at the world.  So far
she had submitted herself to two evenings of degradation and servitude and had
nothing to show for it.  She was no closer to finding Claire than when she
started.  Malcolm had played her for a fool and Amy was now convinced that he
was responsible for Claire's disappearance.  That Sebastian guy was a major
weirdo, but Amy now doubted that he had anything to do with Claire.

	Maybe she should tell the police about Malcolm.  She decided against it
for the time being; she couldn't actually prove anything.  What was required,
she concluded, was a confrontation with Malcolm.  She wanted to look him in the
eye and demand that he reveal Claire's whereabouts.  She called Malcolm.

	"Malcolm, we have to talk."

	"So talk."

	"No, this has to be done face to face."

	"Alright.  Would you like me to come over?"

	"No."  If Malcolm was at her house, it might be hard to make him leave
and she would have no place to run to.  "How about where we met Cindy?"  This
appealed to her as neutral territory and she could make Malcolm buy her lunch.

	"What time?"

	"Two."

	"See you then."

	Amy hung up.  She decided to dress and put on one of her work
outfits--hose, heels, makeup, and jewelry.  It made her feel professional and
she would need the psychological leverage to deal with Malcolm properly.  Most
of her previous encounters with Malcolm had ended with her being tied up and
relieved of some of her clothing and most of her dignity.  No such outcome would
be permitted this time.

	She had just finished dressing and had sat down to compose herself for
the upcoming confrontation when her doorbell rang.  Amy opened the door but saw
no one.  She stuck her head out the door and looked around.  Still no one.  The
phone rang.  Amy returned inside and picked up the receiver.  There was no one
on the line.  She returned and closed the front door.  After a moment, the
doorbell rang again.  This was too much.  It could only be Malcolm.  Amy stomped
to the front door and flung it open.  There was no one.  Amy slammed the door
and locked it.  Time to call the police.

	As she turned toward the phone a canvas sack was pulled over her head
from behind and the drawstrings jerked tight around her neck.  Amy screamed, but
the heavy sack muffled the sound.  Her arms were jerked behind her and tied,
then her ankles were bound as well.  She was carried from the house and dumped
in the trunk of a car.  The trunk lid slammed.

	Amy was more angry than frightened.  Malcolm had definitely gone too far
this time.  She didn't even care what he did to her.  She would make him pay
afterwards.  She fumed and struggled as the car drove her to Malcolm's hideaway.

	Malcolm waited at the restaurant until 3:00, but Amy never showed.  He
called her number, but there was no answer.  Concerned, Malcolm drove to her
house.  Her car was in the drive.  The front door was locked.  Malcolm rang the
bell and pounded on the door, but there was no response.  Not knowing what else
to do, Malcolm returned home.

	As he drove, Malcolm considered the situation.  Was Amy jerking him
around?  Had he carried things too far last night?  Perhaps some emergency had
arisen.

	When he arrived home, he called and left a message on Amy's machine,
then listened to the messages on his own machine.  There was nothing from Amy,
but there was one from Mike who wanted him to call.  He dialed Mike's number.

	"Hey, Mike, what's up?"

	"Malcolm, can you come by?  I've found something rather odd I'd like to
show you."

	"Sure.  Be about 30 minutes."

	"See you then."

	Malcolm had kept in touch with Mike, but neither of them had made much
progress.  He hadn't told Mike about Sebastian and the Bit and Bridle.  It
wasn't that he was holding out on Mike.  Malcolm fully intended to inform him if
anything came of it, but in the meantime, he didn't want Mike to know about his
visits there with Amy.  It would raise too many questions about his own
activities.

	When he arrived, Mike handed him a beer and a white business card. 
Malcolm looked at the card.

To Love and OBEY

Men, is your significant other lacking in
These qualities?
Is she giving you the full measure of
Respect that is your due?
We can help.

	Malcolm turned the card over.

S&M Enterprises

Schooling for women with an emphasis
On the virtue of obedience.


	"So that's where he gets them," Malcolm exclaimed.

	"Where who gets what?"

	Malcolm told Mike about Sebastian and the Bit and Bridle.

	"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this before.  It's just that it's
sort of an embarrassing subject and unless it really turned out to be something,
I didn't want to mention it for Amy's sake."

	"For Amy's sake.  Right.  Malcolm, you could have told me.  I would have
understood."

	"You're right.  I'm sorry."

	"Apology accepted.  Anyway, it looks like somebody took your idea and
ran with it."

	"What idea?"

	"I know about your business, Malcolm.  Claire told me."

	Malcolm was stunned.  He took a long sip of his beer, trying to
formulate a reply.

	"It's okay," Mike said.  "You're secret's safe with me."

	"That's good to know," Malcolm replied, still feeling uncomfortable. 
"On to business.  Where did you get that card?"

	"A guy at work gave it to me.  Remember when Grace first disappeared? 
It was just after we had a fight and I thought she was just avoiding me.  Before
you called me, I was grousing about women in general and Grace in particular. 
So yesterday, this guy comes up to me and asks if Grace and I ever made up.  He
said if I was still having problems I should send her to these guys and they'd
straighten her out."

	"There's no number or anything on here.  Can this guy contact them?"

	"I don't know.  I already tried to call him this evening.  I'll try
again tomorrow."

	"Did this guy use their service?"

	"I would guess so.  I've met his wife more than once at company parties
and elsewhere.  She's a total bitch.  She treats Brad like crap, flirts with
guys in front of him, probably cheats on him.  I wouldn't be surprised if he
sent her in for regrooving."

	"Maybe we could arrange to meet her."

	"That might be revealing.  I'll try to set it up."

	"The real question is whether or not these are our guys."

	"It sounds like it might be Manfred's kind of thing.  There can't be all
that many guys doing this kind of shit."

	"In the meantime, we can pay a visit to the Bit and Bridle.  Maybe
Sebastian will show up."

	"With Grace gone, I don't have anyone to take.  Besides, leading women
around on a leash just isn't my thing."

	"We don't have to go in.  We'll just ask Gerald; he's the doorman. 
Besides, if Sebastian is there, I don't necessarily want him to see me.  Maybe
we can follow him when he leaves."

	"Yeah, I'd love to get my hands on that bastard Manfred."

	"I'll come back by about 8:00.  We should go in your car."

	The car stopped and the engine was shut off.  Shortly thereafter the
trunk lid opened.  Amy began screaming at Malcolm, who did not reply.  She felt
a pressure against her thigh, followed by a sharp pain, and blacked out.

	When Amy awoke, she was naked.  She was kneeling in what appeared to be
a stall. The wooden walls on either side of her did not go all the way to the
ceiling, although the wall behind her did.  She was chained by the neck to that
wall.  The chain was short and she didn't have enough slack to stand or sit. 
She could only kneel or squat.  The door to the front of her stall was open and
she could see across the room to another stall opposite.  Its door was also open
and it was unoccupied.  Amy's hands were tied behind her.

	She was kneeling in straw and she couldn't decide which was worse, the
straw or the bare concrete under it.  Each provided its own discomfort to her
sore knees.  She tried shifting her weight to find a more comfortable position,
and discovered that everything hurt.  What had been done to her?  This didn't
look like Malcolm's building.  Where was she?

	At least she wasn't gagged.  She began yelling.

	A man she had never seen before entered her stall carrying what she
thought might be a stun gun.  Now she thought she knew what had been done to
her.

	The man ignored her questions and demands.  Speaking not a word, he
walked up to her, grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.  He pressed the
stun gun against her breast and pulled the trigger.  Amy's entire body exploded
in pain

	When Amy awoke the next time, she was in the same place, on her knees
leaning against the wall to which she was chained.

	Amy was now truly frightened. The man who had stunned her was not
Malcolm. The stun gun he had used on her had produced the most painful
experience of her life. It had taken a while to recover from its effects and she
was still a bit confused, but her recovery this time had been different from her
first awakening here. That had been more like regaining consciousness or
awakening from sleep. This was more like what she imagined recovering from an
epileptic fit would be like. What had been done to her on the trip over must
have been something different. Amy knelt in her stall. As uncomfortable as the
position was, it was the best she could achieve.

	She waited. She was afraid to call out again. After what seemed a
considerable period of time, nothing had changed. The building she was in was
eerily silent. Once she had heard a clink of chain and wondered if there were
other women here, chained as she was. If so, they were being very quiet, not
unlike herself. She must be at Sebastian's place. It was too much to believe
that this had just randomly happened to her. Malcolm must have paid them abduct
and train her. If so, the man she had seen must be Sebastian's partner. She
wondered if she would see Claire here.

	Time passed. Amy was beginning to wonder if she would see anyone at all.
More time passed.

	Footsteps were approaching. The man who had stunned her came into view.

	"Please...," Amy started to speak, then stopped abruptly as a second
person came into view.  The man was leading a woman by a chain around her neck.
She was naked, with her hands tied behind her. Her hair was matted with sweat
and although tears streamed down her face she made no sound. Her breasts were
red and swollen. The man glowered at Amy, then led the woman into the stall
opposite Amy. She knelt and was chained to the wall. The man closed the door to
her stall, obscuring Amy's vision. The walls rang with an ear splitting wail,
then silence returned. The door to the woman's stall was opened and the man
emerged. The woman was kneeling within, stiffly erect, eyes cast down, tears
dripping from her nose and chin.

	The man crossed the hall to Amy. "I see you're going to insist on
learning the hard way," he said as he unclipped the stun gun from his belt.

	Learn what, Amy wondered?  She tried to shrink away, but there was
nowhere to go. He repeated his performance of the previous occasion, pulling
Amy's head back by her hair. This time he placed the gun against her other
breast, paused to let her contemplate what he was about to do, then pulled the
trigger. Once again her entire body was filled with incredible pain. She lost
control of her muscles and slumped against the wall.

	When Amy recovered enough to look about, she saw that the other woman
was still kneeling in the opposite stall. She did not appear to have moved at
all, although Amy noted that her hair and skin were now dry. Amy was now
beginning to understand Ingrid and Trish. She would gladly spend an evening as a
pony girl, even in a total control bridle, if only they would stop doing this to
her.

	Amy wondered if she could attract the attention of the woman. First she
tried relatively innocuous things that she hoped wouldn't get her in trouble.
She squirmed about and rattled her chain. She tried inhaling and exhaling
noisily. The woman didn't react. Amy's efforts so far had produced no adverse
consequences, so she tried hissing quietly. Still no reaction. Amy grew bolder.

	 "Psst...pssst...PSSST."

	 Footsteps. The man entered the other woman's stall and closed the door.
Another horrific shriek filled the room. The door opened. The man approached Amy
again with the stun gun. Once again he seized her by the hair. He took her lower
lip between thumb and forefinger and pulled down sharply. Amy opened her mouth
and the man put the end of the stun gun inside, pressing it  into her tongue. A
perverse little corner of her mind observed that people seemed to be putting a
lot of things in her mouth lately.  The rest of her mind was too frightened to
comment.  The man held her in this position for a few moments, savoring the
terror in her eyes, then pulled the trigger. The increased conductivity in her
mouth made the effect of the jolt even worse. Amy's body was consumed by a level
of agony that exceeded all experience or expectation.

	The woman in the other stall did not appear to have moved even an
eyelash when Amy was next in a condition to observe her. Amy began to realize
that the woman had been placed there for her benefit, if you could use that word
in this context. Whenever Amy was punished, she would be punished as well. Amy
decided to try another tactic. She knelt stiffly erect in the same manner as the
other woman, trying to remain utterly still. Amy wondered how the other woman
was able to do it. She had been kneeling there without moving much longer than
Amy. The desire to fidget was nearly overpowering, but Amy decided that if this
other woman could do it, then she could.

	It seemed to take forever, but finally she heard footsteps. The man came
into Amy's stall, bypassing the other woman.

	"I'm glad to see you finally caught on. Took you long enough."

	Amy didn't move or answer.  The man had a slight accent.  She would have
remembered that voice if she'd ever heard it before, but she hadn't.  The man
was a total stranger.

	"Your sister was a slow learner, too."

	"Claire? Where is she? What have you done with her?"

	The man's hand lashed out, slapping Amy hard on the cheek and knocking
her head against the wall, then he waited, hands on hips, until Amy once again
knelt erect. He crossed the hall and paid another visit to the other woman, who
gave voice to a long ululating wail even more horrifying than her previous
screams.

	Returning to Amy, he placed the tip of the stun gun to her lips. Amy
fearfully opened her mouth.

	When she could move again, Amy painfully resumed emulating the
immobility of the woman in the other stall. After yet another forever, the
footsteps returned.

	"Learned your lesson yet?"

	Amy nodded, afraid to speak. Once again, the man held the gun to Amy's
lips. Tears streaming down her face, Amy opened her mouth to be tortured. The
man slid the end of the gun into Amy's mouth, waited for her fear to reach a
peak, then withdrew it without pulling the trigger.

	"You've passed your first test," the man informed her. He unlocked the
chain around her neck, replaced it with a heavy collar, then locked the end of
the chain to the collar, allowing her a little more slack between her neck and
the wall.

	"Lie down." The chain was just long enough for Amy to rest her head on
the floor. "Cross your ankles." Amy complied and he bound them tightly with a
short length of rope. "Now get some sleep. You're going to need it."

	The man crossed over to the other woman's stall, unhooked her chain, and
led her away. She limped painfully, but hurried to keep up with the man's brisk
pace.

	Mike and Malcolm entered the Bit & Bridle.  Mike gawked at the pony girl
being outfitted by her owner as Gerald greeted them.

	"Good evening, gentlemen.  Do you have guests arriving soon?"

	"Guests?" asked Mike.

	"We can't go in without ponies," Malcolm told him, then turning to
Gerald, "Good evening, Gerald.  No, we're not staying.  We're looking for
Sebastian.  Have you seen him this evening?"

	"No, I'm afraid he hasn't been in.  He does usually visit us on
weekends.  If he comes in, I'll tell him you would like to speak with him."

	"That won't be necessary, Gerald."  Malcolm handed Gerald a twenty
dollar bill.

	"While I appreciate your generosity, I may not take your money."

	"I didn't realize there was a club policy against tips."

	"There is no such policy."

	"I see.  So it conflicts with a prior obligation."

	"I'm glad you understand, sir."

	"What if I doubled the amount?" Malcolm asked.

	"I'm sorry, sir, but that would be dishonest.  I wish you had come to me
first."

	"Alright, then," Malcolm said, stuffing a fifty into Gerald's pocket. 
"This if for the future.  The next time you get such a request, tell them what
you just told me."  Malcolm followed the first fifty with a second.  "And that's
to let us know when you've made your report."  A third fifty followed.  "And
that's to keep the whole thing confidential."

	"I quite understand, sir."

	"Thank you, Gerald."

	"Thank you, sir."

	Mike and Malcolm departed.  "I'd say we're on the right track," Malcolm
commented.

	"How do you figure?  What was that all about?"

	"Sebastian paid Gerald to let him know if I came looking for him.  Also,
Sebastian hasn't been here all weekend, which is unusual for him.  Fortunately,
he only paid Gerald to report my activities to them.  He didn't pay Gerald not
to report his own activities to us."

	"How do you come to that conclusion?"

	"Gerald just told us."

	"But he hardly said anything."

	"He said more than he needed to when he refused my bribe.  He could have
just said no and clammed up, but he let us know there was no rule against tips. 
When he admitted to a prior obligation, he let us know that he would have to
report our inquiry, but in doing so he also let us know he was not prohibited
from reporting the fact that he would make such a report."

	"Wasn't telling us that kind of dishonest?"

	"Not to Gerald.  He probably got handed a tip with the request to report
any inquiry on my part.  When I tried to tip him to prevent that report, Gerald
revealed the conflict.  He hadn't been paid to conceal the fact that he was
reporting our inquiry."

	"So why didn't he just come out and say it?"

	"You have to understand Gerald.  He lives an implied life.  Nothing is
said unless it can be inferred.  That's what caught my attention.  He was
uncharacteristically blunt when answering some of my questions."

	"So why give him all that other money."

	"He told me to.  When he said he wished we had gotten to him first, he
let me know that I could shut down any future reports by giving him money now to
turn them down, so I just covered all the bases.  He'll let me know when he
hears from Sebastian."

	"But if he turns Sebastian down on his next bribe, won't that tip him
off?"

	"That's what the third fifty was for.  I don't know how he'll do it, but
he'll shut Sebastian down without raising suspicion.  Don't worry about Gerald. 
I'm pretty sure he doesn't like Sebastian very much, although you'd never get
him to say so."

	"So now what?"

	"So now we wait to hear from Gerald.  Tomorrow we'll try to get ahold of
your friend Brad , but right now I want to go by Amy's again.  I'm afraid it
might not be a coincidence that I can't find her and Sebastian is trying to keep
track of me."

	Amy was having a miserable night.  The air was chilly and the concrete
on which she lay was no warmer.  She tried to burrow into the straw, but there
was too little of it.  Her limbs ached.  Except for the brief period between the
time when she found the handcuff keys and her abduction, she had been bound for
more than a day.  She shivered uncontrollably, and not just from the cold.

	At long last, exhaustion gained the upper hand and Amy slipped from
awareness.

	Consciousness returned.  A boot thrust against Amy's thigh and rolled
her onto her side.  Amy looked up.  The owner of the boot was the man from last
night.  He untied her ankles.  Amy struggled to her knees and knelt as she had
before.

	"Good.  I'm glad to see you remember yesterday's lesson."  He unfastened
her collar from the wall and tugged.  "On your feet."

	Scrambling to her feet as quickly as her stiff joints would allow, Amy
followed her captor as he strode away.  Once outside her stall, she was able to
look around.  There wasn't much to see.  She was in a hallway lined with stalls
identical to her own.  At each end of the hall was a door.  Both were ajar, but
she was unable to see what lay beyond either.  She was led toward one of the
doors.

	Amy wanted to ask about Claire, but she was afraid.

	Amy's suspicion that she was not the only occupant of this place was
confirmed.  She saw two other women kneeling in their stalls as she had knelt. 
Both were chained by the neck as she had been and had their hands bound behind
them.  Neither of them was Claire.  Neither moved so much as an eyelash.

	As they neared the end of the hall, an odd sort of crinkly sound
followed by desperate screaming issued from the door at the other end of the
hall.

	Amy was led through the door and it was closed behind her, cutting off
the screaming that was still coming from behind the far door.  Looking around,
Amy found herself in a large room, the ceiling of which was supported by a
series of wooden posts, each about a foot square.  She was led to one near the
center of the room and required to stand with her back to it.

	"Please, what are you going to do to me?"

	The blow to the stomach was so sudden that Amy hadn't even seen it
coming.  She doubled over, then crumpled to the ground and retched.

	"Since you ask, we're going to teach you obedience.  Today's lesson will
focus on learning not to speak without permission.  From this point on, hardly
anyone will speak to you except to give you an order.  Henceforth, you are
forbidden to say anything except 'yes, sir', do you understand?"

	"Yes, sir," Amy coughed.

	"That's good, but I don't think you really understand what's required of
you, so I'm going to give you a little demonstration.  Stand up."

	Fearfully, Amy got shakily to her feet.

	"Turn."

	Amy turned her back to the man and he untied her wrists.

	"Grace, get in here."

	A woman entered from the far end of the room and approached.  Amy
recognized her as the woman who had occupied the stall opposite her last night
and been punished whenever she herself was.

	"This is Grace," Amy was informed.  "I'm sure you recognize her from
last night.  She currently plays the role of whipping girl around here.  I bear
her a special enmity and she's so frightened of me that I really find her quite
delightful.  I have no immediate plans to dispose of her, so here she remains,
spending each day in fear of whatever new horror she will suffer at my hands,
and each day I create some new torment to justify her fears."

	"Dispose of her?" Amy wondered.  She looked into Grace's face.  Grace
appeared utterly defeated.  She possessed the deadest looking eyes Amy had ever
seen on a living person.

	"Grace is going to help me demonstrate the level of obedience that you
will be expected to achieve.  Grace will do absolutely anything she is told,
won't you Grace?"

	"Yes, sir."
	"And why is that, Grace?"

	"Because of what you'll do to me if I don't."

	"Exactly.   Light one of these for me, Grace."  Grace was handed a pack
of cigarettes and a lighter.  Clumsily, she held one to her lips, coughing as
she attempted to set it alight.

	"As you can see, Grace isn't a smoker.  For that matter, neither am I. 
Better put it out, Grace," the man said, tapping his forefinger against her bare
nipple.

	Amy looked on aghast as Grace ground the now lit cigarette into her own
nipple.

	"You don't think you could ever do that.  I can see it in your eyes. 
Trust me, when it's time to send you back to Malcolm, you will do anything to
leave here.  But before we send you back, you'll have to pass a test, a final
exam to prove your obedience."

	Graces's head had jerked up at the mention of Malcolm.  Did Grace know
Malcolm, Amy wondered?  What was going on here?  She now had confirmation that
Malcolm had indeed arranged her current captivity and torment, but who was Grace
and what did she have to do with Malcolm?

	"So let's get started," the man continued.  Amy still didn't know his
name.  "First, we need to get Grace secured.  Grace, back up against the post."

	Grace obeyed and the man pulled her arms around behind it and locked
handcuffs on her wrists.

	"She doesn't need to be restrained, I just like her that way.  Now, as
for your little task..."

	The man--Amy decided to call him "Henry the Grape" in the hope that
giving him a comical name might somehow diminish her fear of him--produced a pin
cushion from which he withdrew two hat pins.  He handed them to Amy.  Amy
briefly considered trying to plunge them into Henry's eyes, but decided the
consequences of failure didn't justify the risk.

	"What you are to do is push one these slowly into each of Grace's
nipples.  All the way in."

	Amy looked at Grace, who stared back with both fear and resignation in
her eyes.  Did Grace really think she was someone who would do something like
that?

	"I can't.  I just can't," Amy whimpered.

	"I see.  In that case, you'd better step over here," Henry said, leading
her to an adjacent post.  Amy's arms were pulled behind the post and secured as
Grace's had been.  "Now wait here while I tend to Grace."

	Henry returned to Grace and held a pin to her burnt nipple.  Grace
inhaled sharply and whimpered as Henry slowly pushed the pin into her.  Henry
paused once it was seated, then slowly inserted another pin into her other
nipple.  He then released her wrists and led her over to stand in front of Amy.

	Amy looked at Grace.  Grace stood perfectly still, making no sound. 
Each of her nipples now terminated in the opalescent tear drop head of a pin. 
Amy tried to look into her eyes, but she avoided Amy's gaze.

	Grace had barely cried out when the pins were inserted.  What had been
done to her last night to make her scream so?  Amy hoped never to find out.


	"As you can see," Henry said, "Grace was not spared by your refusal. 
Grace, do you have any advice for Amy?"

	"Do what he says.  Always do what he says, no matter what it is.  Now
he's going to hurt you."

	"Very good, Grace, although not quite accurate.  Actually," he said,
turning to Amy, "Grace is going to hurt you."  He handed the pincushion to
Grace.

	"Grace, I want you to put these pins into Amy's breasts, alternating
until you run out of pins."

	"Yes, sir."

	Amy shrunk against the post to which she was confined.  The pincushion
held a dozen or more large hat pins.  As frightening as the pain was her fear of
disfigurement.

	Grace withdrew a pin from the cushion and stepped in front of Amy.  She
placed the point against Amy's nipple and slowly pushed.  Amy shrieked as the
pin pierced her nipple and Grace ceased her pressure.

	"All the way in, Grace," Henry the Grape commanded.

	"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry," Grace whimpered as she resumed pushing the
pin into Amy.

	"Grace, did I tell you to speak?"

	"No, sir."

	"Step over here."

	Henry the Grape opened a cabinet and withdrew a small brown bottle and
another item.  The second item appeared to be a wedge shaped piece of rubber,
somewhat wider than it was high, with a strap passing through the wide end. 
Henry the Grape unscrewed the cap of the bottle.  A stalk which terminated in a
daub was attached to the top.  He used it to smear a brown slightly viscous
liquid over the surface of the wedge, dipping back into the bottle several times
until the entire surface was coated except for the face opposite the point.  Amy
noticed he was being careful not to come into contact with the substance.

	"Open up, Grace."  Grace opened her mouth and Henry the Grape pushed the
wedge in, tip first, securing it by locking the strap behind her neck.  Grace's
eyes went wide and her face screwed up.  Her lips drew back, revealing her
teeth. Her hands flew to the back of her neck and she clawed futilely at the
lock.   She shook her head violently, as if attempting to throw off the gag,
then staggered to the nearest post and wrapped her arms around it, where she
remained for several minutes, panting and making odd gurgling noises.

	"Grace, you have a task to complete," Henry the Grape reminded her,
holding out the pincushion which she had dropped.

	Amy watched fearfully as Grace, obviously in considerable distress,
approached unsteadily.  She rested her left hand on Amy's shoulder for support,
raised a quivering right hand, and plunged the pin she held into Amy's breast. 
Amy shrieked, then looked fearfully at Henry the Grape.

	"It's okay, you have permission to scream," Henry the Grape informed
her.  "In fact, I prefer it."  Turning to Grace, he said, "You missed."  The pin
had gone in an inch and a half wide of the nipple.  "I expect you to get at
least one of those in the nipple."

	Grace pushed a second pin into the other breast.  It went in at an
angle, nearly protruding from the other side.  Amy screamed again.  Returning to
the other breast, Grace tried to put a pin into the nipple.  She placed the heel
of her left hand under the breast.  Holding the pin between thumb and forefinger
of that hand, she dragged the point of the pin across Amy's breast until it
rested on the nipple.  She grabbed the head of the pin with her right hand and
pushed, but her hand shook and the point skidded across the breast again and
went in an inch wide of the target.  Amy screamed again.

	"Closer," commented Henry the Grape.

	Grace continued her efforts.  Amy continued her screaming.

	Malcolm was awakened by the phone.  He had slept fitfully, worrying
about Amy.  It was Mike on the phone.

	"Malcolm, I got hold of Brad, the guy from work.  We're going over there
this afternoon.  I'll pick you up about 2:00"

	"See you then."  Malcolm hung up, then dialed Amy's number.  He got the
machine again and left another message.

	Amy had not spent a comfortable night either.  After Grace had put the
pins in her, she had been led back to her stall, where she spent what she
assumed was the rest of the day kneeling rigidly as she had come to understand
was required in this place.

	Henry the Grape spent the rest of the day attending to other trainees,
as evidenced by the screaming which echoed through the hall.  After what seemed
like, and probably was, hours, she had been fed and put down for the night. 
This consisted of being hog tied on her stomach.  Her arms and shoulders ached
from pulling against her ankles, trying to keep her weight off her breasts.

	By morning, Amy's body was numb.  Unfortunately, the numbness didn't
extend to her breasts.  Every time she relaxed her arms, her chest pressed into
the floor, disturbing the pins.

	When at last she was released, Henry the Grape required her to stand
immobile while he removed the pins.  The pins had been in place long enough that
they hurt almost as much coming out as going in, but whenever she would cry out
or flinch, the pin would be reinserted and then withdrawn again until she
endured its removal with outward passivity.

	After the removal of the pins, she was fed.  The rest of the morning, if
morning it was, was spent in obedience training.  Henry the Grape would issue
various commands--stand, sit, kneel, fetch, blow me--and if she was slow to obey
or otherwise gave him any cause for complaint she was struck instantly with the
short whip Henry the Grape carried, then forced not just to submit, but to
cooperate, in an even more painful and prolonged punishment.

	Amy understood what was being done to her.  She was being conditioned on
two levels.  A stroke of the whip provided immediate feedback when she erred. 
This would make her obedience almost reflexive.  She would then be very slowly
and deliberately tortured by Henry the Grape, which had a much greater
psychological impact than the immediate feedback of the whip.  By the end of the
day, Amy was absolutely terrified of making even the slightest mistake.

	Mike picked Malcolm up slightly before 2:00.

	"How well do you know this Brad guy?" Malcolm wanted to know as they
drove.

	"Not well.  He works in my department, but he's not really my kind of
guy."

	"How so?"

	"He's not really anybody's kind of guy.  Keeps to himself, doesn't have
any close friends at work.  For that matter, I would have said he wasn't Bev's
kind of guy.  Always at company functions she'd split off from his as soon as
they arrived and start flirting with whoever she could find that would flirt
back.  She's really pretty disgusting."

	"She have any problems getting guys to flirt?"

	"No, not really.  She's pretty cute.  Disgusting, but cute, and she's a
talker.  Can't shut up for a second.  Just the opposite of Brad."

	"I assume Brad knows I'm coming.  What'd you tell him about me?"

	"I told him you were a good friend of mine and had the same problem I
did, that you had a woman who needed to learn some respect."

	"So he didn't have a problem with me being there."

	"No.  He seemed pleased you're coming.  I think he wants to show Bev
off."

	Mike and Malcolm parked in front of Brad's house and walked up to the
door.  Brad opened the door and invited them in before Mike had even rung the
bell.

	After introductions had been made, they followed Brad into the house
where Malcolm caught his first sight of Bev.  She was kneeling in the corner,
maintaining a rigidity that reminded him of Ingrid and Trish.  Her outfit was
reminiscent of a cheerleader, short pleated skirt, tight sweater, white socks
and tennis shoes.

	"Have a seat, guys.  This is my wife, Bev."

	"Say hello to the gentlemen, Bev."

	"Yes, Brad dear.  Hello, gentlemen."

	"Hello, Bev," Malcolm and Mike said in unison.

	"How 'bout a beer?  Bev, honey, go get everyone a beer."

	"Yes, Brad dear."  Bev started to get to her feet.

	"Hands and knees, sweetums," Brad commanded.

	"Yes, Brad dear," Bev said.  Dropping to all fours, she crawled to the
kitchen.  Malcolm got a good view of her butt as it waggled its way behind her
into the kitchen.  He had half expected her to be wearing no panties, but she
obviously was.  Nonetheless, it was an enticing view.  He noticed that Bev also
had Mike's undivided attention.

	"As you can see," Brad said, causing both men to tear their eyes away
from the departing Bev, "she's perfectly obedient."

	"She seems to be," said Malcolm, putting just a hint of skepticism in
his voice, hoping to get a reaction by playing on Brad's insecurities.

	"You'll see when she gets back," said Brad, rising to the bait.  "Those
guys really delivered.  Imagine having a beautiful woman who'll do anything you
tell her to, and no back talk."

	Bev returned from the kitchen with a tray holding three bottles of beer
and three glasses.  She was not able to perform this task on all fours, but she
was on her knees.  Her progress was a bit unsteady and the bottles rocked
precariously on the tray.

	"You know what'll happen if you spill those," Brad scolded.

	"Yes, Brad dear."

	Bev made her way over to Brad, set a glass next to him, and filled it
with beer.

	"Bev, honey, what's wrong with you?  You know a proper hostess serves
her guests first."

	"I'm sorry, Brad dear."  Bev picked up the glass of beer she had poured
for Brad and set it back on the tray.  Bev scooted over to Malcolm and Mike on
her knees and served each a beer, then returned and set the original glass she
had poured next to Brad and set her tray down.

	"Thank you, dear," Brad said.  "Now lets deal with your little faux pas. 
There are always consequences when we don't do things correctly."

	"Yes, Brad dear."

	"Sweater," Brad snapped.

	Bev lifted her sweater up to her neck.  Brad grasped her nipples and
twisted cruelly, causing Bev to gasp, but Malcolm noted that she was careful to
remain rigid and not draw away.
	"As you can see, she's perfectly obedient.  That doesn't mean she won't
make the occasional mistake, but she submits to punishment without a problem. 
You two are the ones who were treated discourteously.  Either one of you want to
punish her?"

	"No, that's quite alright," Malcolm said.

	"Yeah, I do," said Mike.

	"Sweetie, present yourself to Mike."

	"Yes, Brad dear."

	Bev crawled over to Mike and knelt in front of him.

	"Sweater," snapped Mike.

	Bev lifter her sweater again.  Brad twisted her nipples even more
cruelly than had Brad, causing Bev to cry out.

	"You know better than to complain when you're being punished," Brad told
her.  "This is the second time you've embarrassed me in front of our guests. 
You've earned yourself a session."

	Bev paled.  "Yes, Brad dear," she said in a quavering voice.

	Malcolm looked on in surprise.  This was unusual behavior for the
normally gentle Mike.  He seemed to have some sort of grudge against Bev.  There
was apparently some history here that Malcolm was unaware of.

	"Looks like she's not quite there," Malcolm commented, trying to stir
things up a bit more.

	"No, she's totally obedient, but like I said, she can still make
mistakes.  Here, I'll show you."

	"Oh, Sweetie pie," Brad said to Bev.

	"Yes, Brad dear."

	"Be a dear and go over to the hall door and bang your head against the
frame.  Hard.  Raise a good lump."

	"Yes, Brad dear."
	Mike and Malcolm looked on stupefied as Bev walked over to the doorway,
cocked her head back, and cracked it against the doorframe with considerable
force.

	"Again.  Same spot," Brad commanded.

	Bev closed her eyes and slammed her forehead into the doorframe a second
time.

	"Excellent.  Now crawl over to Malcolm and let him feel your lump."

	"That's quite all right," Malcolm said as Bev dropped to all fours and
moved toward him.  "I can see it from here."

	"That's very impressive," Malcolm said to Brad, hoping he hadn't been
indirectly responsible for Bev getting a concussion.  "So where can I get my
woman trained like that?"

	"Leave me your number.  I'll have them get in touch with you."

	Malcolm didn't like this idea.  He wished he'd given Brad a phony name. 
His real name wasn't all that common and if Brad reported that someone named
Malcolm had been to see him, Manfred and Sebastian would have no doubt as to
which Malcolm.

	"So how did you find them?" Malcolm asked, stalling for time while he
tried to think of some other approach.

	"They found me.  One day, I came back to my desk and there was this card
laying there.  It's the one you saw, Mike.  An hour later I got a phone call
asking if I'd gotten the card.  Things went from there."

	"So you never had any way to contact them," Mike said.

	"No, never.  They always called me."

	"Do you work with anybody named Sebastian or Manfred?" Malcolm asked.

	"Sebastian was the guy who contacted me, but I never met him before.  I
have got a customer named Manfred, though."

	"Who is he with?"

	"DSS."

	"Who's that?"

	"They're a small telecommunications company."

	"What's Manfred do there?"

	"Why all the questions?"

	"I just want to know who we're dealing with."

	"I don't really want to get in the middle of anything here.  Just give
me your number and I'll give it to them next time they call me."

	Mike caught Malcolm's eye and nodded toward the door.

	"I want to think this over some more before I commit.  I'll let you
know," Malcolm said.

	Malcolm and Mike made their excuses and departed.

	"Can you believe those two?  Talk about dumb and dumber," Mike laughed.

	"Truly amazing.  'Yes, Brad dear.'," Malcolm said in a squeaky imitation
of Bev's voice.  "I do have some sympathy for Bev, though.  Imagine what they
must have done to her to make her behave like that."

	"Believe me, it's an improvement."

	"You really don't like her, do you?"

	"No, I don't."

	"Care to talk about it?"

	"No, I don't."

	"Well, I don't think there's any doubt we've found our boy.  There can't
be many more Manfreds than there are Malcolms.  And if that isn't enough, he's
working for a telecom company," Malcolm said.

	"Yeah, and he stole your idea of leaving the cards, too."

	Malcolm winced at Mike's further revelation of his knowledge of the
workings of Malcolm's business.  "So what do you know about this DSS company?"

	"Not much, but if they're a customer they'll be in the computer.  I'll
find out who manages their account and have a talk with him tomorrow."

	"Why don't we just look them up in the phone book and drive over there."

	"'Cause I didn't think of that.  Let's try it."

	They had no trouble locating DSS in the phone book.  They drove to the
listed address, but there wasn't much to see.  DSS was in a pre-stressed
concrete building, sandwiched in between two other businesses in the same
building.  There was a short stairway to the door and a loading dock next to it. 
The building appeared deserted.

	"Well, I guess that's all we could expect on a Sunday," Malcolm
commented.

	"I"ll be on it first thing in the morning," Mike said.

	Amy's day had been a long one.  Henry the Grape had devoted his entire
day to her training.  Her training regimen had been fairly simple.  Obey or be
tortured.  By the end of the day, she was even more thoroughly terrorized than
on the previous day.  She was afraid to breathe without permission.  It was a
great relief when she was finally chained in her stall for the night.

	When morning came, Amy was awakened and fed.  Breakfast consisted of a
bowl of something (she didn't want to know what) shoved under her face.  She ate
lying on her stomach with her wrists bound behind her and her face in the bowl.

	Amy remained bound in her stall for a considerable time after she was
fed.  Her stall door was closed but she could hear the sounds of hammering and
sawing coming from the main hall.  She shivered in fear.  She hoped that
whatever it was that they were building was intended for someone else.  It made
her feel guilty to hope someone else would be tortured, but not guilty enough to
volunteer.  In spite of all the noise made by whatever they were doing out
there, it seemed unusually quiet due to the fact that no one was screaming at
the moment.

	Amy heard a stall door open and a clink of chain.  She sagged in relief
at the sound of someone else being led from her stall.  Amy had just started to
relax, her fear slowly draining away, when her own stall door was opened.  She
was gagged, then her ankles were untied and she was led forth by the chain
attached to her collar.

	A wooden beam was stretched horizontally across the hall.  A woman she
didn't recognize was chained by the neck to the center of the beam.  Amy was led
forth and chained next to her.  Grace and two other women were led from their
stalls and chained to the beam in the same manner.  All were gagged.  This was
unusual.  Henry the Grape seemed to get off on the sound of women in pain.  Gags
were not often employed.

	The women stood facing a small table in the center of the hall which
bore a camp stove upon which a kettle of water boiled furiously.  All five women
eyed the boiling pot fearfully.

	Sebastian was there.  Although she knew he must be around somewhere,
this was the first time she'd seen him.  It had been he that led three of the
women out and secured them.  Henry the Grape had tended to Grace and Amy.

	Sebastian left through the far door.  Amy was frightened of that door. 
She had never been through it, but the noises that came from there were
appalling.

	"Ladies, if I could have your attention, please," said Henry the Grape,
striding to the center of the room.  "As I'm sure you all know, we guarantee our
work.  If any of you fail to give complete satisfaction, you may be sent back
for additional training.  We further guarantee that if you do come back, you
will very much wish you hadn't.  And that brings us to the reason for our little
gathering this morning.  For the first time, we have had a young lady come back
to us for remedial training.  Her owner is not completely satisfied and we are
determined to honor our warranty.  We have worked with her over the last few
days to impress upon her the advantages of total obedience and today is her
graduation exercise.  We think it will be an educational experience for all of
you.  After today, we hope you'll be more motivated in your studies and less
likely to have to visit us again."

	"Okay, bring her out," Henry the Grape called over his shoulder. 
Sebastian emerged from the room leading a woman on a leash.  She was naked, her
wrists were tied behind her, and her ankles were shackled with less than a foot
of chain between them so that she followed Sebastian at a shuffling quick step. 
Her hair was matted and stringy, her body was covered by a large number of welts
and other marks.  Her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks caused Amy to think she had
been bled dry of tears.  Despite her startling appearance, there was no doubt
who it was.  It was Claire.

	Amy couldn't believe it.  Owner?  What owner?  Henry the Grape's remarks
indicated that she had been in the possession of her "owner" until rather
recently.  Did he mean Malcolm?  Had Malcolm kept Claire secreted in his
building the whole time he was pretending to help her look for her sister?  Amy
struggled and tried to shout through her gag, but was ignored by Claire.  She
did, however, call Henry the Grape's attention to her.

	Henry picked up a short springy whip and lashed Amy 4 or 5 times across
the breasts with it.  "Believe me," he told her, "you don't want to join her." 
Claire didn't look up.

	Sebastian led Claire over to Henry the Grape and handed him her leash. 
Claire looked at the assembled audience and Amy tried to catch her eye, but her
gaze slid over Amy without apparent recognition.

	"Some of you already know Claire," Henry the Grape announced, "and I'm
sure all of you wish her well in the task she is about to undertake."

	Amy turned a sharp eye upon Grace at Henry the Grape's use of the plural
regarding Claire's acquaintances.  If Grace knew Malcolm did she know Claire? 
Did any of the others know her?  She wondered how many of these women had been
sent here by Malcolm.

	Henry the Grape untied Claire's wrists and her arms dropped to her
sides.  Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a quarter.  He showed the
coin to Claire, then tossed it into the pot.  "I dropped my quarter.  Get it for
me."

	Claire looked around the table.  "No, Claire, there are no utensils. 
Just reach in and get it.  If you're quick, you'll get by with only second
degree burns."

	Claire hesitated a moment, then timidly extended a hand toward the
roiling water.  She withdrew as the steam burned her arm, then reached forth
again.  She plunged her hand into the water about half way up her forearm,
fished about for a moment, then screeched and withdrew it reflexively, holding
it to her face and blowing on it.  She had failed to retrieve the quarter. 
Claire extended her hand again, then pulled away.  She turned and reached toward
the pot with her uninjured hand, but couldn't bring herself to put it in the
water.  She made two more half hearted attempts, then sank to her knees sobbing,
cradling her burned hand.

	"It looks like you don't graduate today," Henry the Grape said.  He
turned to Sebastian.  "Let's make some space here in the center."

	Henry the Grape unfastened Amy from the beam and Sebastian released the
woman next to her.  The men moved the two women to opposite ends of the beam,
leaving a large gap in the center.  They grabbed Claire by the arms, hauled her
to her feet, and dragged her to the open space they had just created.  Claire's
collar was fastened to the beam, then her arms were extended and tied to either
side.

	Once Claire was secured to the beam, Sebastian and Henry the Grape
carefully picked up the table with the pot and set it in front of her. 
Sebastian produced two large soup ladles and handed one to Henry the Grape.

	Each man dipped his ladle into the pot and then poured the boiling water
slowly over Claire's shoulders.  Claire shrieked hideously as the men refilled
their ladles.  This time the water was poured onto her breasts.

	"Stop...please stop," Claire cried.  "I'll do it. I promise I'll do it. 
I promise."

	"No, Claire," Henry the Grape said, "we aren't going to stop.  You had
your chance.  You know what happens when you don't obey."  He dipped his ladle
into the water again.

	"Help," Claire screamed in desperation, jerking frantically against her
bonds.  "Help me.  Somebody help me.  Oh, please help me."  Fresh ladles of
water were lifted toward her body.  "Don't...please don't.  I'll do what you
say.  I'll do whatever you want.  Please."

	Sebastian pulled Claire's hair aside and the water was poured down her
back.  Claire ceased her begging and reverted to incoherent shrieking.  This
seemed to annoy Sebastian.  He produced a gag and forced it past Claire's lips,
securing it behind her neck.

	The only effect of the gag was to lower the volume.  Claire continued
shrieking and trying to beg, struggling frantically against her bonds as each
new ladle of water burned a fresh patch of skin.  Henry the Grape and Sebastian
continued her torture until they had used all the water.  They covered every
inch of her body below the neck.  With the last two ladles, they grasped her
ankles and jerked her feet from beneath her, leaving her hanging by her arms as
they poured the boiling water onto her upturned soles.

	Having exhausted the water, Sebastian released Claire from the beam,
tied her hands behind her, reattached her leash, and led her away.  It was a
painful trip for Claire, as her ankle chain forced her to shuffle along on her
burned feet.

	"Well, ladies, I hope you've learned something," Henry the Grape
announced, then began returning the women to their stalls.

	After what seemed like a long time, Sebastian opened Amy's stall and led
her forth.

	"I'll be conducting your training today," Sebastian informed her. 
"Manfred is going to be busy."

	"So that's his name," Amy thought.  She decided that she would continue
to think of him as Henry the Grape.

	As she was led through the main hall, Amy's thoughts were interrupted by
screams issuing from the room at the far end.  Even though she knew who it was,
the voice was barely distinguishable as Claire's.

	"...and be quick about it," Sebastian commanded.

	Amy had been distracted by whatever was being done to Claire and had
missed the first part of Sebastian's command.  She had no idea what he had
ordered her to do.  In short order Claire's screams were drowned out by Amy's
own.

	Malcolm was not having a good day.  Had he known of the day that Amy and
Claire were having he might have concluded it wasn't so bad after all, but he
didn't know.  He had hoped to get out of work today in order to track down
Manfred, but it hadn't been possible.  As a temp worker, he had to show up for
his assignments if he expected to get future ones and today was the start of a
new one--not a good time to be absent.  His assignments usually lasted two weeks
to six months and after he'd been there a while and gotten to know people, he
could wangle the occasional day off if he needed it, but for the first day he
had to be there.

	Not that it would have done him much good to be off anyway.  He'd called
Mike who was also getting nowhere.  His company's computers were down, Brad
hadn't shown up, and he hadn't been able to find anyone else who had heard of
Manfred.  Additionally, the crisis caused by the computer system being down
meant that he couldn't get away either.

	The day offered no promise of any progress in locating Manfred.  Malcolm
decided it was a good day for a distraction and placed a phone call.

	"Suzanne," Malcolm said into the phone, "today is the day you open your
envelope."

	Suzanne opened the inner envelope and read the instructions.

Suzanne:

	You are to dress as follows: your red silk blouse (no bra), black
miniskirt, red panties to match your blouse, white stockings and red pumps. 
Take a cab to the shoe store at 15th and Olive.  Take enough money for cab fare,
but no more.  Don't wear any jewelry or take any ID.  Enter the store at
precisely 7:00 PM and ask for Harold.  Tell him you want to buy the sexiest
shoes he has.  Do as he tells you.  He may try several pair on you before
choosing a pair.  The decision as to which is the sexiest pair will be his, not
yours.  Once he has made a choice, you are to stand and approach each person in
the store and ask, "What do you think of my new shoes?"  Memorize their answers. 
You will be required to repeat them to me.  You must say, "Thank you for your
opinion," to each one and nothing else.  You are then to stand 10 feet from the
front door until the store closes at 8:00 PM.  If anyone else enters during that
time, you are to ask them what they think of your shoes.  Once Harold has closed
the store, you are to pay for the shoes in whatever manner he specifies.  After
making payment, you are to leave the store and stand at the curb in front and
wait for me.  You will stand straight with your hands clasped behind your back. 
You will look straight ahead and not speak to anyone.  When I arrive, you are to
get into the car and do as I tell you.



	"He's up to something," had been Suzanne's first thought when she had
read the instructions.  There seemed to be a major omission.  She had not been
instructed to wear the new shoes out of the store, and in the absence of any
such stricture, she fully intended to present herself to Malcolm in her old
shoes.  Malcolm surely knew her better than that.  How could he make such an
error?  She had been told to obey Harold.  Perhaps he would issue the necessary
command.  She studied the rest of her instructions, but didn't see anything
wrong.  She reread them again and again, memorizing each detail.

	The cab dropped Suzanne in front of the shoe store at three minutes to
seven.  She spent the three minutes looking in through the windows.  There was
only one salesman and one customer in the store.

	Suzanne entered and approached the counter, where the salesman was
ringing up a sale for the departing customer.

	"I'm looking for Harold," she told the salesman as the other woman
headed for the door with her parcel.

	"I am Harold," the salesman replied.

	"I want to buy the sexiest shoes you have."

	"Certainly, miss.  Sit in the third chair from the end on the back side. 
Once seated, place your hands behind your head, fingers interlaced, elbows
parallel to your shoulders."

	Suzanne happily did exactly as she was told.  Harold had obviously been
carefully instructed by Malcolm.  There were two short rows of back to back
chairs.  She sat in the third chair farthest from the front of the store and
facing away from the register.

	Harold seated himself in front of Suzanne.  Upon command she extended
each of her feet and Harold removed her shoes.  He carefully measured her feet,
issuing a continuous stream of instructions.  Suzanne complied, extending first
one foot and then the other, holding them exactly as required by Harold and
becoming more turned on as the process progressed.

	"Place the balls of your feet on the floor with heels elevated as high
as possible," Harold ordered when he had completed his measurements, then strode
off to the stock room.

	While he was gone, another customer entered.  She passed in front of
Suzanne and then disappeared behind her to take a seat out of view.  She was
somewhat older than Suzanne and, although not unattractive, dressed rather
severely in a business suit with a skirt that hung below her knees and rather
clunky shoes.  She looked down her nose as her eye was drawn to Suzanne's rather
provocative pose.

	Harold returned a few minutes later carrying several boxes.  Suzanne was
sitting exactly as he had left her.  "I'll be with you shortly," Harold said to
the newcomer.  He put a pair of red high heeled shoes, not all that different
from her own, on Suzanne's feet and required her to walk the length of the store
and back.  She was not allowed to take her arms down.

	Suzanne was surprised that there were no mirrors in the store.  Without
mirrors, how would customers be able to see themselves in their new shoes?

	"Nope, not what we're looking for," Harold commented upon her return and
fitted another pair of shoes onto her feet.  These were white with slightly
higher heels than the last pair.  Once again, she was required to parade the
length of the store and back.

	"Still not it."

	The next pair he put on her was black and had even higher heels and
ankle straps.  This time she tottered a bit as she tried to walk a straight line
in the shoes with her arms up behind her head.

	"That's it," Harold announced as she sat down.  "These are the shoes you
will buy."  He leaned down and tightened the buckle on each ankle strap another
notch.

	"What about my old shoes?" Suzanne asked, her voice sounding breathy due
to her increasing arousal.

	"I will retain them," Harold replied.

	A younger couple had entered the store during her last parade through
it.

	Suzanne had orders to carry out.  She walked over and stood before the
older woman, hands still behind her head.  "What do you think of my new shoes?"

	"You look like a trollop.  I certainly hope they're going to spank you,"
the woman replied.

	"Thank you for your opinion."

	Suzanne approached the young couple, standing first in front of the man. 
"What do you think of my new shoes?"

	"Very sexy," he replied enthusiastically.

	"Thank you for your opinion."

	"What do you...think of my new shoes?" she gasped, positioning herself
in front of the man's companion.  She was beginning to have trouble controlling
her breathing.

	"Very nice," she replied with considerably less warmth than her escort.

	"Thank you...for...your...opinion," Suzanne replied, just barely
retaining control of herself.

	Suzanne positioned herself to the side of the front door, waiting to see
if anyone else would enter before it was time to pay Harold.  She wondered what
the new shoes looked like on her.  The posture enforced upon her had only given
her a brief glimpse of them when they had been taken out of the box.  She had
not seen them since.

	As she waited, her excitement seemed to diminish.  She began plotting
how to exploit Malcolm's omission in her instructions.  She still hadn't been
commanded to wear her new shoes out of the store, but since Harold had taken
custody of her old ones, she decided she would exit wearing no shoes.  That
would teach Malcolm to formulate his instructions more carefully, she gloated.

	Harold waited on the couple.  Suzanne was surprised that he waited on
the young couple first.  It was after 8:00 by the time they were gone.

	Harold placed the "closed" sign in the window.  He still hadn't waited
on the other woman.

	"Follow me," Harold commanded and led her to the stock room.

	Upon arrival, Harold ordered her to stand in the center of the
shipping/receiving area near the back door.  Suzanne did as she was told.

	Harold left the stock room to wait on his remaining customer.  He
returned after a short while.

	"Now, on your knees and clasp your hands behind your back."

	Suzanne knelt, then gratefully took her arms down.  They were beginning
to tire.  She looked expectantly at Harold, her juices beginning to flow again.

	Harold stepped behind her, bent down, and latched a pair of handcuffs on
her.

	Suzanne's arms jerked suddenly as she felt the bracelets close about her
wrists.  "Why...," she began.
	
	Suzanne was crestfallen.  She had just started getting all worked up
again and the handcuffs trashed the whole experience.  They made her feel
helpless and that frightened her.  What she liked was choosing to obey, not
being forced or coerced.

	Harold seemed oblivious to her sudden change.  He stood before her,
unzipped his fly, and presented himself.  "Make it good," he commanded.  "Your
performance will determine your discount."

	Suzanne opened her mouth and set about the task of pleasing Harold.

	When she had finished, Harold led her out of the stock room.  Suzanne
was startled to see the woman who had called her a trollop still sitting in the
store.  She sat stone faced, not looking at Suzanne.  Her hands were folded
primly in her lap, but her shoes were off and her feet positioned exactly as
Suzanne's had been.  Her left ankle was chained to the chair in which she sat. 
Just what kind of shoe store was this?

	Harold led her to the register and told her fifty dollars was being
charged to her credit card, then opened the front door for her.  Just before
exiting, she bent to unbuckle her shoes, intending to leave them behind, only to
discover that attached to each buckle was a small padlock.  The shoes were
locked onto her feet.  So that was Malcolm's little joke.  She knew he had been
up to something, but had been completely taken in when no instructions to wear
the shoes outside had been forthcoming.

	Suzanne strode forth and stood at the curb as required.  She longed to
look back into the store, to see what was going on with the chained woman, but
she had been commanded to look straight ahead, and so she did.  She endured
catcalls and various other insults from passing cars, but as per instruction,
didn't respond.

	A car pulled up to the curb, right in front of Suzanne.  "Hey, baby, you
wanna ride?"  Suzanne didn't move or speak.  "Hey, bitch, I'm talkin' a  you.  I
axed you if you wanna ride."  Suzanne remained as before.  The passenger door
opened.  As the occupant started to get out, he glanced past Suzanne to see
Harold standing in the door, idly twirling a handgun around his finger.  He got
back in again.  The car sped away, but not before whoever it was had splashed
his drink all over the front of Suzanne.  Dr. Pepper from the smell of it.

	Shortly thereafter, Malcolm pulled up next to her.  "Get in."  Suzanne
opened the door and got in.  "What have you got all over you?"

	"I think it's Dr. Pepper."

	"I hate that shit.  Take your blouse off."  Suzanne did as she was told. 
Malcolm pulled over.  "Now go put it in the trunk," he ordered, pulling the
trunk release latch.

	People in passing cars honked and yelled as Suzanne, now topless, walked
back to the trunk, tossed her blouse in, and returned to her seat.

	"Better," Malcolm commented, "but you still smell like that crap.  We're
going to have to hose you down once we get there.  Now, close your eyes and keep
them closed until I say to open them."

	Most of Malcolm's customers arrived at his building blindfolded.  This
wasn't necessary with Suzanne.  Once instructed to close her eyes, they would
stay that way.  Meanwhile, Suzanne was getting turned on again obeying Malcolm.

	Once at their destination, Malcolm directed her inside.  Suzanne, eyes
still closed, proceeded according to Malcolm's instructions.  "Three steps
forward, now turn right, five more steps, then stop.  Before you is a stairway. 
Go up ten steps and stop..."

	This was the kind of thing Suzanne loved.  By the time she got to where
they were going, she was breathing heavily, although the journey had not been
physically taxing.  Malcolm knew that if she was ordered to submit to sex now,
she would go off like a rocket.  However, Malcolm had other plans.

	"Open your eyes, Suzanne, then come over and sit before me, hands behind
your head like at the shoe store."

	Suzanne obeyed.  They were in a medium sized room that resembled a
living room.  Malcolm stood before a low stool Suzanne sat facing him.  Malcolm
sat before her, commanded her to extend her leg and place her foot in his lap. 
He unlocked and removed her shoe, then repeated the operation for with her other
shoe.  Malcolm then told her to stand and undress, directing her disrobing in
minute detail.

	"Now, go through the door behind you and take a shower, then dry
yourself and return here," Malcolm instructed her once she was naked.  "And
don't touch yourself in any way that's pleasurable."

	Suzanne did as ordered and after a bit returned to stand before Malcolm
who was now sitting in a large easy chair.

	"Now, tell me how everyone liked your shoes."

	"Well, there was an older woman.  She called me a trollop..."

	"What were her exact words?"

	"She said, 'You look like a trollop.  I certainly hope they're going to
spank you.'  What did she mean by that?  She was chained to her chair when I
left."

	"She probably didn't want to be the only one getting a spanking tonight. 
And the others?"

	"There was a couple...The man said... 'very sexy'... I think he was
pretty turned on."  Suzanne's breathing was becoming increasingly ragged.  "The
woman...said...'very nice'...but she...was pretty...turned off."

	"Anyone else?"

	"No."

	"What about Harold?  How did he like your shoes?"

	Suzanne turned bright red.  She had been so wrapped up in the thing
about wearing the shoes outside that this one had gone right by her.  She had
been commanded to get everyone's opinion and she hadn't asked Harold.  She
considered making something up, but she was pretty sure Harold would have given
her a canned response scripted by Malcolm.  He would spot the lie instantly. 
Besides, that wouldn't be fair.

	"So you didn't ask Harold, did you, Suzanne.  You didn't obey."

	"No," Suzanne groaned.

	"Tell me what you think I should do about that."

	"Punish me?"  Suzanne replied in the tiniest of voices.  Suzanne didn't
like being punished, but felt that she deserved it when she failed to obey.  If
Malcolm failed to impose a penalty, Suzanne would punish herself and everyone
around her by being a total bitch, a fact that Malcolm had learned the hard way.

	"Yes, of course you'll be punished, but tonight you're going to choose
your own penalty.  So tell me, how shall you pay for your failure to obey?"

	Suzanne couldn't believe Malcolm was letting her get away with choosing
her own penance.  She was thinking five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys might be
about right when Malcolm interrupted her deliberation.

	"One thing, however.  I'll administer whatever punishment you choose,
but if I feel it's inadequate, it will be followed by a much harsher one of my
own."

	Suzanne reconsidered her choice.  "Maybe that woman should get her wish. 
Maybe she shouldn't be the only one getting a spanking tonight." Suzanne said
almost inaudibly.

	Malcolm was astounded.  He had never spanked Suzanne and had always
assumed her aversion to bondage included corporal punishment.  He had
occasionally used bondage as a punishment, but it had never occurred to him to
spank her.  Malcolm decided to hand her some more rope and see what she did with
it.  He led Suzanne into the room where he had spanked Amy and opened one of the
cabinets that lined the wall.  It contained a short multi-thonged whip, a riding
crop, a cane, a couple of paddles, and a heavy wooden ruler.

	"Select one and hand it to me."

	Suzanne gazed at the implements for a few moments, then selected the
cane and handed it to Malcolm.  Again Malcolm was surprised.  She had selected
what was probably the most painful implement of the group.  He wondered if she
knew that.  The other items did look more intimidating.  Nonetheless, she had
made her choice.  He would use the cane on her.

	"Now," Malcolm announced, "you're going to choose the number of strokes
you'll receive.  Choose a number between 1 and 50.  Whatever number you choose
is the number you'll get."

	"There's got to be a catch," Suzanne thought to herself.

	"However, there's a catch.  If you choose a number that I think is too
low, you'll receive the whole 50."

	"Is ten too low?"

	"Choose a number, Suzanne."

	"Alright...twenty."

	"A good choice.  Twenty it is.  Now walk up to the end of the log, bend
over and wrap your arms around it."

	"You're not going to chain me down, are you?" Suzanne asked, eyeing the
manacles dangling from the underside of the log.

	"Certainly not.  It will be up to you to keep your arms wrapped around
the log while you're being spanked.  If you let go or stand up, however, then I
will chain you down and you'll receive the full fifty.  Do you understand?"

	"Yes."

	"Good.  Now get in position."

	Suzanne bent over the log and wrapped her arms around it.  Malcolm took
up his own position and brought the cane down smartly on Suzanne's backside.

	"OWW!  Hey, not so hard," Suzanne complained, then "AHHH!" as Malcolm
delivered an even harder stroke.

	"Suzanne, which one of us is being punished?"
	"I am, but..."

	"You are, no buts.  You've got your code word if you want to leave, but
until then just remember that I'm the one doing the spanking.  You're the one
being spanked."

	Each of Malcolm's customers was given a code word.  If she said the
word, her adventure was ended in that instant and Malcolm took her home. 
However, it would cost her $500.  Malcolm charged $1500 for the little adventure
he provided to his client.  If she completed it without using her code word, she
would receive a $500 rebate.  If, however, she used the word, she was charged
the full $1500.  This served to provide his customer with a feeling of security,
knowing that she could bail if it got to be too much, but also provided Malcolm
with a level of coercion that was a turn on to his customers.

	Nonetheless, Malcolm moderated his blows.  He didn't want Suzanne to
bail on him just when he was discovering fascinating new things about her.

	By the seventh blow, Suzanne was gripping the log with all her might and
starting to shed tears.  By the tenth, she was shrieking.

	"Malcolm, stop.  You've got to stop.  I don't think I can stand twenty."

	"Then use your code word."

	"Couldn't you just stop at twelve?"

	It was obvious to Malcolm that Suzanne didn't want to use the word.  He
decided to push her a little farther.

	"No.  You get the full twenty.  You chose this penalty and you're going
to go through with it."

	"But what if I let go, or get up?"

	"Then I'll chain you down and you'll get the full fifty."

	"Oh, god, oh, god..." Suzanne shrieked as another blow landed.  Her
hands jerked convulsively toward her flaming posterior.

	"Malcolm," Suzanne choked, "Malcolm, chain me down now.  I can't hold on
for any more.  Chain me down."

	Malcolm paused and locked the manacles on Suzanne's wrists.

	"I'm going to add a five stroke penalty since you're not holding on of
your own free will anymore."

	"What do you mean?"

	"I mean we're going to twenty-five now, not twenty."

	"Oh, god.  Oh my god."

	"Would you prefer fifty?"

	By the fifteenth stroke, Suzanne was shrieking and kicking her feet
about wildly.

	"I think we'd better chain your ankles."

	"Please, no."

	"Spread your legs, Suzanne."

	Suzanne did as commanded and Malcolm chained her ankles to the legs of
the trestle.

	"Only ten to go," Malcolm informed her.

	"Oh my god.  Oh god...I can't stand it..."

	Malcolm eased up a bit, not wanting to push Suzanne too far.  Even so,
she screamed at the top of her lungs and thrashed wildly.  Her chains gave her a
freedom to struggle that she hadn't had when trying to remain in position by
willpower.

	By the twenty-fifth stroke, Suzanne lay limp against the log, physically
exhausted and covered in sweat.  Malcolm was afraid he'd gotten a little carried
away.  Suzanne's backside was covered with welts.  Nonetheless, she had endured
the whipping without using her code word.  That definitely said something about
her.

	Malcolm ran his hand up between her legs.  Suzanne jumped as his fingers
brushed across one of her welts, but she was definitely moist.  It had to be the
spanking, Malcolm told himself.  He had bound or chained her on more than one
occasion and it had always turned her off.  The spanking had turned her on in
spite of the bondage.  It was a more severe spanking than he would normally
inflict on a beginner.  Perhaps she wasn't a beginner when it came to spanking. 
"I sure know how to pick 'em," Malcolm told himself, remembering the night he'd
spotted Suzanne in the bar.  He continued caressing Suzanne who began moaning.

	Like Suzanne, Amy had spent her evening obeying commands.  Unlike
Suzanne, Amy was bound in one way or another throughout the experience.  Like
Suzanne, she was punished for her errors, but there the similarity ended.  Amy
did not have a code word and would have used it if she had one.  Amy felt no
inner need to obey.  Her obedience was compelled by an ever deepening terror of
the consequences of disobedience.  Commands now included doing various things to
cause herself pain.  Without hesitation she had applied a pair of heavy clamps
to her nipples.  They had hurt terribly, but Amy remembered the pins, which had
been worse.  She still wasn't sure she could put a cigarette out on herself, but
the idea was no longer inconceivable.  It was just a matter of time.  She looked
forward to her graduation exercise with increasing dread.

	On Tuesday morning, Malcolm got a call at work.  "Malcolm, it's Mike.  I
got Manfred's number out of the computer, but when I call all I get is his voice
mail.  The receptionist said he won't be in for the rest of the day.  I never
heard Manfred's voice all that much, but the voice on the recording sounds like
I remember him and has a slight accent.  I'm pretty sure it's our guy."

	"Any way to get any more information?"

	"I'm working on it.  I didn't want to leave a message because he'll
probably recognize my voice.  I'll have one of the other guys leave him a
message to call us.  We're a big enough account that we'll probably hear from
him."

	"So what happens when you hear from him?"

	"I'll try to get him to come over here.  Once I get my hands on him
we'll get some answers."

	"Have you thought that all the way through?  Are you sure you want to
get physical with a vendor on company premises?"

	"Okay, maybe I'll just follow him home.  Then I'll kill him."

	"Keep me posted."

	Amy could have told Mike that he wouldn't be hearing from Manfred that
day.  She had spent the morning being terrorized by Sebastian while Manfred had
devoted the morning  to Claire.  Manfred had spent the night remonstrating with
Claire about her lack of obedience.  Her screams would have kept Amy up all
night if it hadn't been for Amy's own exhaustion and the fact that Claire's
voice gave out early on.  When she awoke, she could still hear Manfred working
on Claire.

	Amy was currently standing as she had on the previous morning chained by
the neck to the beam with the other women. Manfred stood before them and it was
obvious that there was going to be a repeat of Claire's graduation exercise.
Sebastian seemed to be absent, as did one of the women who had been there on the
previous occasion.
	A different kettle bubbled away on the camp stove this time.  It was
shallower and broader than the previous one.  Amy watched it, wondering if she
herself would be able to plunge her hand into it if ordered.  At this point, she
was pretty sure she would.  Grace had been right, no matter how horrible a thing
she was ordered to do, not doing it was worse.

	Amy's musing was interrupted by Claire being led into the room.  She
limped even more painfully than yesterday and her entire body below the neck was
covered with blisters.  Her burns were obviously extremely painful.  Simply
wrapping her in a scratchy wool blanket would probably torture her beyond
endurance.  Nevertheless, Amy was pretty sure Claire had been made to suffer
more than a blanket.  Her face was filled with pain and fear.  Although she had
looked bad yesterday, it was amazing how much worse she looked only a day later.

	"Good evening, ladies.  Once again, we're assembled to watch Claire
prove herself.  As you can see, we've had to treat her rather harshly, but I
think we've made progress.  Claire promises that this time she will complete her
assigned task, and so I've called you all forth to witness her triumph."

	Manfred produced a quarter and fitted it edgewise into a small flat
metal plate so that the it stood on edge.  Then he grasped it with a pair of
tongs and lowered it into the water.

	"Now, Claire, if you will, please, get my quarter for me."

	Claire stood confused for a moment.  Her hands were still tied behind
her.  She looked at Manfred who stood impassively.  Finally, she turned and
backed up to the kettle.  She was going to have to plunge both hands into the
water behind her to get the quarter.

	"No, Claire.  If I wanted you to use your hands I would have untied
them.  You will retrieve the quarter with your teeth."

	Amy hadn't thought that Claire could look any more frightened than she
already did, but she had been wrong.  Manfred had come up with a task that was
even more horrible than anything Claire had prepared herself for.  Nonetheless,
there was no question in anyone's mind, including Claire's, that she would go
through with it.  Horrendous as the idea of plunging her face into the boiling
water was, they had all learned the lesson of Claire's previous failure.  Not
doing it would be worse.

	Amy watched as Claire gathered her courage.  Amy wanted to scream on
Claire's behalf, but she was gagged.  She watched in enforced silence as Claire
drew a deep breath and leaned over the pot.

	Malcolm arrived home to a ringing telephone.  "Hello," he answered.

	"Good evening, sir."
	"Gerald, I'm surprised to hear from you."

	"And why is that, sir?  I had thought you would be expecting me to
contact you."

	"For one thing, I didn't think you had my phone number."  Gerald had
called on the line which was reserved for Malcolm's customers, a number he gave
out only to his customers.

	"Obviously I do, sir.  Be that as it may, the reason for my call is that
the individual about whom you inquired is currently visiting us.  He has brought
a guest with him, someone I haven't seen before."

	"So Manfred's at the club with a new pony."

	"Yes, sir.  That is what I said."

	"I'll be right down.  I don't have a pony tonight, so I'll just wait
outside until he leaves.  See if you can keep him there 'til I get there."

	"I take it that you intend to follow him home."

	"Yes, something like that."

	"Would it save you the trip if I gave you his address?"

	"You have it?"

	"Yes, sir, I do."

	"Gerald, you're amazing."

	"That coincides with my own opinion, sir."

	"What's the address?"

	"He has a farm fifty two miles north of town at the junction of highway
fifteen and county road H.  There is a two story white farmhouse with a blue
roof and a large barn with a red roof.  It's the only property in the area with
a barn."

	"Thank you, Gerald, I'm in your debt."

	"Hardly, sir.  Until now I was in yours."

	Malcolm called Mike.
	"Mike, I just heard from Gerald.  He gave me Sebastian's address."

	"We'll go in my car.  I'll pick you up in twenty minutes."

	Amy had nearly died.  She had watched Claire plunge her face into the
water.  Remarkably, Claire had retrieved the quarter, but her face had turned a
bright red and blisters were already beginning to form.  Claire had collapsed on
the floor, possibly unconscious.  Amy had vomited into her gag.  If it hadn't
been for fast action on Manfred's part, quickly slicing her gag strap with a
knife and applying the heimlich maneuver, she would have choked to death on her
own vomit.

	After ascertaining that Amy was alright, Manfred returned to Claire.  He
revived her by opening a small brown bottle and passing it back and forth before
her face.  Claire sneezed, opened her eyes, and began screaming.  Manfred worked
a gag into her mouth, scooped her into his arms and carried her off.

	Upon his return, Manfred addressed his assembled captives.  "Well,
ladies, as you can see, Claire has learned her lesson and graduated.  I hope
you'll all remember the lesson of this day when it comes time for your own
graduation."

	One by one, Manfred unchained each student and led her back to her
stall.  He left Amy and Grace until last.  Amy was numb and therefor only mildly
alarmed when Manfred led Grace and herself out of the room rather than back to
their stalls.

	"That's it over there," Malcolm said to Mike, pointing to the house and
barn which sat about a hundred yards off the road.  "Shall we just drive up
there?"

	"No," Mike said.  "We don't want Sebastian to return and see a strange
car here."

	"That looks like a side road about a quarter mile ahead.  We can park
there and walk up."

	Rather than walk up the drive, Mike and Malcolm approached the house
overland from the side.  As they neared the house, they separated, each going to
a separate window.  Cautiously, they peered around the edges of the windows,
then conferred.

	"Looks like an ordinary bedroom to me," Mike said.

	"I didn't see any sign of anybody.  I don't think there's anyone in
there.  Let's check the rest of the windows, then try the barn."

	They separated once again, working their way around the house in
opposite directions, meeting up again on the other side.

	"Anything?" Mike asked.

	"Nope, nothing.  You?"

	"Me either.  Let's check the barn."

	The barn was large and the few windows it had were up high.  It had a
barn door at either end.  Mike and Malcolm decided to attempt entry through the
door farthest from the house.

	The door didn't seem to be latched and opened with little effort and
less noise.  Malcolm and Mike slipped inside to find themselves in a large room
with wood pillars every few feet.  The only light in the room was provided by
two small lamps, each attached to a pillar, which shown downward casting a
puddle of illumination at the base of the pillar.  Standing in the center of
each puddle was a naked woman whose wrists were tied above her head just under
her light.  Each woman had an alligator clip fastened to each nipple from which
wires trailed off into the darkness.  The women were Amy and Grace.

	Mike and Malcolm started forward, then froze as all the lights in the
room suddenly came on.

	"Good evening, gentlemen," Manfred said as he stepped out from behind a
pillar.  "What took you so long?  I've been expecting you for days."

	"You bastard," Mike yelled as he started forward.

	"Stay where you are," Manfred ordered, raising the gun he held in one
hand.  Malcolm grabbed Mike by the collar and pulled him back.

	"Very wise," Manfred commented.  "I was hoping not to have to shoot you. 
I would hate for you to miss the entertainment.  The ladies are going to dance
and it would be a shame if there were no audience."

	"So you've been expecting us," Malcolm said.

	"As I said, for days now.  I finally got tired of waiting, so I sent
Sebastian to the pony girl club, anticipating that you might follow him here. 
By the way, what have you done with him?"

	"Nothing yet.  As far as I know, he's still at the club."

	"Too bad.  I hoped you'd dispose of that idiot for me."

	"Looks like you'll have to do your own dirty work," Mike said.

	"Maybe, maybe not.  Perhaps I'll tie him down and set the ladies loose
on him.  They doubtless have a few frustrations they'd like to express."

	"I'm sure they do.  So what have you got planned for us."

	"We'll get to that.  We're going to start off with a little
entertainment."  Turning to the women, he said, "Okay, ladies, time for your
performance.  Dance, if you please."

	Amy and Grace began dancing in place with weird high stepping motions. 
Manfred raised his other hand in which he held a small black box, which was
apparently the destination of the wires attached to the women.  He pushed a
button on the box and both women began making garbled screeching noises and
their movements became spastic and erratic, although they persisted in their
attempts to dance.

	"Amusing, isn't it."

	Mike surged forward again and Malcolm again attempted to restrain him. 
Manfred fired a shot which lodged in the floor inches in front of Mike's
foremost foot.  It was apparent to Malcolm that the bullet had gone exactly
where Manfred had intended.  Manfred was obviously a skilled marksman and it
didn't seem likely he'd get rattled and shoot wildly if they rushed him.  Mike
quietly stepped back to his previous position.

	Manfred nodded approvingly, then pushed a second button on his box. 
Both women stood shuddering in place.

	"I do so love making beautiful women suffer."  Manfred commented as Mike
and Malcolm looked on helplessly.

	After a bit he released the button and Amy and Grace collapsed, hanging
by their wrists.  "Alas, back to more mundane matters."  He turned to Grace and
waited for her eyes to come back into focus.  "Grace, you'd like to get out of
here, wouldn't you?"  She nodded.  "Good.  Tonight is your graduation exercise. 
Pass it, and you're free to go."

	Grace looked frightened as Manfred cut the rope holding her wrists
overhead, then winced as the clips were removed from her nipples.  "Step over
here in front of me, that's right."  Manfred reached in front of Grace with his
right hand which held the gun.  "Now, here's all you have to do.  Take this gun
and shoot these men.  Do you understand?  Shoot them and you're free to go." 
Grace nodded.  "Very well, obey."

	Grace took the gun, holding it in both hands which were still bound in
front of her, arms extended and pointing it at Mike.  She took a step forward. 
Mike and Malcolm tensed.  "Don't move," she ordered in a shaky voice.  She took
another step forward.

	"Not too close," Manfred ordered.  "We don't want them grabbing the
gun."

	Grace half turned toward Manfred when he spoke.  This was the opening
Mike and Malcolm had been waiting for and both men charged forward, as did
Manfred, who stepped toward Grace as well.

	"Stay out of my way," Grace shouted at Mike and Malcolm as she stepped
sideways and completed her turn.  Manfred was closer and got there first.  The
gun went off just as he put his hand on hers and Manfred staggered backwards,
hit in the chest.  Mike and Malcolm halted their charge as the next shot hit
Manfred in the face, the one after in the neck.  Grace continued working her way
down the thorax and into the abdomen until the gun was empty. "Am I free to go
now?" Grace asked of what was obviously Manfred's corpse.

	"Grace, you shot him!" Mike gasped.

	"Yes, I did," said Grace.  "I killed him.  Would you rather I'd shot
you?"

	"No, no, of course not," said Mike, wrapping his arms around her and
pulling her to him.  "It's just...it's just...you shot him."

	"It was just a matter of time.  Just a matter of time.  I knew if I did
everything he said, let him do whatever he wanted to me, some day he'd trust me
too far."

	"For a minute there, I thought you were going to shoot me."

	"I would have, if you'd tried to take the gun."

	"You really would have shot me?"

	"Just a flesh wound, if that's what it took to get out of arm's reach of
Manfred.  I had to have enough space to be able to turn before he could get to
me."

	"You really would have shot me," Mike repeated, bewildered.

	"Yes," Grace said and burst into tears.

	While the exchange between Mike and Grace was taking place, Malcolm
walked over to release Amy, who shrank against her post in fear at his approach.

	"Amy, it's okay, he's dead.  It's okay.  You're safe," Malcolm said in
his most soothing voice, but Amy did not look comforted.  Malcolm released her
wrists and her arms dropped to her sides, but she otherwise stood stiffly erect,
not moving.  He wrapped his arms around her, but she retained her rigid posture,
except to quiver in fear.  She reacted not at all when Malcolm removed the clips
from her nipples.  He noted the partially healed wounds on her breasts left by
the pins, but didn't know what had caused them.

	"Tell her what to do," Grace said.  "She's been terrorized.  It will
take her a while before she's normal.  She doesn't know how to detach.  She
actually felt all the pain Manfred inflicted.  For now, just tell her what you
want.  She'll obey."

	"Amy, is Claire here?  Where's Claire?"

	"Through there," Amy said, pointing at the far door.

	"Stay put," Malcolm said unnecessarily and headed for the door.

	Beyond the door, Malcolm was in a room full of stalls like in a stable. 
There were over a dozen of them, arranged on either side of the hall.  Most were
empty, but two of them were occupied by women he didn't recognize who knelt
rigidly on the floors of their stalls, each chained by her neck to the rear
wall.

	In the very last stall he found the most wretched woman he had ever
seen.  Her entire body was covered with blisters and welts.  Her eyes were open
and stared vacantly through Malcolm.  She knelt as did the others, chained by
the neck and hands tied behind her.  Malcolm turned away and headed for the far
door to the stable room to continue his search for Claire.

	Passing through the far door, Malcolm looked about.  Judging from the
contents of the room, it was used for torture, but was unoccupied.  Malcolm
exited the room and headed back the way he came, then stopped and returned to
the wretched woman.

	"Claire?"

	She looked up but didn't otherwise respond.

	"Claire?  Oh my god.  Hang on, I'll get you loose."  He looked at the
lock on her neck chain, then said, "I've got to find keys.  I'll be right back."

	He returned to Mike and Grace.  He and Mike searched Manfred's body, but
didn't find any keys.  They examined the rest of the room, which contained some
cabinets and a couple of closets.  The cabinets contained mainly items for
restraint and punishment, but no keys.  Malcolm found a pry bar in one of the
closets and returned to Claire.  He used the pry bar to rip the eye bolt at the
end of her chain from the wood of the rear of the stall.  Claire stood upon
command and Malcolm led her forth by the chain.

	Amy's eyes widened as they entered the room.  She was obviously
frightened by the sight of Malcolm leading Claire in on her chain.
	"Holy shit!" Mike exclaimed upon seeing Claire.  "Is that Claire?  What
happened to her?"

	"She's been scalded," Grace replied.

	"Claire, what did they do?"

	"I graduated," Claire replied.  "I'll do whatever you want.  Just tell
me.  I'll do it.  You won't have to hurt me.  I graduated."

	"She learned to detach," Grace said, "and she doesn't want to come back. 
I don't blame her.  She must be in incredible pain.  A burn is the hurt that
keeps on hurting."

	Malcolm looked at Grace.  She was a different person since having shot
Manfred.  It had always seemed to Malcolm as if she had been hiding inside
herself ever since he'd known her, but with Manfred's death she had come back
out.

	"So now what?" Mike asked.

	"Shh, somebody's coming," Malcolm hissed.

	Mike and Malcolm stepped behind the nearest posts as a figure in a fox
hunting outfit appeared in the door.  Claire and Amy were already hiding and
Grace pointed the empty gun at the intruder.

	"Oh, dear, I had hoped I would be in time to prevent this sort of
thing," Gerald said, eyeing the former Manfred.

	"Who are you and what's with the silly outfit?" Grace demanded.

	"It's okay, Grace," Malcolm said, "I know him."

	"I regret that I didn't have time to change into something more
suitable.  I have a very nice Hercule Poirot outfit which would have been more
appropriate to the occasion."

	"Gerald, what are you doing here?" Malcolm asked.

	"I thought you might require assistance."

	"We probably do, but what do you have in mind."

	"I think the ladies are in need of medical attention, especially the one
hiding behind the far pillar," Gerald said, indicating Claire.  He handed a card
to Malcolm.  "Take them to this doctor.  He is expecting you and won't ask
questions.  You should go there now."
	"He's expecting us?" Malcolm asked in surprise.

	"I had anticipated your needs, sir."

	"I see.  And what about him?" Malcolm asked, indicating the former
Manfred.

	"Sebastian will bury him upon his return."

	"But what about the police?" asked Mike.

	"Who will call them?  The absence of the individual on the floor will be
appreciated by all who knew him.  I doubt that anyone will inquire as to the
reason for it."

	"What about Sebastian?" Malcolm asked.

	"Considering his own activities, he is unlikely to welcome police
scrutiny.  He will prefer to pretend the whole thing never happened.."

	"And the other women he's holding captive?"

	"I will see to them, sir.  Now take the ladies and go before Sebastian
returns.  I would prefer to deal with him without distraction."

	"Yeah," said Mike, "I'd like to deal with him, too."

	"If you please, sir, although my methods are not as drastic as yours,"
he said, glancing sidelong at the former Manfred, "they are quite effective."

	"Gerald, you're amazing," said Malcolm.  "I've said it before."
	
	"As have I, sir."

	Malcolm sat pondering the last few months of his life.  It had been
three months since he and Mike had rescued the girls from Sebastian's farm
(rescued was probably an overstatement-it had been Grace that shot Manfred and
Gerald that had picked up the pieces).  Prior to Manfred, he'd been happy.  He'd
had a nice business doing something he really enjoyed, and it had been on the
verge of making a good living for him.  Of late, his only need for temp work had
been as a source of new customers, but now all that was changed.

	The problem was that he'd lost his enthusiasm for what he did and
enthusiasm was essential to satisfying his customers.  He hadn't recruited any
new customers lately, and contracts from his old ones were on the decline.  The
reason for this, of course, was Amy and Claire.

	They lived with him now.  Neither was yet capable of holding a job and
Malcolm had outfitted a room for each of them in his building.  To economize,
he'd given up his apartment and now lived there full time himself.

	Claire's burns had healed but Claire had not.  She stayed in her room
almost all the time.  She was tended by Amy, who was still suspicious of
Malcolm.  Malcolm had never been able to quite convince her that he hadn't paid
Manfred and Sebastian to train herself and her sister.  Malcolm did in fact feel
some guilt for having indirectly caused their captivity, which Amy picked up on
but misinterpreted as direct responsibility.

	Nevertheless, Amy had been trained and despite, or perhaps because of,
her suspicions, she obeyed Malcolm.  Both women did.

	"Be careful what you ask for," Malcolm thought to himself.  It had been
fun spanking Amy, making her a pony girl, but only because she had had the
ability to refuse.  Now that her will had been suppressed to the point of
annihilation, her obedience had no value.  He had punished her once since her
training, bound and spanked her, but it had been a dreary experience.   Amy had
submitted to restraint, then endured her spanking in silence.  It had left
Malcolm feeling ashamed.  He wondered if Brad had yet tired of Bev's mindless
obedience.

	Malcolm had made one final trip to the Bit and Bridle.  He thought about
taking Amy, but there seemed no point.  All he really wanted there was to see
Gerald and thank him for his assistance.  He had offered Gerald some money in
return for his assistance, but Gerald had informed him that he had already been
compensated.  Malcolm had also inquired as to Sebastian's fate.

	"I sold him," Gerald had replied.

	"What do you mean, 'sold him'?"

	"Just that, sir.  The purchaser and I agreed upon a price whereupon the
transaction was consummated."

	"But...but...so that's what you were talking about when you said you'd
already been compensated."

	"Quite."

	"Gerald, you're amazing."

	"Indeed, sir."

	Amy padded through the room on her way to the kitchen, interrupting
Malcolm's thoughts.  Malcolm snapped his fingers and pointed at his crotch.  Amy
hurried over and busied herself pleasing him.  There were, after all, some
advantages to the current situation.  Nonetheless, if he could go back to the
way things used to be, he would.


Copyright 2003

by Harold

Haroldx@email.com

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