Part 2. The Bit and Bridle.


	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 you 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.