by Rachel Green
“None at all. He always satisfied his clients.” She flicked up her turquoise eyelids. “Professionally, I mean. I’ve already said there was no sex between the staff and the guests. There were those guests who wanted more, naturally, but he was a stickler for the no sex rule.”
“That makes sense if he was gay, particularly with the female clients.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What about when he was off duty? Did he see any of your clients then?”
“If he did it was without my knowledge. He signed a contract with me forbidding him to poach. Other than that, what he did off duty and off the premises was no concern of mine.”
“Even if he was having sex with them?”
“Especially then. Deniable culpability, you see?” She straightened. “Let’s go to my office, shall we? I don’t feel comfortable talking in here.”
“I thought it was soundproofed?”
“It is but still...” Rebecca took a deep breath. “I don’t feel right talking about such awful things in a place of positive mental energy.”
“That sounds odd, referring to a dungeon as a place of positive energy.”
“Does it?” She stalked toward the door, obviously expecting Meinwen to follow. “Remember, everyone who enters the dungeon does so willingly, master and submissive, dominant and slave. Despite the pain inflicted, there is pleasure on both sides of the whip.”
“I suppose so. I’ve never really looked at it like that.”
“You should.” She stood to one side as Meinwen left the room, turning off the lights and closing the door. “It’s like ancient monuments, Stonehenge and the like. They always feel peaceful, don’t they?”
“Of course.”
“But think how much blood they’ve seen. Compare my dungeon to your average police cell and you can see how positive they are.” She turned the key and gave the door a pat. “You can keep your churches and your synagogues. This is where I come if I want to be at peace.”
“I should take your advice and build a dungeon of my own.” Meinwen followed the smaller woman back to the reception desk, then into an office behind. It was as different from the dungeon as it was possible to imagine. White walls and clear lines, a window overlooking the back yard and a range of monitors covering the hotel. The desk looked to be straight out of an office supplies catalog, with a leather office chair behind it and a plain wooden one in front. The only concession to luxury was an antique wingback seat and round coffee table next to the window.
Rebecca sat at her desk and gestured for Meinwen to sit in the wooden chair. “Where were we?”
“John Fenstone shagging clients in his own time.”
“Yes, of course. As I say, I know nothing about that. If he was, he was doing a decent job of it. They kept coming back.”
“All of them? He didn’t poach any of them permanently?”
“I don’t think so. There was the usual amount of wastage. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Wastage?”
“Clients who stop coming. Clients who fail to turn up for their bookings.” She shrugged. “It’s pretty common. They get cold feet. A guilty conscience. Their wife finds out.”
“No one springs to mind with regard to John?”
“Not really.” She turned on her computer screen and began to navigate her system. Meinwen caught a flash of the green baize of solitaire as she minimized it. “Where are we? September? Two no-shows. That was pretty normal.”
“How much did he make?” Meinwen reached in to her bag. “I have his little book of income here.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “Do you indeed? Let’s compare the records you have to the records on here. Give me a month.”
Meinwen flipped through the pages to the month before Jon’s death. “August, week nineteen. John made seven hundred here.”
Rebecca opened the relevant tab. “No, he made three that week. Two hours on Wednesday and one on Saturday. He was booked for Sunday but canceled, look.” She pointed to a block that had been shaded out.
“He might have taken your client privately.”
“He’s a little sod if he did.” Her finger whitened on the mouse. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself.” She leaned back in her chair. “I take it John was the motive for your visit all along. Are you even in the scene?”
“Yes. No.” Meinwen bit her lip. “What I said about Robert Markhew and Richard Godwin was true, though I’ve pretty much kept myself to myself since. At least until Dafydd showed signs of wanting that kind of relationship with me.” It was only a partial lie. Dafydd did want a relationship with her, just not a kinky one. His idea of kinky was spray-on chocolate sauce. She raised her eyebrows and leaned closer. “Truth be told, although I wanted to speak to you about John Fenstone, I took the opportunity of coming here to get a few tips on being a dominant. I didn’t think I had it in me.”
“I see, and you think pulling the wool–” She gave a tight smile. “Leather hood over my eyes was the best way to approach the situation?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it like that. I’m sorry.”
“So why should I give you this information? What have you got to do with any of this? Are you the police?”
“Me? Good gracious no, though anything I discover I will turn over to them.” Meinwen smiled, reaching over to lightly touch her arm. “I really am a friend of John’s brother. He wanted to know what happened. It was him who asked me for help.”
“As I said earlier, I wasn’t even aware John had a brother. He never mentioned him.”
“Jimmy was in prison for a while. A bit misguided, but all right when you get to know him.”
“A villain with a heart of gold?” Rebecca snorted and reached in her top draw. “Isn’t that one of the great modern clichés?”
“I suppose so. I trust him though.”
“But we’ve established your credentials as a liar.” She drew out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, then crossed to the window to open it. “Do you smoke?”
“No.” Meinwen put her hand up, palm outward. “No thank you.”
“Good for you, unless you’re lying about that too.” She lit a cigarette and leaned out of the window.
“Should you be smoking? This is a workplace, after all.”
“Yes. Technically I’m breaking the law by smoking indoors at a workplace.” She blew smoke into the damp air. “Call the police if you like. I’m sure they’d like to hear our conversation.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Meinwen stood. “I’ll tell them anything I discover about John’s murder, but I don’t need to mention minor affairs that don’t hurt anybody.”
“Like telling me you were here with their full knowledge and cooperation?” Rebecca snorted. “Do me a favor. What are you really here for? Money? You can’t blackmail me. I stay exactly on the right side of the law. The line may wobble one way or the other on occasion but I pride myself in never crossing it. I’ve invested too much in this business to see it topple to a loophole in the law.”
“Honestly, I’m looking into John’s death. That’s the absolute truth.” Meinwen crossed over to the bank of cameras. Did any of them record John with an angry client? “Do you keep the tapes for these?”
Rebecca blew smoke out of the window before she glanced her way. “For a year. It’s all digital. We pay an off-base firm a monthly fee for back up and storage. It streams continually to their servers.”
“Does it cover every room?” Meinwen spotted a sticker on one corner of the monitor and made a mental note of the service number. She had a nagging feeling she recognized it.
“No. Only the lobby, staircases, dungeon and playrooms. Mostly it’s there to monitor for antisocial behavior, fires, that sort of thing but we track the playroom scenes in case of lawsuits. We had someone claim they were physically harmed once and we were able to prove the marks on her back and shoulders weren’t received here. It turned out she’d done them herself and tried to sue us to pa
y for her cosmetic surgery.”
“I see.” Meinwen played with the controls. “Is it possible to go back over John’s sessions? Perhaps there’s a clue to his killer there.”
“I can’t let you look at footage of our clients. It would be an invasion of their privacy and a breach of the data protection act.”
“The police would be able to get a warrant for it.”
“Then let them.” She stubbed out her cigarette and took out a piece of gum, using the foil wrapper to wrap the cigarette butt and dispose of it in the bin. She crossed the room, reaching across Meinwen to turn the monitors off. “If they produce a warrant, it clears me of breaching data protection. I can give them the tapes, but not you.”
“I see. Very wise, I suppose.” Meinwen turned and leaned against the bank of monitors. “Still, it galls me to know the answer could be right there, just waiting to be spotted.”
Rebecca’s phone rang. “You’ll have to remain galled.” She answered the ring. “Shadow.” She listened for a few seconds before responding. “We’re in my office. Down in a moment.” She terminated the call and smiled at Meinwen “This should take the edge off your frustration. Your pony’s ready.”
“Really?” Meinwen pushed herself off from the monitor desk and went to follow Rebecca, but the smaller woman stood to one side, waiting for Meinwen to precede her.
They went back down the stairs to the stable yard where Rebecca put a hand on Meinwen’s arm to stop her going any further. “Charlotte?”
The stable woman, Meinwen supposed she’d be called the groom in this situation, led Dafydd out by a pair of reins attached to a metal bit in his mouth.
“Wow.” Meinwen stepped forward. The bit, coated in rubber lest the steel chip Dafydd’s teeth, was attached to a leather halter over the Welshman’s cheeks and jawline, a separate strap connecting each to another terminating on the bridge of his nose. The whole assembly was fastened with buckles at the back of his head and finished off with blinkers for his eyes and a pair of perky horse ears made of leather.
His chest was similarly covered in straps that bisected around his penis and joined again to run up the crack of his bum. His cock was sheathed in a leather modesty cup and a long horsehair tail jutted at a jaunty angle from a modest butt plug. His hands were fastened behind his back, another loop of leather around his biceps forcing his chest to jut out. His calves and feet were encased in soft leather boots fashioned to look like hooves. It was hard to tell his expression with the bridle and blinkers but at least he wasn’t grimacing. She took that as a good sign. He looked marvelous in the outfit. All the strength and power of a virile man but harnessed to her every whim and desire. She couldn’t help wondering how Jimmy would look in the same outfit. Dafydd had a few extra pounds from driving a van all day. Jimmy was as lean as a whippet.
“Don’t they hurt his feet?” She marveled at their small size. Dafydd was standing on tiptoe, the heels of the boots unsupported to give the appearance of hocks.
“It takes a little getting used to but well worth the effort.” Rebecca nodded to Charlotte, who handed the reins to Meinwen. “Take him around the yard, see how you both feel about it.”
“He’s got rubber hooves.” Charlotte moved to stand next to Rebecca. “They’re better to practice with as they’re less liable to slip.”
“Thank you.” Meinwen reached out a hand. “Hello, Dafydd.”
“Sausage, remember?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Meinwen pulled down Dafydd’s head to kiss his nose. “Hello, Sausage. Are you going to be my pony forever and ever?” She felt the blood rush to her cunt. Such power she had over him at this moment. He would do anything she wanted. She began to lead him around the yard. It felt odd to be in the position of mistress to a pony, however reluctant Dafydd was to play the role. She’d have to confess later she’d got nothing useful out of Rebecca anyway, other than confirm her suspicions. Still, the sun was shining, or at least it wasn’t raining, she could smell the sweat and sex surrounding Dafydd and she was playing the part of Mistress rather nicely. It was good of Dafydd to indulge her.
Wait. Sweat and sex? She looked down at his bulging modesty pouch.
Charlotte came up to them and held a sugar lump on her open palm. Sausage lowered his head to take it with his lips. She leaned in to whisper in Meinwen’s ear. “You might like to take him into stable three for a little while. There’s fresh hay and blankets.”
Chapter 17
In the relative privacy of the stable, Meinwen undid the buckle holding Dafydd’s modesty pouch, allowing his cock to spring free like a jack-in-the-box on Viagra. He was so erect it was almost flat against his stomach, though the steel, three ring cock torture device might have had something to do with that.
She bent to lick the salty pre-cum from the head, running her tongue down the raphe, the ridge on the underside of the shaft. Dafydd let out a slight whine and she straightened, amused to see his eyes closed as he fought for control, biting down on the rubber-coated bit. “Are we a little bit excited?” She ran her tongue over his lips, giving him a taste of his own salt through the metal bit.
She licked her own lips and took a step back to look at him. It was a distinct pleasure to see him trussed up with leather straps, teetering on tiptoe in his hoof boots with his arms bound behind his back. At least with him like this she could take her time and move things along at her own pace. She lifted her skirt to thrust one hand down her knickers, almost surprised at how wet she was. She curved her fingers, slipping two inside herself, crushing her clitoris under the ridge of her palm and barely touching her g-spot with the very tips of her fingers before she gushed like a tap, soaking the back of her skirt when it dripped through her knickers.
As the moment passed, she half opened her eyes to see her pony watching. “You like that, do you? You like to see your mistress taking such pleasure at the sight of you?” She backed up another pace and hitched herself up on a convenient shelf running the width of the stable. “Well, come here, then.”
She reached out to snag his reins, pulling his head down to the level of her cunt and rubbing herself against his face, pressing her clitoris against the tip of his nose with the soft, damp cotton of her knickers between them. She brought herself to orgasm again, holding this halter in both hands to crush his face into her, feeling his teeth slide over her pubic bone.
Dropping the few inches to the floor, she turned around, dropping her knickers entirely and lifting her skirt to expose her bottom. She leaned forward, raising her cunt to the level of his groin then reaching through her legs to slip off his modesty pouch and guide his cock inside her. He didn’t last long. A few thrusts was enough to make him stiffen as he fought to control himself, then buck his hips as he filled her with cum. She ground herself against him, using the edge of the shelf to bring her own orgasm shortly after his.
Spent, he slipped out of her, his semen making a warm trail down her leg. She turned around, folding her arms around his waist, feeling his arms laced into the torso straps. The curve of his tail brushed her fingers. “Do you like having a tail?” She applied pressure on the tip of the butt plug and his tumescent cock jerked and became just a shade more erect. “You do, don’t you? We’ll have to see about getting one for home wear.”
She looked over his shoulder. She couldn’t see the camera, but she knew it was there from the angle she’d seen on the monitors in Rebecca’s office. She blew a kiss. Perhaps Rebecca would trust her a little more, now she’d performed for the small screen.
Chapter 18
It was an hour later when Meinwen and Dafydd pulled onto the gravel drive of The Larches and parked behind the late Robert Markhew’s Jaguar. She could almost believe it was just as he’d parked it and the old man was still alive but the tires were new, the tax disc current and the paintwork had been recently washed. Very recently, to judge from the soapsuds soaking into the gravel.
Meinwen got out of the ice-cream van and approached the Jaguar. Why wash the car on the morn
ing of the master’s death? With the top down, she could also see the dashboard had been polished and the leather cleaned. A very professional job, too. No mud in the wings or on the tires. She didn’t need powder to guess there would be no fingerprints on the steering wheel, either.
“Nice car.” Dafydd locked up the van and sauntered over, his stance wide. Poor man. She had left him quite sore.
“Yes. Nice cleaning job done on it, too.”
“It’s good a car like this is taken care of.” He ran a finger along the line of the rear wing. “Worth a bob or two.”
“At least.” Meinwen slapped his hand away. “The late Bob Markhew for one.”
“Ah. So whose is it now? The lads? The one who got st–”
“Shh! We don’t know anything, remember?” Meinwen rapped on the door and plastered on a cheerful smile. Dafydd stood behind her still admiring the vintage Jaguar.
It took several minutes for the door to open, but when it did it was by a red-eyed Jennifer in her maid uniform. “Meinwen?” She looked behind her, as if there was someone watching. “What are you doing here?”
“I have an appointment with Richard at eleven? You made it for me.”
“Yes, but...” She stepped outside and pulled the front door almost shut behind her. “You haven’t heard?”
Meinwen glanced at Dafydd, more to make sure he was keeping quiet about their knowledge of Richard. She needn’t have worried. He was as impassive as coal. “Heard what?”
Jennifer looked from Meinwen to Dafydd and back. “He’s dead. Murdered, the mistress says. Stabbed so many times he was like a red rag.” She sniffed and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her pinny to dab her eyes and wipe her nose.
“Who’s dead?” Meinwen made a great show of pretending not to know, clutching the arm of her old friend like she was still in the school play at Aberdovey. “Who’s been stabbed?”
“The master.” Jennifer’s face creased as her tears began to pour. “Sometime last night, they say.”