White Lies (22 page)

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 morning 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.”

Meinwen pulled her in close and held her while Jennifer’s heavy sobs racked her frame, rocking her gently and stroking the back of her head. Dafydd stood to one side, looking at everything but the two women.

“There, there.” Meinwen shushed her friend. “Calm down. Have the police been called?”

“The police?” Jennifer raised her head from Meinwen’s chest. “It was them that told us he was dead. He wasn’t killed here, if that’s what you mean.”

“I see. Sorry.” Meinwen plucked the cloth from Jennifer’s hands and proceeded to dab at the maid’s eyes, cleaning away the debris of her crying. “Where then? Have the police got any clues?”

“Some, yes. They said they had several lines of inquiry.”

“That means they haven’t any suspects yet.”

“Oh they should. They really should.” Jennifer gripped Meinwen’s arm. “You should investigate this murder.”

“I can’t. It’s a police matter. I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“I’m sure they’d be only too pleased to have your help.” Jennifer let go to wipe at her eyes, a smile breaking through the tears. “Do come in. Mistress will be so pleased to know you’re on the case.”

“Well...” Meinwen looked over her shoulder at Dafydd, who remained unusually silent. “It would be an opportunity to give my condolences to Catherine.”

“Catherine?” Jennifer shook her head. “Not Catherine. She left. A couple of years ago.”

“But she and Richard were married.”

“Not proper married they weren’t. Not in the eyes of God and all. I know you give credence to all gods and faiths and whatnot, Meinwen but a registry office is no more a basis for a committed marriage than jumping over a broom, begging your pardon. Catherine upped and left within the year taking the money with her. She was nothing but a gold digger that one, despite all her airs and graces. Richard should have listened to the Mistress at the time. She knew her maidservants from her serving girls.”

“But...” Meinwen shook her head. “I don’t understand. Who is the mistress here, then?”

“Joan. Your remember, Robert’s sister-in-law.”

“I remember her very well. She didn’t like me very much.” Her heart sank. She wouldn’t get very far with a cantankerous older woman she’d once accused of stealing Robert’s silver. She’d been right, but that hadn’t made Joan any more pliable.

“She’s lovely once you get to know her. Let me show you into the parlor and tell her you’re here. She’ll be so pleased.” Jennifer went back into the house, opening the front door for the couple and closing it behind them. The house was unusually quiet for the number of people who worked there.

“This way.” Jennifer led them into the sitting room. It hadn’t changed at all since Meinwen has last visited. Three twin settees were grouped around a glass-topped coffee table, the fourth side occupied by a fireplace. Doorways led to the hall and the dining room and a window overlooked the front drive. An oak sideboard displayed Doulton figurines and a crystal tantalizer. “Who shall I say is calling?”

“What? Oh, this is Dafydd Thomas, a friend of mine from ’Dovey.”

“Okay, and are you still Jones?”

“Of course I am. As you pointed out, it’s not likely I’ll have got married since we last spoke, is it?”

“Sorry. I had to check. I can’t afford to give Mistress the wrong names, can I?”

“I suppose not.”

“Do make yourselves at home.” She moved a pace or two into the dining room and called out. “Susan? We have guests. I’m sure a pot of tea would be welcome.”

“Coming up.”

“Right. Susan will make you some tea while I go and inform Mistress you’re here.”

“Wait a moment, Jennifer. Who else lives here, then? How many moved on?”

“Well you’re bound to get fluctuations, of course, in a place like this. You can be sure of one thing in a poly household and that’s change.” She smiled at the contradiction. “Most of the people you know are still here. Amanda moved on after she’d recovered from her operation and we’ve had several girls come and go.”

“No men?”

Jennifer’s face clouded. “One. He fit in very well, or so we thought. He committed suicide a couple of weeks ago.”

“John...” Meinwen pretended to trawl through her memory. “Fenstone? I saw something about it in the
Times
. He lived here, did he?”

“He didn’t live in, no, but he was a lovely man. Always had a smile on his face. You would never have guessed he was unhappy. Anyway, time to gossip later. I’ll run up to Mistress.”