Title: The Keyholder
Author: Claire Thompson
Genre: BDSM Erotic Romance
Release Date: May 22, 2015
Eva Sandler’s dream job as a house submissive at Hawthorne Dungeon becomes a seven-week nightmare of intense captivity at the hands of a dangerous Master Keyholder. Though forced to submit to the cruel taskmaster’s every erotic whim, Eva’s inner spark of survival burns hot. She will escape, whatever the cost.
Long-time Dom Jack McQuade aches for a loving D/s connection like that shared by his friends, Nora and Charles. When Nora finds desperate clues left by someone held prisoner in Hawthorne Dungeon, it leads them all to a harrowing discovery and introduces Jack to Eva’s stunning courage and determination.
Jack and Eva’s possible D/s relationship should be perfect, but when Jack holds back because of Eva’s previous experience—fearing he’s pushing her too far, too fast—it will take every bit of Eva’s spirit to show the Dom that his sub is much stronger than he ever realized.
A powerful story of passion, betrayal, erotic submission, but most of all—love.
“Go upstairs and prepare yourself,” he said, his words
sending shiver of delicious anticipation through Nora’s psyche. “We will join
you momentarily.”
“Yes, Sir.” Nora left the two men and flew up both flights
of stairs to the second floor. She walked quickly down the hallway toward the
harem room. It looked different during the day, with sunlight streaming in
through the high windows. The floor was white marble shot with gold, several
well-worn but fine oriental carpets placed about the open space. Large, plump
throw pillows were set strategically near silk-upholstered antique sofas and
chairs.
In a place of honor in the center of the room hung a wooden
pillory, suspended on either side by thick iron chains. Nora had spent many a
delicious hour with her head and wrists locked between the wooden slats, her
perfect Master subjecting her to erotic torture and sensual play that never
failed to leave her thoroughly and properly used, and utterly sated.
Nora quickly shed her coat and street clothes, which
consisted of a blouse and simple skirt—she never wore pants or underwear, since
it pleased Charles, and her, to know she was always accessible to him. Stepping
out of her shoes, she collected her things and folded them neatly. She moved
quickly to the wardrobe and opened her special drawer. She slipped into a satin
bodice, positioning the stiff stays beneath her breasts and pulling the laced
sash tight. Her breasts were clearly visible through the sheer fabric, her
pierced nipples already jutting in anticipation.
Next she pulled on the matching crotchless pantaloons, tying
the satin bows at her thighs to properly expose her smooth, shaven pussy for
her Master and his guest. She glanced down at the small diamond sparkling at
her bellybutton and flexed her flat, strong stomach muscles in anticipation.
Finally, she slipped the dozens of thin gold bangles that completed her outfit
over both wrists.
She heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then the
men coming down the hall, their voices a soft, masculine murmur. She hurried
into position, kneeling on a cushion near the door, arms behind her head, back
straight, heart thumping in anticipation.
“Very nice,” Jack murmured as the two Doms entered the room.
“You’re a lucky man, Charles.”
“Don’t I know it,” Charles said with feeling, his words
sending a rush of warmth through Nora’s loins. “Nora is my true love. I may own
her body and her obedience, but she owns my heart.”
“I can see you’re still a hopeless romantic,” Jack said with
a smile.
“And you remain a hopeful one, am I right?” Charles shot
back.
A look of longing flashed over Jack’s features, quickly
replaced by an impish grin. “Hey, Nora, do you have a sister?”
“Lots of sister subs, Sir,” she replied with a smile.
“Matchmaking later,” Charles interrupted with a laugh. “I
want Nora to dance for us.” He moved to the glass breakfront that housed the
sound system. The room filled with the soft, haunting sound of exotic Eastern
musical instruments that wove together a complex, sensual rhythm. Nora rose to
her feet in a single fluid, much-practiced motion.
The men sat on the large red sofa. Nora looked from Charles,
who smiled encouragingly at her, to Jack, who was eyeing her with a frank and
appraising eye, the swell in his jeans testament to his appreciation. For a
moment she felt self-conscious, half-naked as she was in front of a man who,
though he was staying with them temporarily until he found a place of his own,
was basically a stranger.
Her eyes moved back to Charles and, as she let herself fall
into his dark, commanding gaze, the nervousness fell away like a discarded
shell. She let the music move around and through her, allowing its mesmerizing
rhythms to command her body. Nora’s body became an extension of her soul as she
let the music and the dance claim her.
Charles scooted forward on the sofa, gesturing for her to
come closer. He placed his hand on her bare mons as she swayed before him. He
pressed his fingers into her wetness and an involuntary shudder moved through
her. He moved his fingers sensually inside her, the flat of his palm rubbing
against her erect clit.
“She’s extremely orgasmic,” Nora’s Dom calmly informed his
friend, who was watching intently. “She can come on command, isn’t that right,
my sweet slut?”
A rush of heat moved its way through her body, splashing
onto her cheeks—part embarrassment in front of Jack, but mostly pure, molten
lust. “Yes, Sir,” she answered, her voice hoarse.
“Spread your legs wider. Offer your cunt.” Charles rubbed
harder, the friction perfect. Nora moaned.
“I didn’t tell you to stop dancing,” Charles said softly,
though with undeniable command. “Use your torso and arms. Stay focused on the
music.”
Nora nodded, a stab of shame moving through her at his
reprimand. She knew better. She had forgotten herself because Jack was there.
She executed an upper-body shimmy, moving her arms in graceful waves that made
her gold bangles slide in tandem along either arm. Charles continued to stroke
and tease her now-sopping, throbbing pussy, each perfect thrust of his fingers
making it that much harder to concentrate.
Finally it became too much. She was seconds away from an
orgasm she couldn’t control or postpone. Sweat had beaded on her upper lip and
at the small of her back and her entire body was trembling. Please, she begged silently, let me come, Sir. Let me come!
Her beloved heard her silent plea. “Come for us, sub girl.
Now,” he instructed, his palm grinding in perfect rhythm to the hypnotic music.
Nora let the last vestige of tremulous control go with a cry
of relief. The climax shot through her like a rocket exploding from deep
inside, its sparks igniting every bit of her from her toes to her scalp. She
nearly fell over, held up only by Charles’ firm hand still cupping her sex,
several of his fingers still buried inside her.
Finally he pulled his hand away and held out his arms. Nora
fell gratefully into them. Her husband held her tight until her trembling
subsided and her heart slowed its pounding. She must have zoned out for a
moment or two, because she only heard the last part of his sentence, “…was something else, didn’t I?”
“You did, and I repeat,” Jack replied. “You are a lucky man.
I can’t wait to learn more about this place firsthand. Where do I sign up?”
~*~
Eva lifted her head sharply at the sound of tiny skittering
feet behind the wall. She must have dozed off for a few minutes. She wriggled
her fingers. They weren’t numb—that was good. He hadn’t bound her wrists as
tightly this time. Her legs hadn’t fared as well. They felt numb from knee to
ankle, but that was better than the stabbing pain of the raw rice he’d made her
kneel on last time. That had been worse than a whipping. Fortunately, she’d
managed to be a good girl since then, and he hadn’t found the need to punish
her.
She lifted her shoulder in a partially successful effort to
scratch the tip of her nose. Her scalp tickled and she did her best to ignore
it. Her bladder felt full, painfully full. Don’t
think about it. Don’t focus on it. She was getting much better at holding
it in. She hated kneeling on wet newspaper, hated the pungent smell of stale
urine, hated the humiliation when he entered the small room, his icy blue eyes
gleaming with a combination of malicious pleasure and fury. She hated the inevitable
punishment that followed.
Her gaze shot to the door as she heard the scraping click of
a key in the lock. The door opened and Master Phillip appeared. She looked down
quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, his most recent admonishment still
stinging on the backs of her thighs from her last disrespectful act of failing
to keep her eyes properly downcast.
Though she knew it made no sense, she still found it hard to
reconcile his angelic good looks with such an evil heart. He looked like an ad
for fine cologne, all golden perfection and masculine beauty from his wavy
blond hair and brilliant blue eyes down to his perfectly sculptured physique.
But she’d learned all too well what cruelty lay behind the beautiful features.
“I would have been up to check on you much sooner,” he said
as he approached her. “Some unexpected guests.” The thought of other people
somewhere in the house made Eva nearly sick with longing. Somehow—somehow she
had to get out of this room! But how? He always left her bound in some way,
even if just tethered to her bed. Though he no longer gagged her, she couldn’t
risk calling out when she was alone, not daring to risk his wrath. But the
thought, the realization there were others in the house, others who had no
earthly idea she was imprisoned in this attic room, subject to this monster’s
every sadistic whim—it was almost worse than being completely alone.
A heavenly scent of fresh coffee and warm, yeasty cinnamon
bread assailed her nostrils, jumpstarting her cramped, empty stomach. Oh, let it be for me. Let it be for me!
Please, please, please. She clamped her mouth shut, realizing with dismay
she’d made a small, involuntary mewling sound. Had he heard it? Would it count
against her? Would he turn around and leave, taking the promise of sustenance
with him? She blinked back tears.
Show me your
submissive grace, slave. Strive for serenity in the face of suffering. Back
straight, cunt offered, breasts thrust proudly forward. You belong to Master
Phillip. You exist to serve and please him. Remember that, and he will reward
you. Forget it and you will suffer.
These words had been drummed repeatedly into her head over
the past days—weeks—months? How long had she been held in this small,
windowless room by this monster? It was terrifying to realize she had no idea.
Time had ceased to have meaning in a linear sense. Her life was marked only by
when he entered and when he left. When she would be permitted to eat, to drink,
to use the bathroom, to sleep. When he would beat her, when he would make her
come—the forced orgasms sometimes wrenched from her until she passed out. And
those occasional moments of kindness, of gentleness, that were almost more
terrifying than the abuse, because she had come to treasure them so, to long
for them, to almost feel a certain pathetic, twisted connection to the Master
who controlled her world.
The sound of his boots moving over the floor recalled her to
herself and she arched her back, spreading her knees wider and trying to thrust
her hips forward as best she could in her kneeling position. Keeping her eyes
down, she lifted her chin as he’d taught her to signify her slavish pride. She
almost shook back her hair—the habit still there, though the hair was not. All
that was left was the prickly fuzz of new growth.
How she had cried when he cut it off, her tears partly for
the loss of what she had always considered her best feature—thick, shiny blond
hair tumbling in a cascade of gold down her back—and partly because he’d been
so uncharacteristically gentle and kind as he’d done it, explaining it was
necessary to help her get in touch with the essence of her submission. He had
to break through the arrogance of vanity, he’d said. It was essential to tear
her down, to reduce her to nothing, in order to build her back into something
worthy of his training and care.
Master Phillip crouched
in front of her. The heady aroma of the coffee and buttery cinnamon nearly
undid her, and she bit down on her lower lip, so hard the metallic taste of
blood seeped onto her tongue. She could see the small tray he had placed on the
ground between them. Beside a mug of coffee was a breakfast roll sticky with
plump, sugared raisins and swirls of cinnamon. A dollop of melting butter had
been pushed into its center.
A gush of saliva pooled in
her mouth. Her stomach growled audibly. Oh god, would he punish her for that?
She flinched as he raised
his hand toward her face. But he didn’t slap her. Instead, he caressed her
cheek, his touch gentle, even sensual. “You please me.”
Claire has been writing for nearly two decades, and has published over 70 novels. She writes BDSM romance and non-con abduction tales, spanning both m/f and m/m genres. Claire’s love affair is with all things D/s (Dominance/submission). Her work began as a romantic exploration of the BDSM life style, and then veered to the darker side of fantasy. She is fascinated with the dark psyche of a twisted mind, and seeks insight into what might motivate such a person to do what they do. Rather than the all-evil villain and heroes as pure as the driven snow, Claire strives to develop real, complex and flawed human beings.
She seeks not only to tell a story, but to come to grips with, and ultimately exalt in the true beauty and spirituality of a loving exchange of power. Her darker works press the envelope of what is erotic and what can be a sometimes dangerous slide into the world of sadomasochism. Ultimately her work deals with the human condition, and our constant search for love and intensity of experience.
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