Free The Keyholder by Claire Thompson

bastard.
    “Oh, yes , Sir,” she managed, putting every bit of sincerity and coquettishness she had left into the words. “Thank you, Master.”
    “Well, you’ve earned your shower. There’s just a few little matters to attend to first.”
    Standing, he flipped off the vibrator and yanked the dildo from her body. “This will hurt, slave Eva. Do you know why you have to suffer?”
    “Because I’m your worthless cunt, Sir. Because it pleases you to make me suffer, Sir.”
    “That’s right, slave. Now take what you deserve.”
    Eva stiffened, determined to bear it, determined to stay silent. The clamps were released from both labia at once. She bit her lower lip so hard she tasted the blood on her tongue, but she hadn’t made a sound.
    When the clamp came off her clit, the pain exploded like fireworks inside her brain.
    Eva screamed.
     

Chapter 7
     
    Jack loved the squish of wet clay slicking beneath his fingers. It was at once primitive, raw and sensual. The piece he was working on had been inspired by his recent experiences as a keyholder, and he was eager to put his vision into physical form.
    When he was working, time lost its meaning, and all that mattered was working the clay. The process was intensely physical—shaping and digging into surfaces with his fingers and palms, teasing, striking, slamming and coaxing the clay. His touch lightened as the soul of the piece began to emerge, caressing each curve with the focus and obsession of a lover.
    While he would be forever in Charles and Nora’s debt for their unstinting hospitality over the past month, it was fantastic to finally be in his own space, able once more to lose himself in his art, stopping only when physical need forced his attention elsewhere.
    He became vaguely aware of a sound—something musical and insistent, but it fell away as he focused on the curve of a thigh. A thumping sound pulled at his attention once more, and this time he lifted his head, his concentration at last shattered by the noise.
    Someone was knocking, quite loudly and insistently. Wiping his clay-smeared hands on his smock, Jack covered his work and hurried across the large loft space, moving from the studio portion to the living area. “Coming!” he yelled.
    He looked through the peephole and saw Charles’ face looming, fishlike, in his line of vision. Shit, was it that late already?
    Jack pulled open the door.
    “There you are,” Charles cried, reaching out to clap Jack on the shoulder. “We were about to give up. Did you forget?” Charles carried a bottle of champagne in his hand. Nora and Harry Fuentes stood just behind him, both holding white boxes, Harry’s a pizza box, Nora’s something from a bakery, tied with string.
    “Oh, man, I’m really sorry,” Jack said, stepping back and gesturing for them to enter. “I didn’t—”
    “You didn’t realize how late it was, I know, I know,” Charles interrupted with a laugh. Turning to Nora and Harry, he added, “I told you he was in there. He used to do this back in college, too. When Jack’s creating, the world just falls away.” Facing Jack, he said, “I bet you forgot to eat today, too, am I right?”
    As if on cue, Jack’s stomach rumbled audibly, and they all laughed, Jack included.
    “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “That pizza smells fantastic. Come in.”
    “Chocolate éclairs, too,” Nora said, holding up the box.
    Jack grinned. Nora had learned while hosting him what a sweet tooth Jack harbored, one she shared. “Yum. There’re plates and stuff in the kitchen. I don’t have champagne flutes, but I do have wine glasses.” He waved toward the small galley kitchen that occupied a corner of the loft.
    “Wow, Jack, it turned out even better than I imagined,” Nora said, turning slowly as she took in the finished space. “I bet the light is incredible during the day. All those windows!”
    Jack nodded happily. “It’s exactly what I wanted. I get sunlight from all sides, depending