The Keyholder (5 page)

He slipped the cold metal collar over her head, which tightened around her neck as he gave the leash a perfunctory pull. He let the lead dangle between her breasts as he crouched in front of her. He wrapped a cuff around each ankle and stood. He slipped the grip of the leash over his wrist and said, “Your first trip out. Are you excited, slave girl?”

“Yes, Sir,” Eva answered truthfully. Aside from the terror and outrage of being held captive in one small room for so long, there was the mind-numbing boredom. She had nothing to do—no electronics, no books, no phone, nothing. She couldn’t even see out of the high, corner window—the sole source of sunlight in the room.

When she wasn’t bound, she did try to exercise, but she was often too sore, tired or hungry to do much more than walk aimlessly around the small space. To get out, even if it was only to perform slave duties for just a little while, would be worth so much.

She moved hesitantly out of the room, the length of chain long enough to allow her to walk, though it hobbled her movements. She waited while Master Phillip lowered the trapdoor, watching as the portable stairs unfolded until the last step nearly touched the ground below.

She took his offered hand as he helped her almost solicitously down the steps, facing her as he led the way. Once they were both down, Eva stood in a kind of daze while Master Phillip folded the stairs and pushed the trap door upward, releasing the spring that held it in an open position.

The air in the third floor hallway smelled so fresh and clean, a painful reminder of the hellhole in which she was normally confined. A hot, white heat seared suddenly inside her chest, taking her breath away with its force. She thought she might be having a heart attack. It took a moment to identify the feeling.

It was rage.

Push it down,
Eva sternly admonished herself.
There’s no place for emotion right now. You’re in the hall! You’re going downstairs! Don’t do anything to stop that from happening.
She closed her eyes, recalling Master Phillip’s mantra, and taking from it what she could use.
Strive for serenity in the face of suffering. You exist to serve and please him. Remember that, and he will reward you. Forget it and you will suffer.

Eva followed him haltingly on the leash down the narrow, thinly carpeted stairs that led to the second floor, the chain between her legs clanking against the steps. He led her a few feet down the hallway, stopping at what appeared to be a small utility closet. Leaning in, he pulled out something and set it on the ground in front of Eva.

It was a pair of shiny red stiletto heels. “You will wear these while you perform your duties.” Master Phillip gestured toward the shoes. “Go on. Put them on. They’re your size.”

Her size. And he would know, because he’d had her strip as part of the submissive-for-hire interview process, and she’d never seen her clothing again. He’d complimented her on her apparent ease with her body, noting it was an essential requirement of the job.

She’d been so excited at the time—the offered hourly wage fully five times what she was presently earning through the temp agency she’d signed up with when coming to the city. What a fabulous gig, or so she’d thought, to be paid very well indeed to engage in her passion with serious, dedicated members of the BDSM community. She would be able to play with ease and safety in those fabulous dungeons she’d toured, and get paid in the process. How thrilled she’d been when he’d called her back after the initial interview, telling her she’d made it to the second level—her references, experience and “submissive bent” as he had put it, making her an excellent candidate for hire.

How much of it, she now wondered, and not for the first time, was in fact due to her foolishly confiding that she was new to the city, single and living alone in a furnished studio apartment she’d only been renting for a few weeks? How he must have rubbed his filthy, criminal hands together when she admitted she had no ties and no family to speak of, save for her estranged father who lived in California, and a sister who was presently in the Peace Corps overseas.

The shoes fit, though the heels were at least two inches higher than she was used to wearing. Master Phillip looked her over, his eyes gliding from her feet to her head and back again. He nodded in apparent satisfaction, and then turned back to the closet, from which he extracted a bucket containing various sprays, brushes and sponges. He handed the bucket to Eva.

It was surprisingly heavy, at least it seemed so in her weakened state. She stared down at the contents, briefly considering if there was anything there she could use as a weapon. Her contemplation was interrupted as he jerked the leash, yanking her forward.

Her effort to walk in the heels was not improved by the hobble chain, and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing. Master Phillip looked back and snapped, “Watch your step. Shoulders back, remember your posture. It’s a privilege to wear those shoes. Don’t make me regret allowing you out.”

“No, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir!” she cried. “I will do better, Sir. I promise.” She moved toward him, shoulders back, stepping carefully in the heels and chains. She was determined not to screw up this respite from the attic, however short- lived it might be.

They entered the main dungeon, the room where she’d foolishly allowed him to cuff her, ostensibly as part of a demonstration of her ease with bondage. He’d caught her in a chokehold, a knife suddenly at her throat as he informed her she’d been “chosen” to become his personal slave.

“Provided you behave,” he said now, “you will be responsible for keeping the dungeons and bathrooms spotless. I can save a pretty penny using you instead of the cleaning crew that comes in here now, not to mention it gives us more privacy.”

Eva couldn’t stop the small shudder of disgust that moved through her at his statement, as if she had any desire whatsoever for privacy with this bastard. Fortunately, Master Phillip didn’t seem to notice her slip, and she struggled to keep her expression blank as he continued, “I will inspect your work and reward or punish accordingly. We’ll start with—”

He stopped suddenly, whipping his head toward the open door. A fist clutched around Eva’s heart at the distant but audible sound of a heavy knocker against wood.

“Shit,” Master Phillip cursed, fury mottling his features. “Good thing I put the fucking bolt on. Why do those jerks keep showing up without clearing it with me?”

Eva could barely breathe. There was someone down there! Someone just on the other side of the front door! Did she dare to scream? Her mouth had opened of its own accord, but before she could react, Phillip grabbed the leash and jerked her roughly from the room. Eva stumbled forward in her effort to keep from being choked.

“Move it,” he snarled urgently, dragging her toward the attic. “Take off the fucking shoes.” He kicked sharply at her ankle. Eva struggled to obey, pushing the shoes from her feet without the benefit of her hands.

The knocking grew more persistent. “Coming!” Master Phillip shouted. “I’ll be right down!”

Eva whimpered as he hauled her roughly up the stairs, her ankles still hobbled by the chain. He pushed her ahead of him and thrust her into the tiny attic room. As he always did when someone was in the house, he quickly cuffed her arms behind her back and shoved the nasty rubber ball gag between her teeth, buckling it tightly behind her head.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door and turning the lock. Eva stood for a long moment, too stunned to move, defeat at her missed opportunity weighing her down like a stone. Finally she slid slowly to the floor, dropped her head to her chest, and sobbed.

“It was unanimous.” Harry lifted his mug of beer in a congratulatory salute and Jack smiled. It was going to be interesting to scene with Harry. Though Jack had casually checked out some of the local BDSM clubs since arriving in the city, he was more than ready to take his place as a keyholder at Hawthorne Dungeon.

Harry and he had agreed to meet at a small local pub nearby before heading over to break in two of the three submissives Phillip had hired. Harry had been telling Jack about the member dinner that had been held at a favorite restaurant the week before, at which they’d discussed Jack’s application for membership. “Charles and Nora gave you glowing reviews regarding character and suitability, and Jessica and I were able to add our two cents since we got to meet you at the sub interviews.”

“Well, I’m delighted to be an official keyholder,” Jack said, clinking his mug against Harry’s.

Harry drank deeply from his beer and set the empty mug down on the table. He lifted his finger toward a waitress, who nodded and smiled. She looked inquiringly at Jack, who put his hand over his still half-full mug and shook his head.

Harry continued, “From what I’ve seen, it’s the subs who tend to have reservations about the guy. I’ve never had a problem with him, but then”—Harry laughed—“I’m not very observant when it comes to guys. Especially when there are sexy sub girls in the room. Speaking of which”—he rubbed his hands together in an exaggerated way—“I can’t
wait
to get my hands on those two girls this evening.”

Jack laughed. Harry regarded him a moment and asked, “What about you, Jack? I know you’re experienced in the scene. You’re single, right? No wife or girlfriend waiting in the wings we haven’t heard about?”

Jack shook his head. “Nope. I never married either. I guess I’ve been so busy with my career and travel that I never found the time to settle down or meet that one special person. But now that I’ve taken a teaching position at the university, I think I’m ready to put down some roots. I’d love to find a woman to share my life with.”

Harry laughed. “Why limit yourself to just one?” He waved his hand expansively around the room. “You’re still young. You’re what, thirty-three, thirty-four?”

“Just turned thirty-four,” Jack corroborated with a nod.

“Still a kid,” Harry laughed. “There’s a whole delicious world of delectable sub girls out there.” He shook his head with mock sorrow. “So many sub girls, so little time.”

Jack grinned. “If you know so many sub girls, no offense, why are you paying for the girls tonight?”

“No strings,” Harry replied promptly. “Sometimes it’s nice to keep things simple, ya know? You scene, you get off, you go home. End of story. Nobody in your bed in the morning who doesn’t look nearly as hot in the daylight as she did when your dick was hard and you had a whip in your hand.” He took another swig of his beer and set the mug down with a thunk. “What about you? Have you used subs for hire before?”

“This’ll be my first time to actually pay someone. If it wasn’t being offered through Hawthorne Dungeon, no way would I even consider it,” Jack admitted. “I’ve been in a few D/s relationships when I’ve lived in a city long enough to make connections. Even when traveling extensively, I’d play with women I met at the clubs. When I lived in Amsterdam, I got pretty involved at a particular club. I even did some training while I was there, which I found to be very rewarding, as far as it went, but nothing romantic came out of it, at least nothing that lasted. I wasn’t ready yet back then, I guess.”

Jack took another sip of his beer, continuing, “Since I got to New York, I’ve been with Charles and Nora to a couple of the clubs, but I haven’t played with anyone.” He shrugged philosophically. “I’ve been kind of preoccupied for the past few months—busy with getting my studio and living space renovated, and gearing up to teach graduate seminars. I’m more than ready to get back into the swing. I figured a controlled scene like this would be a good way to kind of ease myself back into things.”

Harry nodded. “Makes sense. Charles and Nora are great, don’t get me wrong, but I know what a drag it can be when you’re the third wheel. If you want, I’d be happy to take you to some of the lesser-known, more exclusive underground BDSM clubs. I have an in because of my Shibari work. You’re a good-looking guy. If you’re any good with a whip, trust me, you’ll have ‘em lining up around the block to scene with you.”

Jack laughed. He didn’t want them lining up. Just one girl—the right girl—was all he really wanted. Now he just had to find her. Meanwhile, tonight, he reassured himself, would be an adventure. It would be fun.

The waitress brought Harry a fresh beer. They talked for a while about what they both envisioned for the upcoming scene, finished their beers, paid the tab, and walked the three blocks from the pub to the brownstone.

Jack, who wasn’t yet sure of protocol, was glad Phillip Duncan didn’t appear when they entered the front hall. “As long as you have an appointment, Phillip will make himself scarce,” Harry explained when Jack mentioned his absence. “It’s when you just show up that the guy tends to kind of flip out.” He grinned and shrugged. “We had to read the guy the riot act, though, when he pulled that stunt the other day, bolting the door like he did. The dude needs to remember we’re keyholders, not guests. That means we have a key. We enter at will, not when it suits the caretaker.”‘

“I heard about that,” Jack said. “Strange guy.”

“Just a little too big for his britches. I think his official title of Master Keyholder has gone to his head or something. But he got the message all right,” Harry said. “He was very apologetic. Promised it wouldn’t happen again.” Harry shrugged. “In all fairness, George was almost too relaxed. He didn’t do a very good job of keeping track of who came and went. At least with Phillip running things, there’s never a fear you’re going to walk in on someone else’s scene, which used to happen a little too often, to tell you the truth.”

Harry glanced at his watch. “Two minutes to eight. They better not be late. We’ll have to punish them,” he said with a gleeful grin.

Jack peered out the front door, which, in spite of the cool autumn air, they’d left ajar as they waited. “I think I see them.” He opened the door wider and Harry looked out too. “That cab there. Isn’t that them?”

Harry nodded. “Dibs on the blonde,” he said, rubbing his hands together. They watched as the subs climbed the steps to the front door, their high heels clicking against the stone as they walked. They were both smiling nervously as Harry gestured them inside.