The Keyholder by Claire Thompson

pure molten lust. He would take her through the stages of pleasure: mounting pain, resistance, begging protest, acceptance and finally her full embrace of the experience as her spirit soared free.
    When he finally claimed her with his cock, she would come almost immediately, and then again, and again, and again, until she lost all track of time, space or sense of herself outside the realm of their lovemaking.
    To distract herself from coming while on Charles’ lap, Nora had focused on the scene in front of her. Harry was completely absorbed, his face creased with concentration as he caned his sub, skillfully adjusting his position and wrist motion to change the intensity and target of each strike. Jack, on the other hand, while also skillful and attentive, had seemed to Nora to lack the passion, if that was the right word, for what he was doing. It was as if his body and his mind were engaged, but not his heart.
    He’s lonely , Nora thought, not for the first time, as she finished her shower and reached for a towel. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find plenty of submissives more than willing to scene with him. That had been abundantly clear by the attention he got when they took him to local clubs. Jack was handsome, confident without being arrogant, and also a really nice guy. But Nora understood he wanted more than just a scene partner.
    Jack, like Charles, was deeply romantic. His nomadic lifestyle up until now and the sacrifices he’d made for his art had left him alone, and lonely. He’d jokingly asked Nora several times if she had a sister or a clone, but beneath the teasing, she understood he was longing for the closeness and connection she shared with Charles. If only she knew someone to introduce him to, someone available, emotionally healthy, and worthy of a wonderful guy like Jack.
    As Nora walked from the shower room into the lounge area to dress, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end. Though the room was empty, she felt a presence. Confused, she stood with the towel wrapped around her and tried to focus on what she was feeling. She closed her eyes, quieting her mind and stilling her thoughts so she could capture and harness the energy that lingered in the room like a fading mist.
    She moved closer to the marble counter that contained two sinks set against a mirrored wall, and the feelings pulsing through her intensified. She felt desperation and longing and just beneath it an urgency that wouldn’t be ignored.
    Her eye fell on the soap dish that sat on the countertop between the sinks. The soap was resting at an odd angle on its dish. Not sure what motivated her, but following her gut, Nora reached for the soap. The feeling of urgency intensified. Holding her breath, Nora peered at the soap as though the answer might be divined from the object.
    She stared down at faint marks traced raggedly into the bar. She pushed through her shock to focus on what the marks could mean. “Oh my god,” she whispered. The marks weren’t random scratches. She could make out words.
     
    Pls help me. Held in att
     
    What was att ? The last t of the word had an odd tail to it, as if the person writing it had been suddenly startled, and had stopped what they were doing.
    Was it a joke? Even as she forced herself to ask the question, Nora knew this was no joke. The energy in the room was too strong to be contrived. Someone was in trouble. Someone was being held against their will, and they were in this house—she was suddenly sure of it.
    The attic.
    That was the word the person hadn’t been able to complete.
    Phillip .
    The moment the name slithered like a snake into her mind, her heart knew the truth. Her skin crawling, her heart slamming in her chest, Nora threw on her clothes and ran from the room to find Charles and Jack, the coded bar of soap clutched tightly in her hand.
     

Chapter 8
     
    “Nora, what is it! What’s wrong?” Charles leaped from the sofa where he and Jack had been chatting while