Spontaneous Combustion

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  She’d never pictured herself this way. If it had been up to her, she would have added a corset, maybe a garter belt and heels, or a lacy bra. Something to soften the severe look of the collar and cuffs, something more like the sexy tramp she was inside her fantasies. There was nothing pretty or fancy about how she looked; the woman before her was glaringly slavish but imperfect to her eye. She saw every physical flaw with some chagrin. The years aren’t always kind. Of course, she wouldn’t be perfect. Bodies change. A woman doesn’t reach her years without a wrinkle here or a sag there. She was toned, her body fit and that would have to good enough.

  Though she couldn’t help wonder if she was beautiful to Jack this way? Did he see her flaws or did the symbols of her submission make her beautiful in his eyes? And was it beauty he saw? Or sexy? Desirable? Fucking hot? What word would he use?

  Dammit! She wished she could climb inside his thoughts, poke around a bit and see what was there. Maybe there were no thoughts. Maybe he thought with his dick – and as long as it was jumping to life again, he was happy and she was perfect in his eyes.

  Did he realize what wearing his cuffs in the evening was doing to her libido, her psyche, her peace of mind? Probably not. But then, men don’t obsess on these things the way women do.

  You’ll let me know how they feel, she remembered him saying.

  Other than feeling embarrassingly self conscious as she stared at herself in the mirror, her body heat took a flying leap forward. But the feeling wasn’t just arousal. The vision of herself as a submissive woman was rapidly shifting. He’d transformed her. The feeling of surrender she loved so dearly deepened as she replaced the self-made image she had held in her mind with Jack’s image of slave. A new reality had set in.

  As soon as she opened to the experience that first night in his cuffs, the flood of rising passion carried her to bed, where she lay down and began to play with her pussy. It did not take long. She pressed her fingers to her favorite place, that heated place to the left of her clitoris. The bud was already hard and throbbing. Her cunt warm and liquid. She was so wet that there was little traction, but that didn’t matter. The need pressed on, driving the movement of her fingers in a frenzied masturbation until her clit finally spasmed hard against her hand. Her whole pussy seemed to seize up for a moment, while a swampy mess of sex juice poured out over her fingers, and she moaned in satisfaction.

  She was out of breath when the spasms subsided, and remained on the bed for a time with her crotch still rocking against her fingers until she relaxed at last.

  In the quiet aftermath, she remembered the desperate moments of getting off, thinking how there was something especially pleasing about the way leather and metal clanked as her fingers worked so hard. The memory brought her back to Jack. She imagined that the man would be in the middle of every sexual act whether he was there to witness it or not.

  Her mind could have spun all night long, but she needed it to rest. She needed sleep, and her mind to end its meandering monologue.

  Moving off the bed, she threw on pajama pants and a tee shirt then headed to her computer. For the next hour her mind vented every feeling and thought, until there was nothing else left to say. She read through the Word doc she entitled ‘Shackles and Cuffs’ doing a slapdash job of editing, until it was good enough. Then she opened her email:

  “Good evening, Sir,

  I’m still in my cuffs as I write…” she hesitated to mention the collar since that had not been part of his orders. “You have no idea how much your demand of me got under my skin tonight when I put them on. Magic, I think, or something very much like it. Maybe I really am made for this. I only wish you’d been here to put them on.”

  There was so much more she could have said – but then that was the point of the meandering discourse she attached to the email.

  “You wanted me to report how I felt wearing your cuffs…well, here’s the answer to your question, feelings, thoughts and other significant (or not so significant) ramblings. Not sure what else to say though I look forward to your response.

  slave”

  Shackles and Cuffs…

  I never thought much about shackles, though I’ve always loved that word – shackles. Better than ‘cuffs’ which doesn’t have that Old World feeling about it that shackles do. There’s something romantic in that word that makes me think of them fondly – reason unknown. And yet, it’s not the word I’ll use today when talking about my recent experience with my master. While shackles sound romantic, cuffs is a no-nonsense kind of word. And since he’s a no nonsense kind of master, I’ll call them cuffs for now.

  The name doesn’t matter, it’s what he does with them that counts.

  When he first talked about putting me in cuffs, I worried that my thin wrists would slip through the bands, as they often do with most wrist restraints. He was unfazed by my concern, and I soon saw why. He already had the issue covered; these cuffs were adjustable and could fit tightly around my small wrists with no room left to slip my hands from their confining grasp. How clever of him to understand the versatility of his choice when he ordered them – must have been years ago.

  He’s a practical man, cuffs for any occasion, any slave. And now me, like I’m another in a long line of submissive females taken in by his unique authoritative charm.

  Let me not forget to mention the ankle cuffs of the same design as those for my wrists, these just slightly larger. I feel doubly bound with hands and feet both locked in leather. The minute I put them on, I become aware how fully tethered I could be were I to be lashed to a tree, tethered to a cross or laid out on a bed with my body spread wide, and every part of me vulnerable to the master’s plans. I’ve never wanted this. Oh, maybe in a fantasy or two or three, perhaps. But those fantasies took place in real dungeons, with dark lords, despicable brutes masquerading as country gentlemen, or urban financial warriors with enough cash to have women panting, ready to be their sexy chattel when they take a break from work and need a place to slake their pent-up lust.

  But never in a real time, real life sexual relationship with a man on top and me, a lifestyle submissive below, has this cuffed and shackled reality been something that particularly turned me on. It’s never been part of my kinky DNA. At least that’s what I thought not more than a few months ago.

  Now’s different. Now cuffs are part of my reality, a permanent fixture in the master’s bag of tricks. I’ve had to reconsider a lot of pet beliefs about myself since being introduced to this man.

  I’ve been turned into a play toy, my body naked – yes, of course, I’m naked. Is there anything other than a naked slave? Shackled, fettered, retrained, restricted, any of the adjectives will do since all of them take me down a rung to something elemental inside myself. A place behind a door, a secret passageway, a realm so obscure in me that until this master entered my life, I never knew it existed. I’m dizzy with the splendid truth that there are still mysterious places left in me to explore.

  The experience is more than I expected. The locks clatter when I move, and the weight of them is not something that I can dismiss. The look of them, the feel, the sound, the smell of them, takes me into an altered state of arousal without his saying a word.

  Once fitted properly, their noisy clatter works on my mind with every rash or subtle movement, with every jiggle, with every time a heavy lock hits hard against my flesh. Heat rises inside my crotch. Desire creeps into me from every angle.

  I never imagined myself shackled for sex, that something so uniquely in tune with the strange set of sexual practices that, in general, I embrace, would become a regular routine with me. I always figured that cuffs were the province of those lifestylers more driven by the symbols of their kink than I have been. Never seemed all that important to me. And yet, I know that when our first sex date was over, and I had his permission to remove the cuffs, my mind instantly rebelled. I didn’t want them gone; and for several seconds, I couldn’t fathom what my life would be like without them, their smell, the
feel, the heavy, awkward weight. Damn! It is uncanny what they do to me!

  In his absence tonight, I took them out of hiding according to his orders, gently fondled the stiff leather and the hardness of the steel. I drank in the pungent aroma that I love then listened as the metal clattered when I put them on. The memories of our first hours together ran through my brain, all sexually charged. They collided inside my sex where it was wet, hot, wanting. I know he’s preparing me for this next arrival, when I imagine that the sex will once again stir up more unrestrained passion. Ah, but there’s a method in this master’s madness. I know that when I put them on, I’ll feel as I did that first time, and as I did tonight, that I have arrived in the place where I belong.

  Oh! Why do I make so much of them? I shake my head in wonder. They’re just a toy… END

  ***

  Jeni repeated the cuff ritual for the next several nights. Once she got home from work, she removed her clothes, secured the nipple ties, buckled the collar around her throat, then locked the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. As she’d done before, she looked in the mirror for a reminder of what all this ritual meant and who it was meant for. It was Jack’s orders she obeyed. If putting on the cuffs and wearing them were intended to put her in the proper slave space, the ritual worked every time. The only modification in her plans was how soon she was driven to the bedroom to masturbate. Every night she managed to hold off a little longer. She even liked making herself wait, for the sexual energy to build inside her until she was, as on that first night, literally driven to the bedroom, her bed, her fast working fingers, and the explosion that ended with a stupefying climax and emotional release.

  The ritual always seemed to take a flying leap as soon as she thought of her master standing over her and observing the routine. What had the man done to her!?

  Whatever it was, she loved it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Read Shackles and Cuffs for a second time. Whew! I’m hard again. Just a toy, huh? I’ll be at your house Sunday noon. Be wearing the cuffs and training collar when I arrive. Master”

  He moved into her house like a conquering hero staking his claim. Her simple shift dress was whisked away in seconds so she wore nothing but cuffs, collar and nipple ties. She was down between his legs sucking his hard erection before a minute had passed. The first whiff of his scent had her pussy wet and throbbing. She wanted his hands on her, working the same magic that they did the week before. Jack was even firmer with her this time, grabbing her hair in his hand and shoving his cock into her mouth, holding her there until she simply had to break away to catch her breath. She dove in for more once she took that deep breath. When he finally had enough sucking to alleviate the worst of his physical need – for the time being – he sat back on her living room couch with Jeni on her knees before him. She hadn’t moved an inch from where her knees landed when he initially pushed her down. Her face was flushed, her heart beating fast. What a start to their afternoon! He hadn’t cum and neither had she – though Jeni felt a steady stream of spasms lighting up her body the entire time her mouth worked his cock.

  “If we’re going to make Master/slave work there are a few things I need to make clear,” he told her as she stared into his cool expression.

  So direct, focused and thoroughly serious; nothing like he’d been in the park, or even the week before. His intensity made her nervous, but she lapped up every word he spoke as if she were starving for his curt authority, and the unvarnished truth about what he needed. She wanted it straightforward and unambiguous. When he was finished, she wanted to understand exactly what it meant to be his slave.

  Her body shook so much he was sure to notice how she trembled, though he made no mention of it. He continued to hold her captive with the same focused gaze, which was so arousing that she could feel her orgasm beginning to fire off inside without having touched herself. She gazed longingly at his crotch, wishing he would just fill her full of cock and fuck her.

  The fact that she was on her knees before him, so humbly posed and so fraught with trepidation, was amazing in itself. Such a departure from the old Jeni. But this was where she wanted to be, on her knees, selfless and ready to be used – used like property.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that you are a slave,” Jack repeated his claim from the week before. “That’s not because of me or anything I’ve told you. You are a slave. I think you know that now or are at least getting used to the fact. You disagree?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Very good.” He studied her face, her naked body, the cuffs and collar, her breasts and the black yarn tied neatly into bows around each erect nipple. Every second of this painstaking scrutiny was fraught with expectation and wonder. His steady gaze humbled her. It seemed to strip away her identity as anything but slave. Ego fled, and with it went all the questions about their relationship that had been rattling around in her mind. Nothing mattered at the moment but the reality of that steady gaze, and her surrender.

  “I’m not going to be a difficult Dom. I don’t have a lot of rules. We’ve pretty much covered how I want you to look and act when you’re with me. I only demand of you one thing. Your unquestioned obedience.”

  A flutter of fear passed through her body at the mention of obedience.

  Though he gave no outward sign of it, he seemed to feel that fear.

  “Is that a problem for you?”

  “I told you how I hesitated in the past. I don’t want that to happen now, but I honestly don’t know how it will be with you. So much has changed…” she could have gone on.

  But he interrupted, “Well, for one, I’m not your past. I don’t care what happened then. This is you and me, here, now, in the present. You’ve told me you were obedient. From what I saw last week, I have to agree. You did everything I asked without a second of hesitation. Am I wrong?”

  “No, Sir. I was a little reluctant a couple times.”

  “Well, I didn’t see it.”

  “I wanted to please you, so I put my reservations aside.”

  “That’s exactly what a good slave does. I expect nothing less.”

  “But if I do have some issue?” She squirmed, feeling uncomfortable just mentioning her concerns. The whole scene was bizarre on many levels, beginning with how a mature, professional woman with a strong sense of self could find herself on her knees before a man pledging her unquestioned obedience. Yet, there she was, proof that this relationship didn’t need to be rational or prudent or follow some arcane formula.

  “If you have an issue, then you let me know. We discuss it.”

  “And if I’m disobedient? What happens then?”

  “You take the punishment until you get the lesson.” The gravity in his voice was enough to have her shuddering again. Reluctance, hesitation, rebellion were states of mind familiar to her…always bringing her back to punishment – the word that always tripped some erotic switch deep within her.

  “But I don’t take pleasure in punishing my slave,” he went on. “If it becomes necessary, I prefer the closet to the cane. I’m a gentle and caring master as you know, so let’s put punishment on the back shelf – though not out of reach.” He smiled a little wickedly. “No sparing the cane and spoiling the slave.”

  “No, Sir.” He almost made her laugh.

  “Do you trust me?” He became serious again.

  “Yes I do.”

  “Good.” He nodded, his eyes still fixed on her. “As a slave you do as you’re told. You may bitch or complain, but you will do as you’re told. There should be no situations that make you balk or hesitate. You are my slave. Rebellion will be met with—” He suddenly stopped. She waited with bated breath for him to finish the thought. But he’d changed his mind. “Let’s not go there. You will not be disobeying me.”

  This was the second time in a matter of minutes that he avoided addressing punishment in any specific detail. He was so certain of her obedience. She still had her doubts given her previous experience, but she wasn’t about
to question him further.

  Punishment. It was part of her kink, the way a master handled an unruly slave. That’s how problems were solved in their world. But now he’d virtually taken punishment off the table. He had his own ideas about their relationship. He was in charge, they’d play by his rules. She had to toss aside her idea of what this D/s relationship would look like, and live with the unknown, with the mystery, with not always knowing what awaited her. This was entirely new territory. She’d once thought she knew all there was to know about the BDSM world and her place within it, but Jack shattered that illusion.

  “I have no intention of disobeying you, Sir,” she declared with as much conviction as she could muster.

  He nodded again. “That’s what I expect from you and what I want to hear. So, now to you. This is a reciprocal relationship. I told you what I expect from my slave, now you tell me what you need in a master.”

  “Oh, wow…” She couldn’t even think at the moment, let alone address a question as serious as that one. “I guess I’m not ready with an answer.”

  “That’s fine. You think about it, Jeni. I’ll be asking again because your answer is important to me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You said you have dildos?”

  The abrupt switch in topic made her laugh. “Yes, of course I do. Several in fact.”

  “Go get them, and bring along the ping pong paddle and the wooden ruler I saw in your toy bag.

  The shift in the conversation had her almost salivating at what it suggested, but she was also scared. A paddle, wooden ruler, dildos? A dangerous combination – could be heaven on earth, or one nasty hell.

  Jeni rose from her knees and fled to the bedroom for her bag of sex toys. Once she found the items he required, she returned to the living room, only to see Jack’s leather belt resting at his side, not around his waist. She shivered and stopped in her tracks. Recalling the smooth brown leather clutched in his fist the last time they were together, her bottom began to burn in anticipation of that first biting whack.