Spontaneous Combustion

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  The faded glory of the season’s beautiful light cast a warm yellow glow about her living room. On the walls there was bright sun and dark shadows where the window blinds reflected the changing light of day. She could feel something magical in the air, some strange mystery written in the atoms of everything.

  There was something hushed and quiet in their mood. Something melancholy, too. Something longing to be expressed.

  “I’ve made reservations for dinner,” he said. “The Tivoli.”

  Her eyes widened in wonder. This was unexpected. One of the trendiest restaurants in town – 21st century elegant: modern design meets crystal chandeliers and a black and white checked marble floor. Not exactly Jack’s down-to-earth style.

  “Nice,” was all she could say.

  “Nice, maybe. I want you slave tonight. My trinket, my slut, my toy to play with for the evening. Nothing more. Understood?”

  “Yes, Master, understood,” she repeated back. Just saying that took her down a notch or two.

  “And just so you’re in the mood…” He turned his back on her, picked up one of his shopping bags, a black one with a bright red handle, and pulled out a whip she hadn’t seen before.

  “New, Sir?”

  “A hundred and eighty dollars new. I like the feel of it in my hand. The handle in my fist.” Jeni stared at that firmly clenched fist in awe of the strength he conveyed. “I like the way it’s braided and how the falls end with these sharp cut pieces of leather.” He held those split leather ends across his open palm so she could see them and shudder. “I imagine I’ll like how it makes you scream.” A sneer on his lips. “How it marks your back. I wasn’t happy with the marks I left when we were at the cottage. The whip I used then was lame compared to this.”

  Panic and desire hit her squarely in the gut as she felt the darkness in his voice. Even his eyes had noticeably darkened. “Oh, but you didn’t see how long those marks lasted,” she jumped in, shivering in fear, wishing he’d just take this new whip back to the store where he bought it.

  “Wasn’t enough,” he assured her with an almost brutal authority behind the comment. “Scared now?”

  She could feel a dark resonating throbbing infect her body like a drug. “Damn right, I’m scared,” she answered. Her eyes were still riveted on the black braided whip that dangled gracefully in his hand. Graceful was so misleading. A whip like this could tear a woman’s bare flesh into shreds.

  “Then you’d better sink down into that pretty subspace you love so much and trust your master. Be afraid, it’s what you love, what turns you on.”

  There was a lot to quarrel with in that statement, but she had to let that go, and answer with a simple, “Yes, Sir.” Damn, he was turning her on.

  “I want you at the far ends of your slavery, slut, all decked out like a prim Pretty Woman, polite and respectable. We’ll both know otherwise.” He smiled devilishly. “Underneath your dress you’re nothing but slave. Marked, tethered and tagged.”

  Marked, tethered and tagged. Shit! There was cum leaking from her pussy. Her breath was short, her heart racing away. She was hotter than she ever expected to be at this point in the evening. He certainly hadn’t lost his magical touch. Where would they go from there?

  Head spinning, mind dazed, she followed Jack through the house, with the new whip left on a living room chair. He carried with him a hammer and a heavy brass hook, as he looked at door frames, studying each one carefully and making plans. She was too stunned to understand right off what he had in mind, although it didn’t take long for her to break free of her bewilderment once Jack was hammering the hook into the framework of the arched doorway leading to her two bedrooms. The perfect spot, even Jeni could see that. The doorway was broad enough for her to dangle suspended in the middle, and still have plenty of space on either side for Jack to move around her, if he so chose.

  “Get your cuffs and put them on.”

  She hesitated a moment then scrambled away, bringing back from her bedroom Jack’s bag of cuffs. The ones for her wrists were on top. Just putting them on took her another rung down the ladder of humility into slave. Her body shuddered from the thrill of it.

  He stood behind her as he raised her arms and attached the rings on her cuffs to the sturdy brass hook. Once again, she dangled before his hungry eyes with her body undulating, and her longing gaze beseeching his attention.

  He was sexy and sensuous, not hard and cold, as he moved his clothed body against her naked one in a seductive dance. Kissing her throat. Blowing in her ears. Nibbling the tender skin at the crook of her neck. His hands were like fire as they roved her flesh, leaving imprints of his vision for her along her skin. He caressed her with a fierceness that moved her, aggressively, tenderly – it didn’t matter how he touched her. Her body was aflame. She felt the heat emanating from his sex, and knew that his cock was growing hard.

  “I’m going to hurt you, Jeni,” he whispered. “Remind you who you are. Take you down. You’re going to love it, slave. Just don’t make me gag you.”

  She was glad that she was tethered to that doorway; by now her legs were weakening. She was shaky and fragile, feeling powerless to keep herself upright on her own. But she wouldn’t slump and she wouldn’t falter. She would hold on; she had that kind of strength even when she’d been taken down so low.

  “And why not gag me?” she wondered aloud, surprised she even had the mind to ask the question.

  “Because, today, I want to know that you’re slave enough to control your cries for me. Because that is what I’ve ordered. Just think of it as me, your Master Jack Hawking being the bastard to his lowly bitch.”

  He squeezed her ass hard this time, though the first rush of pain quickly disappeared into pleasure.

  “In fact, from now until I tell you otherwise, I don’t want you saying a word. Not a single thing. You may gasp. You may quietly cry. Just don’t talk, and don’t scream. Show me that you have at least some restraint.”

  Whew! And he was just getting started…

  Beams of light from the setting sun, all rosy and golden, streaked her with sunlight and nearly blinded her when she looked back to see his face. She sought just a small wrinkle in his hard stance that might suggest something softer in the man emerging through this steely façade. Something in his eyes. Or on his lips. Lips that had just minutes before kissed her so tenderly. But there was little tender about him now; if there was anything she couldn’t see it. Maybe she was just blinded by this incredible sun.

  The sun might mask the tenderness in his eyes, but it couldn’t mask his scent, and how his powerful pheromones were spilling out all around her. The redolence of everything sensuous bathed her now, and she drank in his lust, like she’d drink a glass of dark, earthy cabernet.

  This wouldn’t be pleasant, this wouldn’t be sweet but it would be what they needed. And maybe heal them both after the long drought of the last couple weeks.

  When he stepped back, she heard his boots on her hardwood floor. She loved the sound of them, like she loved the scent of his body and the steel in his eyes.

  When he picked up the whip with the cut red leather ends – red like blood, she thought – her inner body cringed. Then the first snap landed on her back. Sharp and painful. Then the next, on her shoulder. And the next on the other shoulder. The pain reached deep, but she made no sound. She was a good slave, always an obedient slave. Yes, she could stand this. He whipped her slowly, measuring, aiming each strike carefully so it hit exactly where he wanted. She had time to get used to the pain and the pace of it…

  At least until he lashed out with a good half dozen on her ass right in a row, so fast that she seized up, wanting to scream, and hoping the little cry that escaped her lips would be forgiven. Apparently it was because Jack just kept on going, returning to her shoulders for several more snaps of that whip on either side. Marking her. This wasn’t sexy. Did nothing to turn her on more than she already was. But she kept her mouth shut tight – might as well have been gagg
ed – enduring every blasted nasty blow like the trouper she could be. She didn’t like it and for one sliver of a moment, she hated him for taking her far into a pain she could barely handle. But as soon he was done and laid down that fucking red-tipped lash, she felt a spine-tingling fire wake her to the pleasure rushing through her body.

  He was at her back again, releasing her, removing the cuffs, letting her slump against him when she was finally free.

  “See. You can not scream,” he said.

  “It would have been better if I could have screamed,” she said, still dazed.

  “No it wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “You don’t have to agree with me. You just have to obey. Denying you the right to scream turns me on. And since being obedient to me turns you on, I figure we both get what we want.”

  His hands moved over her tenderly again.

  Maybe. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was something about the way that he controlled her orgasm and her cries that made cumming as astonishing as it was. But she was too weary to think about that now.

  He sat her down. Covered her with an afghan. Brought her water. Then he sat next to her and took her hand.

  “Did you cum?” he asked.

  “Oh, heavens no! That was much too crazy painful to get sexy, Sir.” But then she smiled. “But now…?”

  “You look as soft as a sleeping child.” He carefully brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I’m not sorry about that pain, not with the way we’re feeling now.”

  “I did do well, didn’t I?”

  “You did. Proud of you.”

  He so rarely said things like this that she lapped up every word.

  “Think you’re ready for dinner?” he asked.

  She perked up a bit, sat up a little straighter. Took another deep breath. “Yeah, I think so.”

  Jack started to rise, but then sat back down. “Almost forgot.” Fishing through the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a small black organza bag with something shiny inside and handed it to her. “It’s time you were wearing this.”

  Presents. Thrills. Something to get excited about. She smiled as she opened the little black bag and dropped its contents into her hand. She looked down to see resting on her palm a silver disk a little larger than a nickel with an inscription engraved on the front side. She sat back, pleasantly startled. Marked, tethered and tagged, he’d said. Tagged. And this was that tag.

  Property of Jack Hawking

  Master

  Jeni put her hand to her mouth. She honestly didn’t know what to say, and was feeling strangely lightheaded as she gazed at the shiny medallion resting in her palm. So much all at once, and the evening had just begun.

  “Turn it over,” he told her.

  She flipped the disk to the back side, and there, inscribed in a graceful script: slave jeni. She smiled again.

  “To dangle from your clit.”

  The tag, yes! At last – how many emails had it been since this was first mentioned?

  “Of course.”

  “You need a new ring since you lost that bead in Paris. I found a suitable one at a tattoo parlor that should work.” He nodded toward her crotch. “Stand up. Let’s take off the old one.”

  “You need my help?” she asked as she stood before him, although his fingers were already tugging at the ring, unscrewing the bead and slipping it through the piercing.

  “I think I can manage.”

  Apparently, finding the hole was easy enough. With surprising dexterity, he had the new ring and the engraved tag in place with little effort.

  She remembered back – the piercing had been her own idea, one that had been born in her fantasies and had stayed with her until she finally acted on that desire some years ago. The clit ring through that sliver of skin was her sexual statement, a tribute to the dark side within her that she could not deny, avoid or fear. To have Jack’s tag dangling from her clit – well, she really hadn’t any idea exactly what she felt about that or what it might mean. But she was giggling inside, thinking about how much fun this was. Above any deeper meaning, it was an amusing and exuberant moment of delight.

  “I sure didn’t expect this.”

  “I know you didn’t.” It was his turn to smile, for his eyes to light and the weariness she’d felt from him when he first arrived finally vanish. Whatever concerns had settled around their relationship over the previous couple weeks seemed to be disappearing, too.

  “You know what this means?” he asked.

  “That I belong to you – as if there were any doubt that you own me.”

  “That’s right. All mine, slut. Unless there’s some legitimate emergency, you need my permission to take it off. Clear?”

  “Clear, Sir.”

  “I’m sure you want to see it in the mirror. But let’s not take long. It’s time to dress for dinner.”

  ***

  Slave Jeni walked out on her master’s arm feeling as if she’d stepped into a favorite fantasy, though in fact, this fantasy night was straight out of Jack’s imagination. He’d bought her a long-sleeved black dress, which was fashionable and elegant, but there was nothing particularly slutty about it. The hemline was just a couple inches above the knee, and there was a small slit on one side, but the neckline was reasonably demure, not dropping too deeply either front or back. It was designed in a flattering, form-fitting style, though not too tight, just as her imagination pictured when he first mentioned a night out in his emails.

  The Dom steps out of the car holding a leash, on the other end is his sub wearing a gold collar and dressed to kill.

  He also bought her a plain black garter belt – the kind with six sturdy metal garters to hold up the fancy patterned stockings he chose. She added some simple silver jewelry and a pair of black pumps – thankfully not stilettos – her legs were already trembling so much with excited fear that she had to hang onto Jack to keep herself upright. What was so remarkable was how everything he bought fit perfectly – quite a coup for a man who probably hadn’t shopped Macy’s woman’s department in a long while, if he ever had.

  Understated sexy. If that’s the look he was after he hit it right on. But it was not how she appeared to the world that mattered as much to either of them, as what was underneath that dress, and what it said about who they were.

  She’d cut new lengths of black yarn for her nipples, which were tied and tucked into her lacy black bra. She wore no panties. There’d be nothing to obscure the view of her master’s silver tag dangling conspicuously from the clit ring pulled out from between her labia. Just hours before, labia and pussy had been shaved free of pubic hair and were smooth to the touch. Shaving had been a standing order for every time they were together. When she’d shaved herself earlier that day, she thought of Jack, as she always did in those gleeful moments before his arrival. At the time, however, she had no idea how prominently her shaved puss would figure in Jack’s plans.

  The look was stunning, but he wasn’t entirely done. One more thing required.

  Just before they were about to leave the house, Jack suddenly pulled out a mess of straps connecting to a vibrating metal egg. She shrunk back, alarmed.

  “If I could have found an easy way to discreetly attach a leash to your clit ring and lead you around that way, I would have. But this should do to keep you focused on me.”

  As if she wouldn’t already be! What was he thinking?

  By the time he finished getting his new sex toy secured with straps around her waist and thighs, the silver bullet inside her cunt and going nowhere, Jeni was so aroused that her cunt was leaking juice right down her leg. There was some genius behind the toy’s clever design – obviously created by someone for whom the task of tethering a slave in such an intimate way was serious business.

  With the bullet in place, he tested the remote, sending a sudden and riveting vibration through her cunt that traveled everywhere in seconds and then out through her fingers and toes. She seized up instantly, and might have c
um if he’d left it on any longer.

  “You’re fuckin’ serious!” she gasped when he turned the dang thing off.

  “That was the number five setting. I’ll experiment with it through the evening, decide which setting I prefer.” Oh, his grin was evil! As was the laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll start out a little easier next time.”

  “And when would that be?” she asked.

  “You really are naïve, slave. You think I’d announce my plans to you?”

  “No, of course, you wouldn’t. How silly of me.” She dropped down deeper into her slave space, took a breath, and walked out on his arm.

  As he helped her into his Wrangler in gentlemanly fashion, she gazed at Jack wonderingly; he was looking pretty damn handsome, in grey slacks, blue stripped shirt and navy jacket. No tie. How her master dressed that night gave her another way to view him, and she liked what she saw. She was just the trinket on his arm. What a titillating idea.

  The evening was an incredible blur. It seemed that her five senses were in competition to see which one would take her mind and body away into the sensuous pleasure.

  The Tivoli glowed warmly, just like her house had all afternoon. Bluesy, sexy music filled the room at every corner; while the aroma of food, of baking bread, garlic, basil, rosemary and oregano, slipped into her senses, the way her muses do when they’re lighting up her body as she writes porn. But this was living her kink, far from fantasy and the written word, for hardly a word needed to be said. They spoke a lot through their eyes and how he held her hand. He had some uncanny way of claiming her fiercely with that heavy hand on hers. He controlled her without saying very much at all. The man was her mystery. He certainly didn’t need the vibrating egg to keep her thinking slavish thoughts. But now he had that, too, though at least at the start of the evening, he didn’t use it at all – to the point that she wondered if he ever would.

  Jack ordered her food – she’d hardly paid attention when he did – probably too busy looking into his eyes to hear what he said. When the bowl of seafood risotto appeared in front of her, it was a happy surprise, though she felt uneasy eating it without having his permission – apparently some internal slave sensibility had been instilled in her with each new twist in her master’s plan. If he wanted her to be the slave, this was what she’d do. He had already started on his steak, and seeing that she hadn’t picked up her fork, he gave her a studied look, and smiled.