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Spontaneous Combustion



Spontaneous Combustion by Lizbeth Dusseau
A Master slave Romance. The story of Jack and Jeni begins with a chance meeting on the Internet, and an easy exchange of emails. However, from the moment the conversation begins, something almost monumental stirs inside of Jeni. Her libido is all fired up ” what she’s not felt since she put her love life on hold following the tragic loss of her husband. She and Jack share their darkest secrets, pictures of their kink toys, and discuss the terms of the relationship they desire ” as if this could actually happen.
One night, in the wake of a savage thunderstorm, Jeni awakens, driven to her computer with a graphic tale of a Masterful man and a surrendering female being bound to a tree, whipped, sexually used, and ultimately loved. She sends the piece to Jack and the next morning, he calls. He’s no longer the mild-mannered man she’s spoken to before, but the Master ” her Master by the sound of it. She’s shaken and aroused as he rattles off his first instructions. It’s clear he’s taken charge of her ” maybe just fantasy, maybe real, but her body instantly responds.
When they move into real time, Jeni’s stunned by the Jack’s uncanny knowledge of her. She’s breaking rules and crossing sexual barriers she once thought set in stone. But is she ready to be, not a sub, but Jack’s sex slave? She needs to decide, because that’s where the affair is headed.
But all is not perfect in real time. Soon enough, the two crash land in midst of the messy reality of their other lives. And they have their hesitations, too. Both have been wounded by love. Neither wants to be hurt again. Can they navigate the murky waters of life and still maintain the kinky vision that brought them together? Can a relationship based on fantasy turn into Love? For a Masterful man and a surrendering female coming together in the middle years of their lives, the answer isn’t easy.
The story moves from one sizzling scene to the next as it weaves a tale of love, loss and finding intimacy again. Includes hot Master slave sex, a slave night out on the town, a private exhibition before Jack’s friends, as well as collars, whips, chains and floggers, steamy hot S&M sex, all you would expect of a BDSM romance.

Weight 0.99 lbs
Artist Credit

Cover Image Igor Borodin,

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“You need some regular ‘cuff time’. In the evening when you’re alone, I want you to wear your wrist and ankle cuffs for a couple hours, if that works out with your schedule. Be sure to wear them as you’re up and about the house, not just sitting in your chair, watching TV. Get used to their weight and what they mean. You’ll let me know how they feel.

Enough for now.

The only thing I regret is not having the chance to see that mark on your ass. Slaves need to be marked from time to time. I’ll be doing it again soon. Good night, slave. Master”


Jeni thought about ‘cuff time’ all day – at the office, in the break room, during the drive home – ‘cuff time’ rarely far away. Thinking of the cuffs made it difficult to concentrate on work, though work got done in fits and starts, and moments of wild inspiration. Was there any piece of her life that Jack did not influence?

She went for the cuffs as soon as she arrived home that evening. Like the nipple ties that she tied to the little buds faithfully each morning, putting on the cuffs was an act of service, loyalty and obedience. She certainly didn’t need them to remind her of Jack; he was constantly with her.

That night, and every night that week, as she crossed through her front door, she immediately headed for her bedroom and his bag of kinky toys. He liked her naked, so she stripped away her clothes before the cuffs went on; and because she’d stored the dog collar in the same bag, she put that on as well. By that time of day, the nipple ties were loose, so she re-tied them, imaging that she was standing before Jack with his eyes fixed on her chest, the erect nipples, the snug collar and the rattling cuffs.

She obeyed his orders because this was what her master wanted, because it turned her on, because the act paid homage to a deep-seated place in her psyche that had been calling out to her forever. Maybe in another lifetime she’d been a devoted slave. Maybe. But this was present time. Once the symbols of her submission were in place, she looked in the full length mirror on her closet, and stared at the image of submissive female staring back at her. At first glance, she stepped back, shocked by the woman in the mirror. The collar, the cuffs, the nipples ties stood out like blinking neon, attracting the focus of her eyes. She felt as self conscious as she would have been if he’d been in the room watching the transformation. From working woman to slave. Her sexual body quickened instantly. Jack’s idea of slave had become her new identity.

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.



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