Spontaneous Combustion Read online

  Spontaneous Combustion

  An Erotic Novel

  by Lizbeth Dusseau

  ISBN: 978-1-938897-60-3

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2014, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Email Comments: [email protected]

  Cover Art ©Igor Borodin, Shutterstock.com

  Dedication

  To the man who inspired this sexy, lust-filled ride,

  whose words are woven throughout this narrative,

  whose fantasies became my fantasies,

  who brought the spark back into my life.

  My heartfelt thanks for giving me a chance

  to feel the magic once again.

  Spontaneous Combustion

  Part One

  Spontaneous Combustion

  Eleven o’clock, I’m ready for bed. It’s been raining all day and there’s another storm passing through…thunder, lightning, driving rain. Suddenly the tornado siren in town is going off, and the ‘take cover’ announcement interrupts my TV show. I grab a flashlight, just in case, and fly down to the basement to wait…

  Wait

  Wait

  Wait until the siren dies and I tiptoe back upstairs.

  Nothing is damaged, nothing undone.

  As I slip off to bed in an attempt to sleep I hear another storm coming through, though this one won’t be as severe as the last my local weatherman assures me. And yet…left in the wake of that last furious frenzy, my muse strikes like a thunderbolt. Here’s what poured out…

  I want you to tie me to a tree,

  thrust me against an old tree stump,

  order me over a table, over the end of the bed.

  After yanking down my pants, you draw your leather belt from your jeans …

  Doubling it in your fist you begin to flail it against my ass…

  Hard

  Fast

  Until white turns crimson, until my ass is scorched and

  I’m groaning deeply, crying out for mercy

  Ah! But mercy will wait until later…

  Until you’ve dropped your belt, unzipped your jeans

  Until you’ve rammed your way home inside my cunt

  Hard

  Fast

  I explode and you explode

  almost belligerent but strangely beautiful

  like the storm that just passed through on its way to elsewhere

  Before you’re done with me you have me in your bed again

  Hard

  Fast

  Inside my ass this time, driving through like a man possessed

  I explode and you explode again

  And then…

  When the fury dies you hold me, you kiss my lips and run your hands

  over my sweaty skin.

  Hurts are healed, a day’s worth of trouble forgotten

  Worry quits its anxious grip

  and wounds bound up with tenderness are carried away by love

  In the long twilight thereafter, we stretch out in each other’s arms

  Later in the evening, I sit at your feet and rest my head against your knee.

  Prologue

  The fury of inspiration left her sweating in bed, words spinning inside her head, tie me to a tree, thrust me against an old tree stump…the wellspring from which all the rest flowed free, arriving with the first bolt of lightning, disappearing with the last rumble of thunder as the storm moved out. She tried to remember the gist of it, grabbing words out of the ethers like a child grabbing for lightning bugs on a summer evening and shoving them into a mayonnaise jar for safe keeping. The light went on in her bedroom as she reached for her metaphorical mayonnaise jar – her journal – and began to jot down the substance of her scattered thoughts in a rushed, chaotic scrawl. There was little but a disordered array of word pictures when she finally turned out the light. But she needed sleep. Even if it was just a few hours, her psyche needed rest and, more importantly, some distance from the tumultuous meeting of storm and muse.

  Six am in the morning, she awoke again, driven to the computer before the sun rose, before thoughts lost their urgency and passion died.

  Oh, but passion was going nowhere that morning but into keystrokes and the frenzied minutes when the words spilled from muse to computer in one singular burst of inspiration, the first of many such spontaneous combustions she would experience in the weeks ahead.

  She dashed to her blog and posted the piece before she lost her nerve. And with the same rash of thrill and fear, she sent a link to knighthawk925:

  PLEASE READ THIS FIRST she wrote in the subject line. In the body of the email…

  “…I woke early, driven to my computer. Doesn’t happen very often (in fact, I can’t even remember the last time it did) but I’m not entirely surprised. Oh hell, I’m not surprised at all. May sound a bit personal, because it is. But it’s good enough to post on my blog. Don’t worry, no names mentioned.”

  She included the link, hit send, then waited staring at the monitor as if she actually expected him to open the email and reply within a minute’s time.

  She waited two fucking days, from noon to noon to noon, 48 hours of anxious wondering, left suspended and stunned by what the storm ushered in and this man had done to her peace of mind. What were you thinking, girl! She’d manufactured a chorus of second thoughts, one after another drifting into her mind, only to be shoved aside so another could compound her anxiety. Why the hell did she attribute this crazy explosion of writing to a man she barely knew? She could be dead wrong about him and he was nothing but a lecherous pervert who just wanted inside her pants. Still she knew. Some uncanny intuition spoke to her about honest motives and inherent kindness. In her gut where it counted, she knew he wasn’t the kind of pervert to take advantage of a vulnerable woman fresh out of a long term relationship. No, he was the clean, wholesome kind of pervert, with common decency and a sincere desire to know her as more than the sexual slut she was. Spontaneous Combustion was all about what their brief weeks courting on-line had done to her. Sending him her explosive writing was the right thing to do. She was certain.

  If he bolted because she was too much slut for him; if he was turned off by this small taste of her flaming passion, then she’d be better off having driven him away. Might as well send him off to a woman who’d be happy with mild manners, kind conversation, and a little bit of kink on the side, but nothing more than that.

  Clearly, her kink was front and center in her world, and it was too late in the game of life to deal with men who couldn’t handle her sexual inclinations.

  She would readily insist that she wasn’t too much to handle. She was an easy woman to read, with simple needs and much to give. No mysteries, nothing crazy about her; just an uncomplicated woman at heart who wanted someone with whom she could share her lust, and provide for her a safe place to bare her soul. Her requirements were few – a self possessed man she could respect, sexual chemistry, heartfelt compassion and a strong sense of authority. That was it in a nutshell. The man she would submit to could be no less.

  Her mind might have been filled with chaos and wild imaginings that could resemble a whirling dervish, but that was just smoke and mirrors to one who looked a little closer. She was perfectly sane, perfectly normal, a perfectly regular woman of
her times. A slut, yes, but a perfectly normal kind of slut, and a woman on the brink of change.

  Forty-eight fucking hours later word came back, the email simple:

  “Did I cause all that?

  I have the trees, I have the rope, I only need you.”

  She almost laughed out loud. Did I cause all that… She shook her head and smiled. Her heart warmed and she giggled at a typical clueless male with his almost bashful response.

  But the message had been delivered, and desire swept through her again with such sudden urgency that she dashed off her reply and hit send before she could give it a second thought…

  “Yes, yes yes! You caused all that.

  Along with that darn thunderstorm…and that slave scene you told me about, the one at your lake house that’s been going through my head like a broken record.

  I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter One

  Life was chaos all around her on the eve of France, her head spinning with random thoughts. The trip was an imminent reality and there was much to be done before she left, a thousand details that required her attention. Though it had taken a year’s worth of planning and a lot of hard-earned cash, Jeni had little time to think about embarking for this foreign land miles from home. Though hugely important to her – she’d seen it as a pivotal piece in the journey to the next phase of life – when asked if she was excited about France, a question that came at her from all directions, she couldn’t exactly say she was. She hadn’t the time to get excited, and almost to the day she left, the fact that she was actually going to France still seemed like a fantastical dream.

  Plans for a few days off from work before the trip failed to materialize. Even the day before she left, there was a project at work to complete and progress was painfully slow. None of this was a surprise. Life routinely gets in the way of best laid plans. And yet, for all the activity, all the details to attend to and the lists of items not to forget, what was responsible for her current turmoil really wasn’t her job or the packing or the butterflies in her belly on the eve of her first Transatlantic flight.

  On this occasion, instead of revolving around the logical suspects, chaos revolved around a man.

  Absurd, huh? After twenty years with one faithful man and giving up men for one long year of loss, the idea that a man would rock her world on the 10th of May, when the first knighthawk925 email landed in her Outlook, was absurd. What the hell was she supposed to do with the eager attentions of an on-line suitor? Especially now, when starting a relationship should have been the last thought in her mind. And yet, once the conversation began, the emails between Jeni and Jack Hawking continued at a brisk pace and soon every minute, every thought in her mind seemed to be taken up by this phantom behind the email address. Was it the easy conversation? Or the face staring back from his obscure photo? Or the fact they shared a common interest in kink?

  Absurd, yes. The whole idea of him was absurd, but the most fantastically amazing distraction she’d had after a long list of distractions that had kept her slightly unfocused over the previous year. Hard to believe that someone she’d never laid eyes on could take hold of her attention in such a commanding and thorough way. When chaos suddenly became a beautiful place to be in those hectic days, she could do nothing but smile when the thought of him took control. She’d retreat to her bedroom, finding herself wet with arousal from the moment she touched the sensitive place between her thighs to minutes down the road when an explosive orgasm caused her back to arch and her body to convulse with spasms. Juices flooded over her hand, as Jeni imagined Jack’s hands on her, his lips on her, his cock inside her cunt, her mouth wide open – he could penetrate that, too.

  Their early conversations were innocent enough. With a few short emails they got through the basics: work, family, their goals and aspirations, where their lives stood now. Then the correspondence changed, delving into the kinky subjects of her blog, where the dynamic between them began to shift.

  As the questions from Jack became more blunt, more personal and probing she couldn’t help but feel her lusty libido come back to life. Once that familiar spark of desire arose, it wasn’t long before a brush fire seemed to burn within. What had begun as an innocent back and forth became something much bigger than informative small talk.

  Jeni had forgotten what it felt like to be so passionately aroused. But just the thought of Jack was all over her now, feeding her psyche with thoughts and feelings she’d shunned so long that it was an unexpected thrill to be feeling them again. Her libido broke wide open. Random trips to the bedroom became more frequent, so was rubbing her crotch against the seat of her desk chair, the kitchen chair, her bathroom counter. Sexy, nasty, kinky thoughts rose up unbidden as she tapped a fresh spring of erotic thought inside her slutty psyche – just when she thought the spring had run dry. Jack was there in the middle of it all. Still a phantom, still a dream, still a fantasy – but she could almost feel his flesh, taste his pheromones, smell his scent. A fantasy – really? Not this time. There was flesh and blood on the other side of the emails, a man, not a phantom at the end of her lusty dreams.

  For a woman often defined by her sexual obsessions, she was shaken, taken off guard and completely flustered by this budding relationship – did she dare call it a relationship? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not yet. It was too soon to be entertaining thoughts of a new man in her life – wasn’t it?

  For two decades and a year her heart had belonged to another man; he was all she knew about men. Suddenly thrust back into the world of men and sex, and dating – god forbid dating! – she felt like a fish floundering out of water in the unfamiliar territory of men. The thought of being ‘courted’ was entirely new. She’d blindly fallen into her last relationship and never emerged – not until that relationship had been taken away.

  Now this new man was under her skin before she knew what was happening, causing her heart to beat and her crotch to warm with very little effort. He was a Dom, she a sub. In the BDSM world they were a matched set. Responding to a dynamic natural to her personality, her sub-self began to arise as his dominant one emerged. It was so effortless, a bit of a game, she supposed. Nothing particularly serious, she thought, but certainly fun to play.

  “You said, you wanted to read my naughty stories? I have so many, making me wonder what you’d like most.”

  His reply went straight to the point.

  “I like good head, a good tight anal, heaven. I wrote some stories with a previous gf, very immature, but a lot of fun. So you write about your fantasies?”

  She had to smile. Wasn’t it just like a guy to keep it to the basics – cocks and ass. “Yes, they’re my fantasies. I wouldn’t know what else to write about. Of course, fantasy is not reality…I learned that early on. My subs are naughty, do stupid things, love/hate getting punished and create lots of drama, which makes good fiction. Let’s not forget the wide variety of sexual options. But that’s just fantasy. In real life, you’ll find I’m a mature and well balanced woman who hates drama and who just happens to like kinky fun in the bedroom.”

  When he wrote back a day later, he’d moved on to other questions. “I’ve been wondering, you have any tattoos or piercings? Just curious. Been thinking about my cottage on the lake – very private. I need to be walking in the woods, by the water, smelling the fresh air.”

  “Hi! No tattoos but currently one piercing – which I plan to keep.” Answering that question created a little flutter in her tummy. And just as he’d done in his email, Jeni quickly moved on to other matters. “I love walking in woods, too, and I could sit by the water all day. You asked what other things I do. Read, garden. I love movies and theatre, traveling. I’ve not traveled much in recent years, although I am taking off for a two week vacation in a couple weeks.”

  “I read Story of O a long time ago,” he began his next email. “About O’s piercing through her lower lip. So, where’s yours? Come on, fess up.”

  Now that’s getting personal, she thought, al
though a flutter of excitement lit up her libido just thinking of his question. “I didn’t remember that O’s was on the lip…I was thinking it was through the hood of her clit, which is where mine is. So, tell me about your cottage.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about ‘O’,” he answered. “It was a long time ago that I read that book, so I’m stretching my memory here. Your piercing sounds delicious. What’s it look like? Bar? Ring? I like the idea of a single piercing, any more than that is too much for me.

  My cottage is a work in progress. It began with just the small log shed you see in the picture, no plumbing, no electric. Pretty primitive. About twelve years ago, I started adding on, and the new section is almost complete. I have running water, electric, basement, a hardwood floor last year. Beautiful. A few years back, I built a separate laboratory and dorm for students when they’re working on the property. Keeps them out of my hair.

  So you mentioned that you’ve been into public play, tell me about it.”

  His cottage was taking shape in her mind, all in a beautiful way. Cabins in the woods brought back fond memories from her childhood. Times when she was free, far from the hot sidewalks of Southern California suburbia. Cloaked in their woodsy surroundings, they represented little havens away from the isolation she felt at home. She rested well amidst the trees, and often dreamed of staring up at a sky full of stars. A man with a cottage on a lake – in her mind it said a lot about his character and what he valued. That he was a botanist said a lot, too.

  With the mention of public play, Jeni’s mind danced around the possible confessions, wondering which of the many events Jack might like most. There was a lot to confess about her kinky past. Thank goodness they weren’t face to face so he could see her blush as the memories came flooding into her mind. Amidst all the many scenes, however, one particular one stood out from all the rest. A day to remember unlike any other sexual experience she’d had – or would have for that matter. The scene had taken her deeply into submission, to places she’d never been before in her kink life. After it was over, in a therapeutic explosion of feeling and experience, she’d written about it, creating a factual account of the scene as she tried to sort out all that had taken place on that exhilarating day. The lust, emotion and profound state of surrender had been a special kind of magic. But did she dare send him that story? Reveal that she’d been auctioned before a kink crowd of twenty-five, during which she was hooded, stripped, intimately inspected and finally sold to one of the attending masters. Was it too soon for that kind of revelation?