Friday, May 2, 2014
Spontaneous Combustion: The Novel
"There's the story, then there's the real story, then there's the story of how the story came to be told. Then there's what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too." — Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaiden's Tale
The finishing touches on the manuscript of Spontaneous Combustion: The Novel are just about done, and this long labor of love, begun nearly a year ago will be released in print and ebook later this month. My most personal and most true to reality BDSM lifestyle novel. This one has been hard to let go but now it's time, and I'm excited to see it in print at last.
More information and the book description coming soon!
I'm re-posting a piece that I first posted in May of 2013, which is now the prologue for this novel. By the way, the post directly following this one, "I Bring the Collar out at Night" is one of those pieces that I left out of the story.
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 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.This one won’t be as severe I am assured by the local weatherman
And yet…left in the wake of that last furious frenzy, my muse strikes like a thunderbolt. It's just a first draft, but 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…
Until white turns crimson, until my ass is scorched
I’m groaning deeply and 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
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
Inside my ass this time, driving through like a man possessed
I explode and you explode again
When the fury dies you hold me, you kiss my lips and run your hands over my
Hurts are healed, a day’s worth of trouble forgotten
Worry quits is anxious grip
And wounds bound up in 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.
Unpublished Copyright © 2013, Lizbeth Dusseau