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A morning

sunrise__a_new_begining_by_malunadragon-d36qs9p

Light is just beginning to seep into my room

It gives shape to furniture, Illuminates pictures on the walls, and faintly smears a trace of gold onto the brass of my bed.

Outside stirring birds are beginning to sing themselves awake with liquid voices.

I glance at the time on my phone. I do not check for mail although I desperately want to. But it is early. And anyway, messages will keep me awake.

I hope that you have written.

I feel my body stir and my heart yearn and I bury my head into the pillows with a sigh.

I begin to slide back into sleep. You are not there, but I feel you next to me. The heat of you. The scent of you. Your skin soft against my mine. I feel your back against my chest. The perfect peach of your arse pressed against my increasing tumescence. Your breasts cupped in my hands.

You whisper something soft and beautiful but I hardly catch the words.

I feel you dissolving into me.

We are floating away,

My alarm sounds urgently.

My day begins.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from MalunaDragon

 
26 Comments

Posted by on April 23, 2015 in Still Life

 

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Treasured

shu84 by Thomas Saliot

He swims to the windswept, miserable, English winter holiday season with urgent, desperate strokes.

He hauls himself up on its grey, rocky, precarious shore with tired limbs, a bruised body, a jaded mind and the salty taste of multiple loss in his mouth.  He is weary to the bone with work, with untidy confusion, and with human frailty.

He is only hungry for the warmth of his fire, a case of red wine, and the easy comfort of family and friends.

He watches the rain fall in endless silver lines and laments the passing of another year and the fading of its legendary adventures.

The last thing he expects is her.

An impossible creature of bright colours and sunshine, extraordinary beauty, and a perfection of form that takes his breath away. A paradox of pure innocence and of deep, vibrant, sensuality.  A gorgeous submissive emerging from a vanilla chrysalis.

An unexpected rare, exotic, almost holy gift waiting to be unwrapped.

To be adored and treasured.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

This is a repost. It was inspired by a very beautiful girl some time ago. She has now grown into a beautiful young woman and, I believe, from her writing, she has found love. I am delighted for her.  But far, far more important, she has discovered her creative voice and is writing the wonderful poetry she was always destined to write. So it is a good time to repeat this, albeit rather out of season, with added audio.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on April 22, 2015 in D/s, Lovers Past

 

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On naked strangers

Romantic Dominant:

I posted this close to a year ago today. My views haven’t changed. And now and again I simply shake my head.

Originally posted on A Faded Romantic's Notebook:

Fire by Henry Ascencio

Images of naked strangers leave him cold

Nudity has become far too common a currency to attract his attention or pique his interest.

A body is a body. Some are more elegant than others. Some have been treated better or worse by time. Some are cared for. Some are toned by exercise. Some are a paradise of lines and curves. Some are the shape he admires.

But they do not raise his pulse.

Not unless he is attracted by the personality within. By the intellect, the sense of humour, the creativity, the warmth. And of course, by the hungry, submissive soul.

The body, especially without exclusivity after having been viewed by many, is merely a shell.

It is she who inhabits the body that gives it attraction, magic, desirability, potency.

She gives it power.

The power to make him ache.

And want her.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Henry Asencio

View original

 
15 Comments

Posted by on April 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

It is not her eyes

windowsquot-by-loui-jover-redbubble-1359278193_b

 

It is not her eyes

 

It is not her eyes

Shining, wide, innocent.

Nor her sculpted cheekbones

or the perfect crescent

of her smile.

 

It is not her body

Shapely, soft, elegant.

Nor her breathtaking curves

or the pure paradise

of her skin.

 

It is not her mind

Clever, sweet, eloquent.

Nor her generous heart

or the brave submissive

in her soul.

 

It is something

beyond knowing.

A deep attraction

of joy

of wonder

and awe.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Loui Jover

 
14 Comments

Posted by on April 17, 2015 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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This instinct

Fabian-Perez-painting

I cannot explain it.

This instinct.

It triggers itself on the flimsiest of evidence.

A handshake. Eyes meeting, Movements observed. The timbre of a voice. A fragment of conversation. The way she wears her clothes.

And sometimes on even thinner, more distant grounds.

A name. A photograph.  A word on a blog. A comment. Something made favourite.

I can be certain based seemingly on nothing.

I cannot explain it.

This instinct.

I simply know.

I sense a submissive soul.

Sometimes even before she is aware of it herself.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

Written a year ago. But the instinct is as sharp as ever. 

 
15 Comments

Posted by on April 16, 2015 in D/s, Still Life

 

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I will adore you

 

jack-vettriano-11

I will adore you.

I will admire you and respect you.

I will support you when the whole world is against you, or even just a small part of it. I will take your side irrespective of whose side you are on. I will comfort you when you are hurt, lift you when you are down, make your spirits soar when you least expect it.

I will instruct you, mentor you, guide you. I will, as far as in my power, keep you safe. I will encourage you, enthuse you, motivate you. I will paint your body with words in ways that make you glow. I will be proud of you. I will study every inch of you and pour my attention over you like honey.

I will thrill you, tease you, and arouse you. I will help you fulfill your wildest fantasies, your darkest desires, your deepest needs. I will touch you in ways beyond your imagination. I will take you to climaxes that leave you utterly sated and complete.

I will amplify your joy, soften your sorrow, fill your days with light, and touch your nights with romance.

I will make you laugh. I will kiss away your tears.

I will give you confidence, give you strength, give you self-belief. I will worship your beauty, your sensuality, your body. I will hymn your breasts, your buttocks your belly, your shoulders, your throat, your back, your thighs. I will make your body sing with pleasure and pain.

You will be my submissive, my lover, my muse, my friend. You will belong. I will make you feel valued, worthy, special, unique, perfect.

I will adore you.

But I will not love you.

Regardless of how close, how entwined, how enraptured we become.

For I love another. I have loved her forever.

I will always love her.

She is the love of my life.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano

 I wrote this exactly a year ago. It proved to be a popular if controversial post. It is time to give it another airing. Now with added audio.

 
41 Comments

Posted by on April 12, 2015 in D/s, Still Life, Wears my ring

 

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It matters

Blue Window by Thomas Saliot

It matters

The way the light of a new day slides past your blinds and illuminates your perfect skin in creamy, honeyed light.

The sound of the radio that keeps you company at breakfast. Calling you to dance and to sing in your, soft, sweet voice.

The traffic that has you tapping the steering wheel with impatience, wishing you had left ten minutes earlier. When you could have. When you should have.

The work that binds you, sometimes satisfying, but always making you wish you could be some place else.

The smile you get when your phone buzzes with someone you love.

The way you stretch in the late afternoon sun, and tie back your hair and briefly close your beautiful eyes.

The evening, wrapping itself around you, comforting you, relaxing you. Your shoes kicked off, feet tucked beneath.

The night. Sleep eluding you. Your fears and demons and sorrows tormenting you. Until exhaustion comes to stake its claim.

I hope your dreams are wonderful.

Because it matters.

It matters to me.

.

.

 © the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot

 
26 Comments

Posted by on April 10, 2015 in Still Life

 

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