Monthly Archives: July 2012

Taste you on my breath

There’s a line that goes :

And I can still smell you on my fingers and taste you on my breath.

It is by the rather excellent Beth Orton from the song Central Reservation

It is playing in my head today. It resonates.

Because I can too.


Posted by on July 31, 2012 in Lovers Past, Music, Quotes, Still Life


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Cheating the final credits

This week will be full of endings..

The evening is grey but kind.  He takes her to a stylish Indian restaurant within easy walking distance. The staff recognise them from the previous week and indulgently seat them at the same table.  A Kir Royale cocktail makes them slightly high even before the wine. And before they become fully intoxicated with each others company.

It is almost like old times because they no longer care about the water that has flowed black beneath their bridges.

After their supper they return to the vacant house of another. They are dizzy with lust and alcohol.

She changes into a net dress that is so sheer and revealing it can be scrunched to almost nothing in the palm of one hand.  He can see black panties beneath, with ties at the sides.  She wears her over-the-knee leather boots.  He commands her to lie on the carpeted floor, but not before she has posed for photographs on the huge cherry wood table in the japanese dining room.

He strips her naked except for the boots.  Her body never ceases to amaze him, the tiny, perfect breasts, the small waist, the gorgeous curve of her hips, her soft, pale thighs.  He affixes leather cuffs to her wrists and over her booted ankles.  He separates her legs with a spreader bar and ties her hands. She is helpless and  blindfolded, lying on her back.

He caresses her gently, his elegant touch gliding over skin, making her sigh. He places electrodes on the edges of her outer labia, on her perineum, and the very top of her upper thigh.  The electronic pulse from the machine forces a cry from her lips.

He uses small vibrator on her now very wet pussy, teasing her clitoris, running it up and down her inner lips, pressing it against her.  His finger probes her anus, made welcoming by the application of gel.

It is the insertion of a second finger that brings her to climax, straining against her bonds.

He tenderly turns her over and fucks her arse, quietly but firmly ordering her to relax as he enters her.  She is moaning with pleasure, her buttocks grinding against his lower belly by the time he climaxes noisily.

She smiles as he kisses the back of her lovely neck.

This week will be full of endings.

But these two have become masters at cheating the final credits..


Posted by on July 31, 2012 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past, Still Life


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To please him

He studies the first of the photographs she has sent.

She is standing as he instructed. Legs slightly apart, hands behind her back.

She stares out at him, a nervous smile upon kissable lips made fuller and bolder with scarlet lipstick.  Her hair contrasts raven black against the pale skin of her shoulders.  She has taken the pictures of herself against a blank wall.  There is the edge of a painting he thinks he recognises to her left, and a mundane light switch to her right.  From its height he can tell she is not tall, despite the heels.  An inch or two over five feet perhaps.

She is wearing a basque.  It is black, with silky silver and rich dark green elements sewn into it beautifully.  He wonders where she bought it, and how often, and for whom it has been worn.  It is tight at her narrow waist and her breasts are cupped perfectly.  They are slightly fuller than he expected.  He imagines slowly unfastening the concealed hooks and eyes down the front and releasing them from the constraining garment.  He imagines her nipples hardening as they emerge from captivity.

She  has matching lacy black and dark green knickers.  They are cut high, accentuating the length of her legs.  She is wearing hold ups, sheer, black.  Her thighs are ivory, quite exquisite.  Her calves are pronounced and well-shaped, tapering into slim ankles.  He guesses that her high heels have seen infrequent use.

He studies the image for a moment and takes his time before clicking open the other.  He enjoys the anticipation.

Her pose is the same, but taken from behind.  He likes the way her hair hangs thick, lustrous and dark down her bare back.  He admires the curve of her hips, and the way the material of her knickers is stretched across her finely shaped cheeks.  He is hard to impress, but he gives an appreciative smile.

He is pleased by what she has chosen to wear.  Yet somehow he is disappointed too.

He knew he would be.  It is the way of these things.


Originally posted in my Shadows & Dancers blog


Posted by on July 30, 2012 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past


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When you close your eyes

You will always be disappointed.

Each lover you take will have failed you even as his lips first brush yours.

There will never be enough romance in his words, enough adoration in his eyes.  His fingers on your skin will never erase the imprint of mine.  His touch will be clumsy compared to my elegant hand.

As he goes through his predictable routine you will long for the unpredictable.  You will ache for my darkness, the delicious sweetness of pain, the breathless intensity of pleasure,  You will yearn for my patience, my sexual generosity, my intimate and certain knowledge of everything that arouses you.

Only I will ever know all your secrets.

Only I can ever make you complete.

And even if he should take you to an unexpected climax, you will be thinking of me.

It is me inside you when you close your eyes.


Posted by on July 29, 2012 in D/s, Lovers Past


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The sun was still captured in her golden curls.

She was facing him in the grand-georgian-dining-room-made-recently-modern.  Her eyes were bluer than the washed skies and yet as grey as Welsh slate.  Her smile was as warm and easy as the soft early evening.

They raised glasses to whatever point in their long history the day represented.

She, the least materialistic woman he has ever known, fell in love with a limited edition photograph hanging on a nearby wall.  It was a stark black-and-white capture of a place of almost-pilgrimage they both knew well.

He sought out the restaurant manager and negotiated a price.

She shook her head with delight as they carried it to the car.

Sunbeams danced from out of her hair and lit up the coming night.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I found this lovely art on the web. I cannot locate the painter. If it is yours, I apologise for the theft and will happily credit you or take it down


Posted by on July 28, 2012 in Still Life, Wears my ring


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The sea will free me

“You have now reached infatuation’s final destination—the complete and merciless
devaluation of self.”

Elizabeth Gilbert – ‘Eat, Pray, Love

I am at this point, but this is not me.
This is not who I am
I am better than this.

The sea will free me


Posted by on July 18, 2012 in Quotes, Still Life


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But Still

But Still


There is a distant echo of your touch

Upon my skin

The faintest of memories

But still

A remembering

Of something soft and special

And intimate and close

And of days when we

Had more than most.


The passing years have been less kind

To me than you

These deep cobwebs of age

But still

This desire burns through

To see you dressed in evening clothes

And your blue eyes darkened

And you gliding like a dream

Proudly at my side


This tired and quiet heart still quickens

When you are close

Triggered by your body’s scent

But still

It makes me catch my breath

Like no other has ever done

And can ever do again

And I ache for you

The way I did back then.


Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant


Because, despite all my considerable foolishness, she is the first and last and everything in between.


Posted by on July 18, 2012 in Poetry, Wears my ring


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