Monthly Archives: October 2012


I am a proud man.

Yet pride does not necessarily make me bad, arrogant, foolish, unintelligent, insensitive or without a sense of perspective.

But it does mean that I will never allow any friend or lover to take me for granted.

And that I will walk away from the faintest scent of rejection.



Photograph stolen from the talented and rather lovely haikman


Posted by on October 30, 2012 in Lovers Past, Still Life


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There are such special moments.

There is that gorgeous, delicious, delicate, exquisitely hung moment when he slowly tugs down the zip at the back of her strapless dress and begins to peel it from her like a warm, second skin.

He has already fastened the blindfold for the first time about her pretty head.  He has run the sharp pin wheel so tenderly over the divine surface of her perfect face and, as lightly as a tingling feather, across her full, pouting lips. Her nerve endings are alive and electric with its touch.

He has already run his long, slender fingers through her hair, and caressed her beautiful bare shoulders and her elegant neck, easily coaxing a sweet rose flush to climb into her throat.

He has already run his hands over her body through the sheer fabric of her dress, gliding over her curves,  making her nipples harden and increasing the hungry heat between her parted thighs.

And now, at this holy stage when he was started to unwrap her, he pauses and smiles.  A shiver of raw, sensual, erotic expectation dances like a cool fire through his body.

He loves this moment.  When she has given herself to him. When everything is to be discovered.  Everything is possible, Everything is to be done.

He lets the dress fall in a dark, perfumed circle at her stiletto-heeled feet.

Her initiation has begun.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph stolen from Miss Vulpine


Posted by on October 28, 2012 in D/s, Erotica


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Still hungry

I am still hungry,

yet no longer know

what will satisfy.

I am not a gambler


the game’s sweet rush.

I do not yearn

for another conquest.

I am not so obvious

Or so easily fulfilled


I am still hungry

yet no longer feel

that familiar longing.

I am not an addict


an habitual fix.

I do not ache

for physical release.

I am not that predictable.

Or that lightly entertained.



Poetry copyright the author writing as the Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from the talented C4M30.  The girl has a rare beauty and reminds me of Rebecca


Posted by on October 24, 2012 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life


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Castle of Separation

I don’t see her anymore

I could.  She loves me still.

But these defences have taken months to build.

They are hewn from the solid rock of lonely, lost afternoons when I longed for a word, or even a whisper.  And all I received was an echo.

They are timbered with the dark oak of ragged, wasted evenings when I soaked my heart in a lake of red wine.  It made me dizzy but could not dampen the desire.

They are reinforced with steel forged in the desperate heat of endless, jealous nights when my body burned and suffered her other lovers.  Tears have made the metal rust.

I don’t see her anymore.

My heart is safe in this castle of separation.



Photo stolen from MichalTokarczuk


Posted by on October 22, 2012 in Lovers Past


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It has been suggested

that I am a predator.

It is possibly true.

But only when my prey

is aching to be caught.



Photograph stolen from hard_to_find


Posted by on October 20, 2012 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life


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Panic of Birds

She is the tallest lover I have taken

In her elegant heels her eyes were higher than mine.  Her breasts were full and proud and her hips magnificently curved.  Her legs were long and sculptured and her thighs were pale heaven.

She was, and probably still is, a goddess of a woman.

It was late October in an England bronzed and glorious amidst a slow, golden Autumn. I undressed her in front of the tall mirror in the impressive main room of the house I was then renting.  She stretched her long body at my feet and pleaded with her eyes for me to take my pleasure.  To her surprise and, no doubt, fear and delight, I gathered up my whip and a handful of bindings and led her out into the secluded garden and up the narrow path into the rustling woods.

She shivered slightly as the breeze laid cold and inquisitive hands upon her recently warm skin.  Her nipples were dangerous in the chill air.  I selected a tree and pressed her firmly against, its unforgiving bark rough against her belly.  I directed her to embrace it. She took the young oak in her arms and I secured her wrists.

She murmured softly and pressed her face and her sex against its unyielding trunk. I ran my fingers through her fiery hair and then trailed them slowly around her neck, across her shoulders and down her spine. I tenderly caressed her buttocks and inner thighs.  She was wet – hungrily, urgently aroused.

She waited for the whip.

It seemed that the whole forest was holding its breath along with her.  The leaves had stopped their dry dance.  Even the small creatures had ceased their furtive stirring in the layered undergrowth of the woodland floor. The afternoon was reverently hushed.

The first crack sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

She cried out and a panic of dark birds launched themselves upwards, noisily and untidily, into a startled silver sky.



The girl in the photograph is the stunning model and writer Roswell Ivory of whom I am an admirer . She kindly agreed to the use of her image – although she is yet to read the post.  The photographer is JonasBee


Posted by on October 19, 2012 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past


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If I concentrate

On something else

Really hard

I forget the pain.

Until I stop

And it returns

Twice as sharp



Photo stolen from the very beautiful and talented ValentinaKallias



Posted by on October 17, 2012 in Lovers Past, Poetry


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