Monthly Archives: March 2013



Perhaps this is it.

That point when I stay my hand.  When I no longer search for romance amongst the shadows, or seek desire between the written, yearning lines of almost-strangers, or look for submissive hunger upon their public, intimate pages.

When I no longer respond to those who would wish to follow my dark, certain, velvet religion.

That point where my gentle-yet-deternined predatory self curls up into endless sleep.

It has been a year to the day since I opened this fresh notebook.

Before it began I had endured pain, but I was full of hope.  I had suffered sorrow, but my heart held joy, I had lost in love but my soul was open.

I was perhaps a better man than I am now.

Since that bright March morning I have entered into a string of untidy, foolish, honest-yet-doomed distance D/s relationships that started star-bright but lost themselves in a wilderness of stretched geographies, different lives and indifferent moments.

I have despised myself for countless reasons.

I desired and was desired corporeally in a maelstrom of a summer that was luscious and heady with sex, skin on skin, and sad, tender goodbyes. Lovers forever gone.

And now I have been broken all the way down by this endless, grey, miserable, English fucking winter that has turned my soul to bitter ice.

Perhaps this is it.

On this windy, snow-flurried, chilly, wretched anniversary.

It is time to stop.

And begin all over again.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from tyt2000


Posted by on March 30, 2013 in Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , , ,

No hold

Teary Eyed Catherine by Thomas Saliot


It is not his complete control over her that makes her afraid.

Indeed, that does not frighten her at all.

She loves the power of his Domination, the certainty of his authority, the calm, confident assured voice that instructs and guides her.

No, what scares her most is his total control over himself.

Because she knows it gives her no hold,



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot



Posted by on March 29, 2013 in D/s


Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Stable Revisited

naked girl on horse



We shall meet

in the close, cramped,

tack-room dark where,

for almost an hour

I have shared the tight space

with saddles and hats,

bridles & bits.


The pungent odour

of horse and leather

and something sweeter

has made me heady,

has made me dizzy,

has made me hard

and tight in my jeans.

Waiting for you.


I can hear the horse

in the next stall

noisily shifting

his fifteen hands

on thin, muscular legs.

Hooves striking concrete

through soft smelling straw.


Your favourite mount

is soft mouthed

and compliant,

alert and responsive

to your hand on his flanks,

and your weight on his back,

your legs astride,

your legs open wide,

open so wide,

forgive me,

so wide.


I am leaning against

a smooth wooden table.

In the musty dark

my fingers have found

a dozen deep carvings

of passion and lust,

scratched in the wood,

ingrained with dust.

Names and arrows

and irregular hearts.

I cannot find ours.

Why can’t I find ours?


The surface is full

of today’s coats and tack,

still damp from the hack

still fresh from your back.

My throat tightens

as I breath in your smell

and the muscles of my stomach

dance beneath my skin.

I want to begin.

I can’t wait to begin.


I have your crop

clutched firmly

in my hand.

It swishes and cuts

through the silence.

Tested on my thighs

its unexpected bite

makes me cry out aloud

With my eyes tight shut

I brush my face

with the whip,

with the loop at the tip.

I imagine its hiss,

its hot stinging kiss

its fierce burning kiss.

Just a flick of my wrist.


A rhythmic swishing

through the razor edged grass

signals your arrival.

Whinnying horses

confirm your presence.

And now, at this moment

my shirt feels clammy,

my breathing is unsteady.

My heart beat deafens.

I clutch at my chest

Be quiet.

Be quiet.

You must not hear me,

until I am ready.

Until I am ready.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I’m not sure where I stole the photograph from, but to whomever, my apologies

Stable was inspired by my antique riding crop that I must admit in recent years has seen more action on delicious, submissive female behinds than on the flanks of equine mounts.  My then lover was a keen rider and I remember waiting for her one early evening in that leather-rich tack room dark ….

Stable is one of my favourite ‘performance’ poems – by which I mean it was written to be spoken aloud rather than just read. Old blog friends will know this poem already but hopefully will allow me the indulgence of re-posting it again.


Posted by on March 28, 2013 in D/s, Lovers Past, Poetry


Tags: , , , , , , , ,


marc-auriele de foy

Shivering small birds are building a patient nest above my window.

A fragile, bright, blue skied day is being threatened by the outriders of an army of clouds.  It is still bitter cold. The uncertain sun has no warmth in it.  This stillborn English spring has frozen the bare trees and scared the bold daffodils shut.

Warm in my high-ceilinged study of black and white photos and dark oak floor boards I sip from my steaming mug of English Breakfast tea and I think of you…





© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marc-Aurèle de Foy Suzor-Coté


Posted by on March 28, 2013 in D/s, Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , , ,



He binds her tight.

Not with ropes or chains or leather ties.  But with words that dance, thoughts that thrill, and directions that make her heart beat fast.

And send her hands sliding along her thighs.

She can hear his voice in every line.

He binds her tight.

Until she is captured, captive, caught.  Her innocence darkened, her inhibitions scattered, her body given only to him. Until she is his angel, his submissive, his slave.

He binds her tight.

And with every sacred knot

He falls more certainly under her spell.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from the impressive Caradel Neil


Posted by on March 25, 2013 in D/s, Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , , ,



He feels her buzzing in his pocket.

Her e-mails digitally dancing against his upper thigh.

He smiles to himself and continues his conversation without a beat, a business pitch over a working lunch. He sips water, wishing it was wine.  The tuna steak on his salad nicoise is laid out like a sacrifice.  It is viciously seared on the outside and tepidly crimson in the centre. It tastes of sea and blood. He has the distance of an ocean in his mind.

He knows she has woken early in her later time zone. He imagines her stretching her soft, warm body.  She is tousle-haired with blurry eyes and sleepy, quiet nipples.

He orders coffee, impatient to close the deal. The waitress flirts, and he rewards her with a glance that is as instinctive as it is brief.  There are handshakes and partings.

At the now empty table he reaches for his phone.

His fingers close around the promise of her words.

And the secrets of her skin.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from A Day in July


Posted by on March 24, 2013 in D/s, Still Life


Tags: , , , , , , , ,

No More The Red Rose

Rose by Little Cat Eye

I have been in reflective mood.

It is that time of year.  Fast approaching another birthday. Another mark of fading.

It is that time of year.  The snow still falling in an England that is weary of winter. And yet the first brave buds are green on bare branches, and the daffodils wait like shivering sentries for a command to bloom.

It is that time of year. Anniversaries of two glorious D/s relationships that both closed just when new suns had started to stretch the pale skin of my shoulders and promise summer. My time with Jenny has been well documented, but I have been less than forthcoming about Rebecca.

It was for her that I wrote No More the Red Rose – my favourite ‘performance poem’ – despite the fact that it might show me as raw, wounded and vulnerable

It was only ever intended to be read aloud, so I have just posted the audio here.

It is that time of year.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo stolen from Little Cat Eye


Posted by on March 23, 2013 in D/s, Lovers Past, Poetry


Tags: , , , , , , , ,