Monthly Archives: August 2013

Tale of a Dominant : Part Two : The End


The candle has burnt down low.

The bar is close to empty. It is late. The waitress is hovering near the table with the bill, He motions to her with a raised eyebrow and a smile. She places l’addition on a white saucer with two small squares of gold-wrapped chocolate.

The girl opposite him runs her hands through her long black hair and stretches back in her chair. It is almost provocative.

His eyes flick over her body appreciatively and return to her face. He stares into her eyes. She doesn’t look away. They are both more than a little drunk.

She feels she knows everything about him. He has answered her questions all evening. About his lovers, About D/s, his rules, the cities and the hotel suites, the romance, the shadows and the dancers. His briefcase full of ropes and bindings, toys and instruments. The reasons behind it all. His adoration, his admiration, and his love of women. Of some women in particular.

She has captured his velvet voice on her recorder.

And yet, although he has been the one telling his story, she feels as if it is her soul that has been stripped bare.

He punches the PIN into the card machine with long slender fingers, and it is time to go. He hands her both of the chocolates. She slips them into her bag. She knows they are destined to sit uneaten on her dressing table forever.

Much later that night, with the dawn creeping softly over the silent sea, she slips naked from his bed. She is careful not to wake him. In the pale light she re-reads the note he gave her, written in his distinctive hand, in dark midnight-blue ink.

I remember them all.

The beauties, the heroines, the angels. The wide-eyed girls in their best party frocks. The bold but trembling women in their gorgeous. silk gowns.

The waifs and the strays. The wild and the hungry. The creative and the eloquent. The sacred and the profane.

Tiger Cub, Rebecca, Jenny, Beauty, Angel, Hermosa, Lindsay, and the rest. The sweet submissives who have perfumed my nights and made wonderful my days.

I remember them all.

You are the last.

It is the end.



Part One

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez



Posted by on August 23, 2013 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past, Still Life


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It was within their grasp.

A day at first pencilled, then inked, and then circled with a fat red marker pen on an imaginary blank August calendar page.

She thought about it, and tried not to think about it, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. The excitement tugged deep, hungry and yearning in her lower belly. And her fear gave it a delicious edge.

He polished his hand-crafted leather cuffs and made sure all the tools of his art were perfect, pristine and ready He imagined her – a sweet, beautiful neophyte, a new, exotic canvas – and, despite his control, he felt himself harden.

And the day edged closer with every dawn. Until they could almost touch it.

Then life, or fate, or karma, or co-incidence, or ill-fortune or some miserable, jealous god with too much time on its hands, intervened.

It is now September’s calendar that is marked in scarlet lipstick and in thick, midnight-blue ink.

Urgent, compelling desire has placed a determined ring-fence around the date.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano




Posted by on August 22, 2013 in D/s


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Jack Vettriano - Tutt'Art@ (30)

Beyond the blindfold.

Beyond the ropes, the cuffs, the collar and the whip.

Beyond the dress, the leather, the heels, the silk.

Beyond the clamps, the toys, the oil, the pin wheel.

Beyond her kneeling, head bowed, at my feet

Beyond her stretched naked, tied to the four posts of this bed

Beyond her whispered ‘yes’

Beyond her wondrous, glorious, sacred submission.

Beyond everything

It still isn’t enough.


It is never enough

To cure this endless ache.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano




Posted by on August 21, 2013 in D/s, Erotica


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This is the man


At first glance he seems older.

It is a surprise, but she realises her imagination has made him younger every day.

He is wearing a two piece suit. Navy blue, with stripes. There are stripes on his shirt too. The tie is silk. He wears cufflinks. His shoes are polished. There is a practiced, familiar formality about his clothing derived from a lifetime in business

He is tall, but not towering. Toned rather than muscular.

He is not particularly good-looking and yet she decides that she likes his face, despite the creases. The eyes are penetrating, the mouth sensual. He has laughter lines above his cheekbones which are accentuated by a faint, fading tan. He smiles a lot. His hair is indeed silver. He has extraordinary hands.

And that voice – released from the formality of reciting poetry –  touches her.

He appraises her quietly, the corners of his mouth turning gently upwards.

She takes a deep breath and tries to stop herself from trembling.

This is the man to whom she will give herself.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Jack Vettriano




Posted by on August 19, 2013 in Still Life


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Her imagination


Her imagination keeps calling her.

She tries to put herself in the room.

The hush. A silence that crackles with electricity. A stillness that is full of movement. A quiet that is disturbed by the wild beating of her hungry heart.

His voice. Soft, deep, gentle, compelling. Hypnotic. His words. His instructions. His control. Seductive and certain.

His touch. Long fingers cool on her skin. Running through her hair. Languid yet definite. Gorgeous but dangerous. Pleasure yet pain.  Undressing her. Peeling her clothes from her. Discovering every inch of her.

Revealing her soul. More naked than her body.

She tries to put herself beneath his hands.

Her imagination keeps betraying her.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo by simonovokis


Posted by on August 16, 2013 in D/s, Erotica


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Her own touch


She is on her knees.

The room is hushed. Completely still. From somewhere distant there is the sound of a dog barking. Just twice. And further still, the faint peal of church bells.

He sits in an armchair. He is wearing dark blue suit trousers, a striped blue and white cotton shirt, and a deep-red silk tie. His handmade black shoes are polished and shiny.

She is naked.

Except for a leather collar buckled around her elegant throat.

His eyes roam slowly over her body, She can almost feel them as they survey and caress her skin. Contemplating every inch of her. They finally make their way to her face, studying her mouth, her chin, her cheekbones.

Their eyes meet. The electricity crackles across the room.

She waits for instruction.

He says one word.

Her eyelids close for a second. She breathes deeply. Then they open and she returns his gaze.

She moves a hand out from behind her back and up to her neck. Her fingers begin to follow the reverse path his eyes have taken. They lightly slip over her shoulders and down to her breasts. They circle her urgent nipples and her breathing quickens.

They trail over her belly.

She slides her hand between her parted thighs.

She gasps at her own touch.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo by DQ-lest




Posted by on August 10, 2013 in D/s, Erotica


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Never been

shu84 by Thomas Saliot

I have never been interested in the explicit.

I am not excited by the brazen, the obvious, the lewd or the overt. I am not aroused by the exposed, the conspicuous, the evident or the public.

There is no mystery in a woman whose image is common currency, whose wide experience is worn like a badge, whose sexuality is defined in words of one syllable.

I am drawn to modesty, to elegance, to simplicity, to the sensuality of understated style and the purity of a summer dress.

I am entranced by innocence, by wide-eyed curiosity, by a desire to learn, by the quiet beauty of a woman who does not need to try too hard.

I am enraptured by the submissive soul that has burned to be discovered, yet has always remained silent.

I am utterly seduced by the girl who softly whispers:

‘I have never been tied.’



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on August 7, 2013 in D/s, Still Life


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