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Category Archives: D/s

Ink

 

I have a beautiful

elegant

Mont Blanc

fountain pen.

.

I imagine

writing my name

on your exquisite

perfect skin.

 

In dark

Midnight Blue

ink.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new. But sometimes there is perfect skin.

Art by Ovi Hondru

 
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Posted by on November 23, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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His religion

art-by-pino-daeni

 

Her body

has never felt

so revered

so respected

so worshipped

so idolised

so valued

so venerated

so appreciated

so admired

so adored.

 

She is proud

and humbled

to be his religion.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this some years ago. My religion is dark but it adores.

Art by Pino Daeni

 
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Posted by on November 21, 2020 in Still Life, D/s, Poetry, Erotica, romance

 

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Berries

 

Outside

in today’s cold wind

I could not help but think

of you

bound with rope

your exquisite nipples

proud and erect

and as hard

as unripened berries

perfectly defined

against the material

of your dress.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but that time of the year

Art by Willi Kissmer

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Her own touch

 

Her own touch

is not his touch

but longing and lust

yearning and need

a dizzying desire

and a wild imagination

have made it so.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new, but true.

Art by Steve Hanks

 
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Posted by on November 16, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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She is drawn

 

She is drawn

to my dark religion

reads my words

like they are holy

and feels

a heavenly ache

between her thighs.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new writing, but she is drawn

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on November 14, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Something has changed

 

Her life is the same.

Yet something subtle, imperceptible, indefinable has changed.

She seeks it in the buildings, the landscape, the weather and the light.  In the steam from her coffee. She looks for it in the faces of others. She tries to find clues in music, in art, and in films that make her laugh and cry. In books and in magazines and in the words of romantic poets

She watches clouds making familiar shapes across an ordinary sky.

She stands surrounded by night and studies the moon and stars. She lets the breeze tug at her hair and listens for something she might not hear.

In her room, with the lights down low, she examines her body, stripping naked, running her hands over her skin. She is alive to her own touch. Her fingers make her sigh. She breathes deeply.

She stares back at herself and tries to read her own expression.

Her eyes give something away. They are bright, wide, curious, excited. Her lips are full, the faintest of smiles kissing the edges. There is the softest blush upon her cheek, and in her throat.

Her life is the same

Yet something has changed.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post was written a while ago. But sometimes old things strike new chords.

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

 

 
6 Comments

Posted by on November 12, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Every day

 

Her desire

for his darkness

becomes more

dangerous

delicious

decadent

deep

and dirty

every day.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

 

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Tyro

 

She kneels

at the altar

of his dark

Dominant

decadent

romantic

sexual religion

her thin

white dress

transparent

in the hungry

candlelight.

.

.

@ the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post a year old. But there is nothing quite like a tyro.

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Long Night

 

They are alone.

No outside sound can disturb this stillness. No alien light can penetrate this darkness.

He touches her skin. She catches her breath.

He moves his slender fingers lightly across her cheek. Over her lips. It tingles like electricity. She parts them the width of a sigh. He feels her breath like a whisper.

He gently strokes the underside of her jaw. Fingers and thumb go either side of her throat. Her pulse is as rapid as the beating heart of a small bird. He squeezes almost imperceptibly. She raises her chin and leans slightly into his hand.

He releases her. With the palest of caresses, he navigates the curve of her breast. He circles the areola, the miniature terrain like braille. He finds her nipple hard and urgent. He teases it. She swears she can feel the raised, complicated whorl of his fingerprint.

Index and thumb again, like a pincer, capture the perfect rosebud. He tugs gently. She moans close to his ear. She is hungry. He tightens his grip. She feels it like fire. It tracks in a line of pure white heat down her belly and deep into the heart of her sex. She is wet. Tighter still and the pain is impossible pleasure. She wants him to stop – but never.

He lowers his mouth onto hers. She gasps into it as another intense wave thrills through her body. She thrusts herself against him. Wishing her hands were free, yet glad they are not. Needing muscle, needing bone, needing his hand, needing his cock to satisfy her delicious, frantic, gorgeous yearning.

There is no light. No sound.

Only them.

And the long night.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Some years ago I was going through my old words and found this – written around this time seven years ago. I like it. I hope you enjoy it.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
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Posted by on November 6, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Unwrapping

 

You are the gift

I will unwrap

again

and again

and be fascinated

delighted

and aroused

at the same time

every time.

.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Antonio Sgarbossa

 
4 Comments

Posted by on November 4, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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