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Category Archives: D/s

And then

I thought

I had become

immune to beauty

indifferent to sexy

unmoved by submission

unstirred by intelligence

unexcited by control

untouched by desire

unaffected by dance

and then

there was you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Written a few years ago – and then there was you.

Art by Peter Worswick

 
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Posted by on November 30, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Inch by Inch

art-by-javier-arizabalo

I am the poetic cartographer

of your sacred body.

I will discover you

and map you,

explore you

and draw you,

observe you

and describe you,

chart you

and render you

adored

inch by perfect inch.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Posted originally five years ago. But I like it because it is what I do.

Art by Javier Arizabalo

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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That secret

That secret.

That wild

dark, erotic

sexual fantasy.

The one you conceal

from everyone.

The one you hide

from yourself.

That secret.

That secret

is what attracts me

like a magnet

compels me

like a drug

draws me

moth to flame

makes me yearn

for you

to release it

just for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a couple of years ago. I like it, so another airing. And because you have a secret.

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Lust

What I feel for you

might be lust

but it is pure

unadulterated

creative

admiring

adoring

enduring

once-in-your-lifetime

lust.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Aydemir Saidov

 
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Posted by on November 23, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, 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 15, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, 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

 
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Posted by on November 13, 2021 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, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, 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/Faded Romantic

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

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Whatever I do

Music and writing

acting and directing

Pilates and exercising

rambling and hiking

exploring and skiing

reading and watching

eating and drinking

driving and meeting

dressing and showering

sleeping and waking

whatever I do

I cannot stop thinking

about you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new. But whatever I do …

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on November 3, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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What he has done to her

Art by William Oxer

She does not know what he has done to her.

She studies her face in the mirror. She wonders if others can see the hunger in it.  She wonders if she is betrayed by the wild, yearning look in her eyes. She is certain that she is wearing her lust like a badge.

She brushes her finger tips lightly across her lips. It sends an electric jolt through her body. A lay-line of desire that tingles from breast to belly to thighs.

It fully reawakens the ache inside her. She almost gasps at the intensity of it. A certain, steady, endless throb. Impossible to ignore. A ball of longing that radiates from her burning sex to every part of her being. Her skin reacts to any touch. Even the brush of her clothes makes her dizzy with need.

Its urgency overwhelms her. As it does every distracted day. Every tortured night. There is no respite even when she sleeps. Her dreams are a decadent tangle of limbs, whips and ropes, desperate mouths, probing tongues and deep penetration.

She can bear it no more. She is on her knees. She lets her fingers trail across her cheek, down her neck. She imagines she is in his hands. She takes her nipples between thumb and forefinger and squeezes until she gasps. Pain and pleasure. His religion.

She finds herself slick, wet and swollen. She rubs herself roughly. Brutally. Savagely. The pure heat of her arousal shocks and thrills her.

Her climax is violent. It rips and tears through her. Her body shudders and dances erratically. She is engulfed by it and yet still somehow manages to keep her fingers working. Both hands. Forcing herself onwards. The way he would do.

The next tidal wave is unstoppable. It drowns her. She is breathless, exhausted, trembling. Weak, Helpless. She has no strength left. She collapses. She sobs and laughs and shakes her head in amazement.

She does not know what he has done to her.

But she hates it.

And she loves it.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer

 
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Posted by on November 1, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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