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Category Archives: Erotica

Something else

 

She is trying to think of something else.

She works, busying herself with things that usually bore her, creating her own session of displacement therapy. She fills her day so that there is no room for idle thought.

At home she urgently flicks through magazines searching for something to steal her attention, even for a moment. She watches TV, trying to lose herself in someone else’s story. At night she closes her eyes tight shut, as if it will help.

But she cannot get the thought out of her head.

This desire to serve, this need to belong, this yearning to be his.

She has felt nothing like it before.  Not for any man, least of all this complete, dark, distant stranger.  Yet there is a familiarity about him, a certainty, a resonance. As if she has always known he would be there.

If she allows her imagination to escape it will swarm at her thighs, ache in her lower belly, and send a flush into her throat.  It will send a delicious tingling down her spine. It will conjure up of a thousand images of her own submission that will make her weak at the knees.

It will make her mouth dry and her sex wet.

She is trying to think of something else.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written six years ago, but I like it. And perhaps there is someone trying to think of something else right now.

Art by William Oxer

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 14, 2019 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Breath

 

art-by-steve-hanks

 

 

She strokes

the soft

smooth

silky skin

of her inner thigh

and imagines

his touch

his finger tips

his kiss

and the thrill

of his breath.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this a couple of years ago. I wonder if you imagine it.

Art by Steve Hanks

 
6 Comments

Posted by on January 31, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Skin

art-by-omar-ortiz

 

I am in love with skin.

I love the feel of it beneath my finger tips. The heat of it. The smooth texture beneath the ridged whorls of my prints. The beauty, the softness, the glow. The gorgeous glide over muscle and bone. The imperceptible down at the base of the spine. The pucker and berry of nipple. The impossible silk of inner thigh.

I love the scent of it as I breathe in. The individual intimate fragrance. A heady heaven of perfume, pheromone and perspiration. As private and personal as a signature.

I love the taste of it beneath the caress of my tongue. The delicate hints, the slight tang, the subtle shades of flavour that fill my mouth. The unique, eloquent, dark, secret essence of sex.

I am in love with skin.

Your skin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This not new. I have posted it three or four times. But I hope you enjoy regardless

Art by Omar Ortiz

 
12 Comments

Posted by on January 30, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Desk

 

I write at my desk.

It is built from ancient reclaimed oak. The wood is scarred and worn and darkened with age. It was crafted and constructed to especially to fill a space in my study. It is beautifully built, sturdy and strong. It is completely in keeping with this 400 year old cottage with its thick ironstone walls and huge beams, its large inglenook fireplace, and its mullioned windows with leaded glass.

I write at my desk.

Novels, short stories, poetry, random prose, blog posts, tweets, e-mails. And much else besides. I usually tap the words out on a wireless keyboard. Sometimes I use my beloved Mont Blanc fountain pen filled with midnight blue ink. Less often than I would like. Technology is far more accommodating of revision and mistakes.

I write at my desk.

Here I allow my memory to recover the fragments of the past that touch me still. Here I let yesterday and today kiss my words with immediacy, desire, wonder and delight. Here I write of lovers and strangers, dancers and shadows, family and friends. Always safe in anonymity.

I write at my desk.

And often, I admit, I think of you.

I imagine you here, your scent fragile in the air, the cool of your fingertips, the heat of your body. I undress you. Slowly. Reverently. Tenderly. Time standing still.

I bend you over the smooth wood. I make it an altar on which to worship you. A table on which to spread you. A sacred raised dias on which to adore you.

I close my eyes, lost in the thought of your sighs, your movement, and your pure skin against seasoned grain.

I write at my desk.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not newly written but the desk is always here.

Art by Fabian Perez

 
10 Comments

Posted by on January 25, 2019 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Odyssey

 

I have travelled

through myth and legend

fantasy and mystery

storm and rain

sun and shadow

beauty and tears

sex and darkness

to find you

to explore you

to own you

eyes and mouth

hair and throat

breasts and hips

arse and legs

belly and thighs

submissive soul

and clever mind.

You are my odyssey.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

 

 

 
4 Comments

Posted by on January 24, 2019 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Virtual captivity

 

The power

of his words

a collar

at her throat.

 

The sound

of his voice

a rope

that binds her.

 

The thumb

and forefinger

of his will

a manacle

on her wrist.

 

Her virtual captivity

thrills her.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post a couple of years old, but always appropriate.

Art by Taras Loboda

 
2 Comments

Posted by on January 21, 2019 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Blush

 

She lets his words

fill her mind

until they spill

onto her skin

lightly suffusing it

with the softest

of blushes.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Anna Wypych

 

 

 
3 Comments

Posted by on January 18, 2019 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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