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Tag Archives: D/s

Realization

Art by Michael Liepke

Suddenly

she realises

her pulse racing

her heart pounding

her mouth dry

her thoughts tumbling

over themselves

dangerously

that she

is the one he wants

that she

is his fantasy.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Michael Liepke

Written a year ago. Yet sometimes relevant.

 

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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In dreams

 

I will not be held

responsible

or accountable

or answerable

or culpable.

Nor will I

apologize

or feel guilty

or accept liability

or be judged

or even damned

for all the

dark

delicious

decadent

dirty things

I do to you

in my dreams.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Steve Hanks

 
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Posted by on August 13, 2017 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Your touch

Art by Marcos Beccari

 

From a distance

across oceans

borders

mountains

cities

I will lay

your hands

upon you.

 

In your touch

I will be a lover

a poet

your Master

a stranger

the devil

a holy man.

 

I will be the name

in your mouth

the cry

on your lips.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marcos Beccari

(Written a year ago)

 

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2017 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Wish it

 

If I could wish

hot summer

and you

bare-legged

short dress

high heels

cool room

brass bed

white sheets

hair wild

body mine

then I would

wish it

right now.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

 
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Posted by on August 6, 2017 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Ready

Art by Jimmy Law

She has discovered him.

She has watched him, studied him, scrutinised him, reviewed him, analysed him.

She has surveyed him, evaluated him, interpreted him, considered him.

She has pondered, reflected and deliberated.

She has read him carefully.

She has nervously sipped at the heady wine of his dark religion.

She has tasted it on her tongue, held it in her mouth, felt it slide down her throat.

She has felt dizzy at his power, his control, his command.

She has begun to understand the nature and strength of her own self, her own needs, her own desires..

She is ready for his seduction, his instruction, his domination.

She is ready to be his.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this almost exactly a year ago – reposted because I like it.

Art by Jimmy Law

 
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Posted by on August 2, 2017 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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All afternoon

bondage_by_neil__whiteley-d5b3wjd

A cool, darkened room.

Outside the sun is blistering the wooden shutters. Narrow shafts of light sear between the wood, striping the walls and ceiling.

And streaming all over you.

They band your body, striping you cream and coffee coloured

You are naked, face up, on the white-sheeted bed.

You are stretched out in a star shape. Your wrists and ankles are secured to the four corners by ropes through steel D rings on strong black leather cuffs. The bindings permit little movement. No matter how hard you tug and strain against them

You have been here for almost an hour. I have caressed you, kissed you, licked you, stroked you. I have nibbled you, kneaded you, and lightly scratched you. I have teased you with my pin wheel, with a soft brush, with a scarf of silk, and with my twelve stranded flogger, trailed over your skin.

And with two of the dozen toys that I have carefully arranged on the oak bedside table.

I have a vintage Hitachi wand in my right hand. It whirrs rather noisily yet it is a faithful servant. I am applying it expertly to your already swollen and glistening sex. With my left hand I am tugging and pinching your hard-as-berry nipples. Your body is bucking and arching, wanting to push away from the wand’s relentless, dimpled, vibrating touch yet at the same time to thrust yourself against it.

Your breathing is urgent and hard. You are panting and crying, sighing and moaning. I know you are desperate to speak, to shout something at me. But you do not. I have forbidden you words.

Your body is dancing now. Strands of your hair are damp and clinging with perspiration. Your face is suffused and flushed with deep arousal. Your eyes roll back. Your mouth is open.

Your muscles tighten. You shudder. The orgasm reverberates through you.

It is your third climax.

The toy continues to send spasms through you. You make small noises of protestation. I smile. After a while I switch it off and idly but dangerously trail my fingers over your inner thighs.

I consider which device to use next.

Later I will reposition you face down.

Later still I will fuck you. Hard.

I have all afternoon ahead of me.

I am torturing you with pleasure.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph by Neil Whiteley

I wrote this around this time three years ago. But perhaps new readers will enjoy …

 
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Posted by on July 29, 2017 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life

 

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Gardener

eden-12

 

Sometimes she thinks he is a priest.

Or a professor, or a doctor, or a therapist.

Sometimes she thinks he is a teacher

or a shaman, or a philosopher, or a guide.

But sometimes she thinks he is a gardener

carefully sowing a decadent seed

a dark idea

a dangerous desire.

that takes root wickedly

and grows wildly

and constantly

inside her

 

until she can think

of nothing else.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a year ago – but a gardener’s work is never done

Photograph by Liliroze Photography

 

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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