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I want you

Art by William Oxer

I want you.

It is as basic as that.

It is as primal as that.

It is as simple as that.

It is as wild as that.

It is as raw as that.

It is as dark as that.

It is as holy as that.

It is as dirty as that.

It is as true as that.

It is as pure as that.

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

.

.

Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by William Oxer

 
1 Comment

Posted by on July 5, 2022 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Prophecy

Art by Casey Baugh

She gives me her palm to read.

.

I trace a line

from the tip

of her index finger

to the flickering

nervous pulse

in her wrist.

.

Then along the pale skin

of her arm.

.

I climb the rise

of her breasts

and traverse

her elegant shoulder.

.

I tenderly

stroke her throat

and chin

and cheeks.

.

I touch the curve of her lips

then softly kiss

her mouth

with a prophecy.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Written six years ago, but I hope the reader does not mind the repeat

Art by Casey Baugh

 
 

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Shiver

Art by Yanjun Cheng

A shiver.

A delicious, electric, thrilling shiver.

An ice-hot sensation rushing from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

It hurries to her throat and steals her breath.

It colours her skin with a sudden, rosy, tell-tale blush.

It hardens her nipples as if touched by a kiss

It dances wild across her belly and hips.

It makes her gasp as it tugs at her thighs

It penetrates her sex.

A shiver

Running down her spine

Coming from him.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Yanjun Cheng

A post from eight years ago. Yet hopefully it resonates.

 
 

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Aroma

There are fragrances I adore.

Red wine and the earthy aroma of a mature Rioja. Pepper, smoke, leather, pencil lead, tobacco and oak.

The pungent, salty, briny, fishy, seaweed, damp sand, ozone smell of a small working harbour when the boats have returned with their silver, flapping catch.

Patchouli, and musk and sandalwood, and the magical promise of marijuana, reminding me of stoned nights lost in music and poetry.

A garden awash with flowers, wisteria, alyssum, gardenia, magnolia, sweet pea, jasmine and glorious rose.

The smells redolent of summer and my childhood – new-mown hay, cotton candy, melting tar, honey, horses, chlorine, cinnamon, chocolate, the drifting smoke of a barbecue.

And others too – coffee beans roasting, peaty Irish whiskey, wild garlic, the evening after the rain and storm, and the familiar breath of home when I open the door.

The rich leather of cuffs, collar and blindfold, whips and flogger

And most of all, women.

A thousand fragrances, every body different. Her fresh washed hair, her make-up creams and oils. Her sweet perspiration. Her soft breath. Her purchased perfume made unique when it meets the personal aroma of her warm skin

And that heady, wondrous, eloquent, wild, delicate scent

of pure arousal

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

I am still delving among some of my past and almost forgotten writings. This one is still so very true.
 
Art by Fabian Perez

 
13 Comments

Posted by on June 30, 2022 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Slow surrender

She is innocent.

Her bold beauty is barely blemished. Her gorgeous body is almost untouched by another’s breath. The gentle pages of her heart are yet to be written.  Her hunger is new and urgent. She longs for something she has yet to discover.
She has purity in her soul.

He is darkness.

He has loved and won and lost his way through enough joy and sorrow to fill the night. He has coaxed forth endless sweet fantasies, elegantly bestowed a thousand decadent pleasures, and administered such breathtaking, delicious torture.
His eyes have seen far beyond the shadows.

Yet there is an ache that binds them. A primeval yearning that sets them apart from all others.

He will sanctify her slow surrender and make them both holy.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

More delving in my archives. I like this one.

Art by William Oxer

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 29, 2022 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Mirror

She stands before the mirror.

Her reflection is the same and yet she knows something inside herself has changed.  She had expected to see the evidence in the face of the slightly pensive woman staring back at her, but there is none.  Except for perhaps a slight blush in her usually pale cheeks.

She raises her chin and flicks her long black hair over her shoulders.  She is aware of a pulse dancing beneath the skin of her throat.  The room is as silent as a church.  She feels holy and profane at the same time. She feels like she did her first day at school.  Excited and afraid, and slightly awed, all at once.

She unties her gown, opens it, and lets it fall from her shoulders.  As it glides to the floor it brushes her skin like a soft caress.  She is wearing nothing beneath.

She is not ashamed of her body and yet, even though she is completely alone, she has never felt so exposed.  She interlocks her fingers behind her back and places her feet a shoulders width apart as he has instructed.

It is as if she has undressed for him.  In front of him. And yet he is not there.  He cannot see her.  There is no camera running. There are no stills to be taken.  He has simply told her to do this.  He wants no proof that she has complied.

As the allotted minutes tick away she becomes aware her breathing has quickened.  She can hear the blood pumping steadily through her veins.  Her nipples have hardened and there is a slight but definite ache in her lower belly.  Her mouth is dry.  She knows she is wet.

She has no idea why she has become so aroused.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Another rather old post of mine that I hope deserves to be reposted

Photo discovered on a website without reference to the owner. If it is yours please let me know so I can credit or remove

 
 

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Until the dawn

I will seduce you

with poetry

capture you

with prose

enchant you

with possibility

and have you

dance naked

for me

until the dawn

makes the sky

blush

and the light

perfectly paints

your skin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Alexey Chernigin

 
 

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Solstice

Art by Trudy Good

I am almost always in control.

Of another, of course, but particularly of myself.

But tonight with the summer solstice girdling the evening with magic, and with a wild, apocalyptic moon building herself in the heavens, I am partially undone.

I pace the humid, velvet, fantasy-rich night with light, hungry, tireless footsteps.

Prowling. Circling. Rattling this invisible chain that tethers me.

I am taut, stretched, urgent. I am savage, romantic, decadent. I am poetic, dangerous, sensual.

I close my eyes and allow the rush of her body to sweep over me, exciting my imagination. Her hips, her thighs, her belly, her breasts. The sweet hollow of her throat. The sacred mound of her sex.

The delicate silk of her hair trailing against my skin. The feel of her gorgeous curves beneath my fingers, against my lips, beneath my tongue.

Her scent filling my mouth.

The certainty of leather restraints upon her elegant ankles and wrists. The circle of a collar about her neck.

I am almost always in control.

But tonight I could roar with this aching, yearning, delicious desire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Trudy Good

I am fond of this old post of mine and like to resurrect it for the summer solstice. Apologies to regular readers who are no doubt bored with it. And yes, sometimes the solstice finds me this way.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on June 21, 2022 in Uncategorized

 

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Approval

She studies herself

in the full-length mirror.

She knows that he cannot see her, does not see her, may never see her.

Yet she turns through three hundred and sixty degrees.

Aware of her breasts beneath the shirt, her arse and her thighs, tight in her jeans, the way the morning light touches her skin.

She runs her hands through her hair and lets it fall.

She hopes he likes the way she looks.

And though his eyes may never find her

She still seeks his approval.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Written some years ago. Reposted because I like it.

Art by Jeremy Mann

 
 

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Incendiary

Photo by Mark Velasquez

How can one define attraction?

I look at you and I am entranced.

A beautiful face. A gorgeous body.

A clever, creative, independent mind.

A generous heart. A submissive sexual soul.

I do not know if the rest of the world sees you as I see you.

I do not care.

To me, you are so incendiary

you could burn your way

out of Hell.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Photo by Mark Velasquez. Model is Ashley Amarillas

 
 

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