RSS

Tag Archives: erotica

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

 
5 Comments

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

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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

 
2 Comments

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

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Enchantment

art-by-casey-baugh

 

I do not know the sorcery of attraction.

I only know its magic, its chemistry, its compelling, demanding, irresistible force

I only know it by the mane of hair, the eloquent eyes, the sensual lips

I only know it by the elegant shoulders, the exquisite breasts, the perfect legs

I only know it by the sweetest voice, the lightest wit, the purest heart.

I do not know the sorcery of attraction

I only know the shape

of its enchantment

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Casey Baugh

I posted this six years ago. And five times since. I hope you will enjoy nevertheless

 
2 Comments

Posted by on November 17, 2020 in Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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

 
4 Comments

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

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Sleeping Beauty

Photography by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

She is sleeping

Her breathing is shallow. Her chest rises and falls. He counts the seconds and studies her for signs of waking.

There are none.

He says her name. Softly.

Again. A little louder. But still quietly. He does not really want her to stir.

He gently takes her hand in his. It is small, and soft, and cool. Her fingers lie over his. They are quiet and still. His thumb and forefinger circle her wrist. He can feel her pulse. He imagines it quickening, but he cannot be sure. He lowers her hand to the bed.

She is beautiful. Her hair is raven black against her pale skin. Her lips are perfectly formed and ruby-red. She is wearing a pure white dress that is fitted at the breast, tight at the waist, and clinging to her hips. Sleeping Beauty

He knows he should kiss her, rouse her from her slumber, bring her back to consciousness.

But her still and perfect form has mesmerised him, captivated him, bewitched him. He feels himself harden as he moves towards her. He murmurs her name again. His throat stifles the sound.

He reaches out and with almost trembling fingers he strokes her cheek. Her skin is warm to his touch.

She does not stir.

He carefully undoes the first of the buttons. And then another. And a third. The gorgeous swell of her breasts makes him dizzy with desire.

At the sixth button, as the material begins to peel open, he realises she is naked underneath.

……………………

She is not sleeping.

She senses him standing by the narrow bed, gazing at her. She knows his eyes are upon her, taking in every curve, and every line. She waits. And tries to control her breathing.

She focuses on keeping perfectly still.

She hears him say her name. Twice. She ignores it, forbidding her eyelids to flicker.

He picks up her hand. His sudden touch in the darkness almost makes her flinch with surprise. His fingers are long and thin. She fears he will feel her pulse race crazily as his thumb presses against her flesh. He releases her gently, and she knows.

She is certain about what is going to happen when she hears her name a third time, and it is said like a faint prayer in a hoarse and caressing whisper.

His touch upon her cheek is like fire. She almost gasps at her own arousal.

He begins to undo the buttons of her dress.

Achingly.

Tantalizingly.

Deliciously slowly.

This is heaven.

She will not wake now..

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photo by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

This is not new, I wrote it some time ago. And it had an outing last year. But I like a good fairy story as we approach All Hallows’ Eve.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on October 31, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Choose

 

I send a kiss

across the miles

for you to choose

where it lands,

for you to feel

my lips

my breath

my desire

my longing

my lust

upon your gorgeous skin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not a newly written post, but you can choose.

Art by Ryan Swallow

 
2 Comments

Posted by on October 22, 2020 in Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Every inch

art-by-omar-ortiz

I sense you.

I feel your warmth, hear your breathing. I catch a hint of your scent. I can almost taste your skin.

Your presence seems close. Sensual, delicate, compelling, submissive, heavenly.

I imagine touching your face, your throat, your naked shoulders, your exquisite breasts.

Owning you. The thought thrills me beyond measure.

I will know you completely.

Every word, every breath, every smile, every sigh, every fantasy, every curve.

Every inch of your perfect body.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Omar Ortiz

This is not new. I wrote and first posted it seven years ago. But sometimes it just feels right to post it.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 20, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Dizzy

serge-marshennikov-9-620x413

 

Dizzy with desire

she trails her fingers

from the hollow of her throat

over the yearning ache of her breasts

down the sweet mound of her belly

and between her parted thighs

to her slick and swollen sex.

She imagines they are his fingers

finding her hungry

and wet.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Serge Marshennikov

I have posted this a few times. But felt it could cope with a repost.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 13, 2020 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Tale of a Dominant – Part Two

 

The candle has burnt down low.

The bar is close to empty. It is late. The waitress is hovering near the table with the bill, He motions to her with a raised eyebrow and a smile. She places l’addition on a white saucer with two small squares of gold-wrapped chocolate.

The girl opposite him runs her hands through her long black hair and stretches back in her chair. It is almost provocative.

His eyes flick over her body appreciatively and return to her face. He stares into her eyes. She doesn’t look away. They are both more than a little drunk.

She feels she knows everything about him. He has answered her questions all evening. About his lovers, About D/s, his rules, the cities and the hotel suites, the romance, the shadows and the dancers. His briefcase full of ropes and bindings, toys and instruments. The reasons behind it all. His adoration, his admiration, and his love of women. Of some women in particular.

She has captured his velvet voice on her recorder.

And yet, although he has been the one telling his story, she feels as if it is her soul that has been stripped bare.

He punches the PIN into the card machine with long slender fingers, and it is time to go. He hands her both of the chocolates. She slips them into her bag. She knows they are destined to sit uneaten on her dressing table forever.

Much later that night, with the dawn creeping softly over the silent sea, she slips naked from his bed. She is careful not to wake him. In the pale light she re-reads the note he gave her, written in his distinctive hand, in dark midnight-blue ink.

I remember them all.

The beauties, the heroines, the angels. The wide-eyed girls in their best party frocks. The bold but trembling women in their gorgeous. silk gowns.

The waifs and the strays. The wild and the hungry. The creative and the eloquent. The sacred and the profane.

Tiger Cub, Rebecca, Jenny, Beauty, Angel, Hermosa, Lindsay, and the rest. The sweet submissives who have perfumed my nights and made wonderful my days.

I remember them all.

You are the last.

It is the end.

.

.

Part One

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

But is it/was it the end?

Art by Fabian Perez

 
6 Comments

Posted by on October 6, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Use me

 

Think of me

as a poet

a priest

a professor

 

Think of me

as a stranger

a shaman

a sorcerer

 

Think of me

as a doctor

a dancer

a Dominant.

 

Use me

as the fantasy

who makes you blush

part your thighs

and arch your back

when you are alone.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but you might use me.

Art by John Silver

 
6 Comments

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

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,