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Aroma

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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, woman.

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

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

For compilation reasons, I am still delving amongst some of my past and almost forgotten writings. This one is still so very true.
 
Art by Fabian Perez

 
6 Comments

Posted by on June 28, 2021 in Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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Something for her

LETIZIA A LA SIESTA

She wishes he would write something for her.

A fantasy of endless, velvet, star-filled skies.

Of a wild, round, luminous moon hanging like a silver lantern. Of a warm, perfumed breeze stroking her hair and tugging gently at her dress.

Of the distant strains of a yearning, lone violin fading and rising through the whispering trees.

Of his hands releasing the pale silk gown from her eloquent shoulders, and it running off her naked body like a caress and falling with a sigh at her feet.

Of her perfect, dangerous, wondrous curves laid out by him on a cool, crisp white linen sheet. Of her arms and legs stretched wide. Of his tongue, his lips, his fingers over every inch of her tingling skin, upon her sensual mouth, her exquisite breasts, and her urgent, swollen, fragrant sex.

Of him filling her with pleasure, with joy, and with himself.

In every way.

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She wishes he would write something for her.

He just has.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

I wrote and posted this seven years ago, and a few times since. Definitely the Romantic side of RD. I am rather fond of it. I hope regular readers do not mind the repeat

 
4 Comments

Posted by on June 13, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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A dream of you

A dream of you.

Your legs long on impossible heels. The roll and glide and shimmy as you walk.  And turn.  And dance,

A panther poised.

A gorgeous glide.  A sleek and sensual slide.

Your hair like a storm. Your body clutched tight in a sheath of a dress.

Peeled off slow.

Your arms raised.

Waiting for your wrists to be tied.

Your mouth, your lips, your teeth, your tongue, your breath like a warm breeze.

Calling me to rise.

Your perfect peach of a posterior pressed into my belly, into my thighs, into my hungry. bold tumescence.

A dream of you.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written six years ago. These days I dream of you.

Art by Fabian Perez

 
1 Comment

Posted by on March 25, 2021 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, romance, Still Life

 

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As he will

Art by Fabian Perez

She barely understands it.

It is a desire to serve.

A hunger to yield, to bend, to give, to allow herself to be controlled.

A need to submit, To comply, to assent, to acquiesce.  It is an itch, an ache, a yearning.

She is compelled by some deep inner want, some unfathomable need. some almost primal desire to yield up her submission.

To render up all her power.

She has craved such wondrous, glorious authority over her for as long as she can remember. Before the budding of her breasts, before the flow of blood, before passion, before the longing between her thighs.

Yet it could never be anyone.  It had to be him.  It always had to be him.

She has waited forever for his presence. For his strength, his certainty, his discipline, his protection.

For him to do with her as he will.

Mind, body and soul.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

I wrote this a good few years ago.  Yet it has always been true. For a submissive soul.

 
 

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My doctor has examined me

Type = ArtScans RGB : Gamma = 2.000

 

My doctor has examined me

He is man of great learning and deep understanding.

He is old and wise, and certificates on his wall attest to his vast and eclectic knowledge. Anatomy, psychiatry, psychology, neurology. Surgery, geometry, chemistry, philately, campanology.

He took deep soundings from my pulse. He listened carefully to my heart. He examined my body with clever hands, the strength of my muscles, the structure of my bones, the conductivity of my nerves, the light in my eyes. He considered tendons, ligaments, cartilage.

He had me listen to indistinct sounds. He made me recall half-forgotten scents.  He insisted I recite my darkest poetry.

He made my reflexes dance

He asked me questions, recovered my dreams, investigated my hopes, pondered over my expectations. Asked pointedly about my exercise. And my patterns of sleep.

He explored my diet, my sexual inclinations, my sensual desires.  My abuse of tea. And alcohol.

When he was done he sat me down and faced me. His brow was furrowed, his mouth severe. His chin was set firm. He was serious in his approach. He was careful in his diagnosis.

He shook his head sorrowfully, and with his fat fountain pen wrote slowly upon his pad. He solemnly handed me the page.

My doctor has examined me

He is a man of considerable reputation. I trust him completely.

My doctor has examined me.

My doctor knows what ails me. He knows what has laid me low.

He is certain of the only thing that can make me well. His recommendation is precise and unequivocal.

My doctor has prescribed me you.

It is a repeat prescription.

Of unlimited dose

To be taken as often

as I require.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this five years ago. But It made me chuckle so much as I penned it back then, I have decided to post again now.

Art by Fabian Perez

 
 

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A bar somewhere

 

I imagine us

in a bar

somewhere

your hair

coming loose

dress

like a sheath

calves

like geometry

thighs

like fantasy

eyes shining

lips parted

raising your glass

sighing

‘yes’.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not a brand new post – but I do imagine you in a bar somewhere ….

Art by Fabian Perez

 
4 Comments

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

 

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Me – the ‘small print’

 

I wrote this three years ago. Since then I have gained new followers, and some may have missed it. I would hate readers to be under any illusions about the man and writer behind Romantic Dominant.

 

Some followers on WordPress and Twitter are surprised and disappointed when I express political or general opinions, outside of what they ‘expect’ from me. A number unfollowed me today after my recent tweet mocking the ludicrous idea that more guns make for a safer society.

Rather than you all unfollow me in an untidy fashion as you realise that I am not quite what you expected, I have decided to post this ‘small print’ about me, so all those who wish to take offence at my beliefs can disappear at once. I am certain there is something in here to upset most people but I do feel obliged to come clean about the man behind the writer.

I am white, male, English and middle-aged.
I am a socialist.
I am an atheist.
I am not poor (or particularly rich) by UK standards, and certainly not poor by world standards.
I would rather live in a poor, caring, fair society than a rich, uncaring, unfair one.
I believe all lives, whoever, wherever, are equal.
I believe all human beings have a right to food, water, and shelter
I believe we are all responsible for the safety and well-being of the children of the world.
I abhor discrimination by race, country of origin, sex (in the widest possible sense), age, religion (even though I am an atheist) and I abhor discrimination due to (lack of) wealth or education.
I abhor misogyny and the oppression and abuse of women in all societies
I abhor discrimination against those who face mental or physical challenges, or who are simply not like the ‘norm’.
I believe it is totally unacceptable that 1% of the world’s population own 50% of the world’s wealth, and that the gap between rich and poor globally is widening.
I think capitalism without morality has failed the majority
I hate the cult of money, and also the cult of celebrity.
I despise fervent nationalism or tribalism because it seldom leads to good outcomes. Flags should be reserved for sporting events.

There is probably more, but I am as bored with writing this as you probably are with reading it. Those who have decided to leave have probably left. There is more about me here and here if you can be bothered.

Please exit quietly. Hopefully some will remain.

.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 
18 Comments

Posted by on February 17, 2021 in politics, Still Life, Uncategorized

 

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Nature or nurture?

She asks herself the question over and over again.

How could he tell from a photograph, a handful of posts, a dozen seemingly innocuous online messages?

What was it about her that had made him so certain, so confident, so sure?

How can he write himself into her head, into her heart? How can he read what she is thinking? How can he see so deep inside her? Every secret. Every wish, Every desire.

And how does he make her body react in the way that it does? Sometimes despite herself.

And where did this overpowering urge to please him come from?

Is it her nature?

Or his nurture?

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I first wrote this seven years ago – the question is sometimes asked

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

 
3 Comments

Posted by on December 28, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Black Dresses

Art by Fabian Perez

 

I am not fond of Christmas

especially when it begins

so early

tacky and commercial

a festival of bad taste.

.

And yet it is a season of parties

mistletoe kisses

flirtation and assignation

and lovely women

in sexy black dresses

and seriously seductive heels.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez

I wrote and posted this in mid-December some years ago,. With the virus changing so many things, it feels as if it was written a lifetime ago. Yet I still adore those little black dresses.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 17, 2020 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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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.

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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

 

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