Something has changed

 

Her life is the same.

Yet something subtle, imperceptible, indefinable has changed.

She seeks it in the buildings, the landscape, the weather and the light.  In the steam from her coffee. She looks for it in the faces of others. She tries to find clues in music, in art, and in films that make her laugh and cry. In books and in magazines and in the words of romantic poets

She watches clouds making familiar shapes across an ordinary sky.

She stands surrounded by night and studies the moon and stars. She lets the breeze tug at her hair and listens for something she might not hear.

In her room, with the lights down low, she examines her body, stripping naked, running her hands over her skin. She is alive to her own touch. Her fingers make her sigh. She breathes deeply.

She stares back at herself and tries to read her own expression.

Her eyes give something away. They are bright, wide, curious, excited. Her lips are full, the faintest of smiles kissing the edges. There is the softest blush upon her cheek, and in her throat.

Her life is the same

Yet something has changed.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post was written a while ago. But sometimes old things strike new chords.

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

 

 

Getting ready

 

Getting ready

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

hot water running

in rapid rivers

your skin slick

with scented soap

blushing with heat

and anticipation.

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

lazily lingering

in lacy lingerie

sexily slipping

into silky stockings

sleek and sensual

in a sheath of a dress.

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

pristine, painted

poised and peerless

and perfectly prepared

for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

This is another ‘not new’ post. It is originally from four years ago, and has been re-aired at least three times. There is something deeply arousing about a lover, whether physical or distant, getting ready. It is humbling, and yet fills me with pride.

 

Command Performance

 

 

He wants

to make her body sing

to train her

to direct her

to conduct her

to control her.

 

He wants

to make her body sing

to be his chanteuse

to be his nightingale

to be his diva

to be his leading lady soprano

pouring out her soul

 

He wants

to make her body sing

and sigh

and dance

and glide

and twist

and writhe

and shiver

and sway

and fill his stage

with her perfect submission

a command performance

only for him.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post is two years old – but a command performance is always special.

Art by Laszio Gulyas

 

Something has changed

 

Her life is the same.

Yet something subtle, imperceptible, indefinable has changed.

She seeks it in the buildings, the landscape, the weather and the light.  In the steam from her coffee. She looks for it in the faces of others. She tries to find clues in music, in art, and in films that make her laugh and cry. In books and in magazines and in the words of romantic poets

She watches clouds making familiar shapes across an ordinary sky.

She stands surrounded by night and studies the moon and stars. She lets the breeze tug at her hair and listens for something she might not hear.

In her room, with the lights down low, she examines her body, stripping naked, running her hands over her skin. She is alive to her own touch. Her fingers make her sigh. She breathes deeply.

She stares back at herself and tries to read her own expression.

Her eyes give something away. They are bright, wide, curious, excited. Her lips are full, the faintest of smiles kissing the edges. There is the softest blush upon her cheek, and in her throat.

Her life is the same

Yet something has changed.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This post written a while ago. But sometimes old things strike new chords.

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

 

 

 

Getting ready

 

Getting ready

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

hot water running

in rapid rivers

your skin slick

with scented soap

blushing with heat

and anticipation.

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

lazily lingering

in lacy lingerie

sexily slipping

into silky stockings

sleek and sensual

in a sheath of a dress.

.

I adore the thought

of you

getting ready

pristine, painted

poised and peerless

and perfectly prepared

for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

This is another ‘not new’ post. It is originally from three years ago, and has been aired a couple of times. There is something deeply arousing about a lover, whether physical or distant, getting ready. It is humbling, and yet fills me with pride.

 

Command Performance

 

 

He wants

to make her body sing

to train her

to direct her

to conduct her

to control her.

 

He wants

to make her body sing

to be his chanteuse

to be his nightingale

to be his diva

to be his leading lady soprano

pouring out her soul

 

He wants

to make her body sing

and sigh

and dance

and glide

and twist

and writhe

and shiver

and sway

and fill his stage

with her perfect submission

a command performance

only for him.

.

.

This post is a year old – but a command performance is always special.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Laszio Gulyas

 

Something has changed

 

Her life is the same.

Yet something subtle, imperceptible, indefinable has changed.

She seeks it in the buildings, the landscape, the weather and the light.  In the steam from her coffee. She looks for it in the faces of others. She tries to find clues in music, in art, and in films that make her laugh and cry. In books and in magazines and in the words of romantic poets

She watches clouds making familiar shapes across an ordinary sky.

She stands surrounded by night and studies the moon and stars. She lets the breeze tug at her hair and listens for something she might not hear.

In her room, with the lights down low, she examines her body, stripping naked, running her hands over her skin. She is alive to her own touch. Her fingers make her sigh. She breathes deeply.

She stares back at herself and tries to read her own expression.

Her eyes give something away. They are bright, wide, curious, excited. Her lips are full, the faintest of smiles kissing the edges. There is the softest blush upon her cheek, and in her throat.

Her life is the same

Yet something has changed.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Laszlo Gulyas