Her own touch

 

Her own touch

is not his touch

but longing and lust

yearning and need

a dizzying desire

and a wild imagination

have made it so.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new, but true.

Art by Steve Hanks

 

Dizzy

 

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.

 

Her own touch

 

Her own touch

is not his touch

but longing and lust

yearning and need

a dizzying desire

and a wild imagination

have made it so.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new, but true.

Art by Steve Hanks

 

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

 

Let her hands

 

She has let her hands

wander all over

her body

as if they belonged

to a lover

to a writer

to a teacher

to a priest

to an angel

to the devil

to her Master.

As if they belonged

to a stranger.

As if they belonged

to me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new. But always new.

Art by Patrice Murciano

 

Breath

 

 

 

She strokes

the soft

smooth

silky skin

of her inner thigh

and imagines

his touch

his finger tips

his kiss

and the thrill

of his breath.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this a couple of years ago. I wonder if you imagine it.

Art by Steve Hanks

 

Dizzy

 

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 posted this a year ago. But felt it could cope with a repost.

 

Your touch

 

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

 

 

Dizzy

 

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

 

Always someone

 

When I am alone

In the sultry, electric heat of a stormy summer night. In the still, misty air of a hushed and muted Autumn afternoon. In the warm bed contrast of a shivery bitter-cold winter morning. In the sap-rising new warmth of a gentle Spring evening.

When I am utterly alone

And when my wordy mind is full of dancers. Of yearning. almost-innocent girls in party dresses. Of elegant, long-legged women, heels sending staccato gun fire across marble floors. Of leather-clad vixens, full swagger, poise and scarcely admitted vulnerability.  Of submissive, naked angels. spread and tied like sacrifice on pure white sheets on wide brass beds…..

And when my memories and fantasies, and the touch of my own fingers across my flesh, have made me ache and burn for physical release

There is always a beauty and a body I conjure up when I close my eyes.

A delicious smile. A paradise of curves and lines and soft tender skin. A wonder of gorgeous breasts with hard-as-berry nipples. A roll of hips that take my breath away. A perfection of soft thighs, seductively parted. Eloquent eyes that know my dark soul.

There is always someone my hunger turns to.

Someone to bring me to a wild, private, exultant, shuddering climax

It is always you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Victor Bauer

I wrote this a year ago. I hope you can bear the repeat.