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Tag Archives: romantic dominant

I never look back

 

I never look back

over my shoulder

at what is lost

or is history.

 

I never look ahead

at what may

or may not

ever be.

 

I live

for the moment

with the beauty

that touches me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fulvio De Marinis

 
12 Comments

Posted by on August 2, 2020 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Gardener

eden-12

 

Sometimes she thinks he is a priest.

Or a professor, or a doctor, or a therapist.

Sometimes she thinks he is a teacher

or a shaman, or a philosopher, or a guide.

But sometimes she thinks he is a gardener

carefully sowing a decadent seed

a dark idea

a dangerous desire.

that takes root wickedly

and grows wildly

and constantly

inside her

 

until she can think

of nothing else.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written four years ago – but a gardener’s work is never done

Photograph by Liliroze Photography

 
6 Comments

Posted by on August 1, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Sleeping Beauty

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

Art by William Oxer

This is not new, I wrote it some time ago. But I like it, it has proved popular (sometimes controversial)  – and so I hope you can forgive it’s regular July outing.

 
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Posted by on July 31, 2020 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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All Afternoon

bondage_by_neil__whiteley-d5b3wjd

A cool, darkened room.

Outside the sun is blistering the wooden shutters. Narrow shafts of light sear between the wood, striping the walls and ceiling.

And streaming all over you.

They band your body, striping you cream and coffee coloured

You are naked, face-up, on the white-sheeted bed.

You are stretched out in a star shape. Your wrists and ankles are secured to the four corners by ropes through steel D rings on strong black leather cuffs. The bindings permit little movement. No matter how hard you tug and strain against them

You have been here for almost an hour. I have caressed you, kissed you, licked you, stroked you. I have nibbled you, kneaded you, and lightly scratched you. I have teased you with my pinwheel, with a soft brush, with a scarf of silk, and with my twelve stranded flogger, trailed over your skin.

And with two of the dozen toys that I have carefully arranged on the oak bedside table.

I have a vintage Hitachi wand in my right hand. It whirrs rather noisily yet it is a faithful servant. I am applying it expertly to your already swollen and glistening sex. With my left hand I am tugging and pinching your hard-as-berry nipples. Your body is bucking and arching, wanting to push away from the wand’s relentless, dimpled, vibrating touch yet at the same time to thrust yourself against it.

Your breathing is urgent and hard. You are panting and crying, sighing and moaning. I know you are desperate to speak, to shout something at me. But you do not. I have forbidden you words.

Your body is dancing now. Strands of your hair are damp and clinging with perspiration. Your face is suffused and flushed with deep arousal. Your eyes roll back. Your mouth is open.

Your muscles tighten. You shudder. The orgasm reverberates through you.

It is your third climax.

The toy continues to send spasms through you. You make small noises of protestation. I smile. After a while I switch it off and idly but dangerously trail my fingers over your inner thighs.

I consider which device to use next.

Later I will reposition you face down.

Later still I will fuck you. Hard.

I have all afternoon ahead of me.

I am torturing you with pleasure.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Photograph by Neil Whiteley

I wrote this around this time six years ago. But perhaps new readers will enjoy …

 
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Posted by on July 30, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Butterfly

 

She is a quiet chrysalis

awaiting the warmth

of my dark desire

to melt her shy prison

and bid her emerge

as a beautiful

sexually submissive

butterfly.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Ivan Grozdanovski

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 29, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Performance

 

She is performance

potent

proud

physical

powerful

profane

passionate

precious

pleasing

persuasive

provocative

phenomenal

perfect.

 

She is performance

purely for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new, but I’m posting again. Because there is nothing better than performance.

Art by William Oxer

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

 

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For you I am

 

I am a constant

a longing

a smile

a challenge

an instruction

a direction

a thrill

a control

a fulfilment

a comfort

a virtual arm

around your shoulders.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

 

 

 

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 27, 2020 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

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The Yearning

 

Sometimes

you feel it

in your bones

in your skin

in your heart

in your soul

in every fibre

of your being

and you know

it is what you want

it is what you need

and nothing

will stop

the yearning.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

I wrote this a couple of years ago.  But there is always a yearning ….

 
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Posted by on July 26, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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Sending kisses

 

Summer sunshine

tea and meditation

music and imagination

scent of buddleia

jasmine and tobacco.

 

The liquid sound

of birds singing

exultant and free

in the garden.

 

And me

sending quiet kisses

on the warm breeze

across the miles

hoping they find you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not brand new – but I am sending kisses.

Art by Lenin Delsol

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2020 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Getting ready

Art by Laszlo Gulyas

 

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 five years ago, and has been re-aired at least four times. There is something deeply arousing about a lover, whether physical or distant, getting ready. It is humbling, and yet fills me with pride.

 
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Posted by on July 24, 2020 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

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