Tag Archives: sex

On naked strangers


Images of naked strangers leave me cold

Nudity has become far too common a currency to attract my attention or pique my interest.

A body is a body. Some are more elegant than others. Some have been treated better or worse by time. Some are cared for. Some are toned by exercise. Some are a paradise of lines and curves. Some are the shape I admire.

But they do not raise my pulse.

Not unless I am attracted by the personality within. By the intellect, the sense of humour, the creativity, the warmth. And of course, by the hungry, submissive soul.

The body, especially one without exclusivity after having been viewed by many, is merely a shell.

It is she who inhabits the body that gives it attraction, magic, desirability, potency.

She gives it power.

The power to make me ache.

And want her.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Trudy Good

I wrote this four years ago. As true as it has ever been.


Posted by on April 15, 2018 in Still Life, Erotica


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If I could taste you


If I could taste you

Just once.


Your forehead, your cheek, your throat, the nape of your neck.

The pulse place just below your ears that you touch with scent.


Your chin, your mouth, your lips, your tongue.

Your fingers, your hands, your wrists.

The soft pale inner part of your arm that sees less sun.


Your shoulders, your waist, your ribs.

The sculpted indentation of your elegant spine.


Your breasts, your areola, your hardening nipples

Beautiful and urgent beneath my soft breath.


Your toes, your ankles, your shins, your calves

The tender place at the back of your knees,

Your thighs, your hips.

The perfect peach

of your immaculate arse.


If I could taste you just once.

Pressing my lips to your exquisite sex.

Letting my tongue glide over your delicate folds.

Pressing my mouth to your desire-slick lips.

Teasing your clit with the tip of my tongue.


If I could taste you just once.

I would lose my appetite

for all others.



This is not new. But the desire ….


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Fabian Perez



Posted by on April 3, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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Might just be


I am captivated




made hungry

made breathless

made hard

by the hem

of your skirt

as it rides up


on your thigh.



like these

make me believe

there might just be

a god.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Annick Bouvattier


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Posted by on March 5, 2018 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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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.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this two years ago. But It made me chuckle so much as I penned it back then,  that I have decided to post again now. I have to admit I have had less enjoyable diagnoses from my doctor since, but that is life.

Art by Fabian Perez


Posted by on March 4, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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What is it like?



What is it like?


What is it like to be with her

hearing her words

knowing her dreams?

What is like to be hers?


What is it like to be closer

stroking her hair

holding her body?

What is like to be there?


What is it like to be inside

feeling her skin

parting her thighs?

what is like to be in?



©  the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by William Oxer

This poem, written by me in my teens, often pops into my head.  Of course, I have no idea what I am thinking about that suddenly brings it to mind…..  Smiles

But here it is – recited by a much older, but sometimes still very inquisitive, me.

Not the first time I have posted it


Posted by on February 26, 2018 in Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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Your legs




Your legs

bare skinned

in jeans

in a skirt

in stockings

in heels.


Your legs





on tip toe.


Your legs





with mine.



Written a year ago. I love legs.


© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Thomas Saliot


Posted by on February 23, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life


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Something else

Desire by Luc Becks


She is trying to think of something else.

She works, busying herself with things that usually bore her, creating her own session of displacement therapy. She fills her day so that there is no room for idle thought.

At home she urgently flicks through magazines searching for something to steal her attention, even for a moment. She watches TV, trying to lose herself in someone else’s story. At night she closes her eyes tight shut, as if it will help.

But she cannot get the thought out of her head.

This desire to serve, this need to belong, this yearning to be his.

She has felt nothing like it before.  Not for any man, least of all this complete, dark, distant stranger.  Yet there is a familiarity about him, a certainty, a resonance. As if she has always known he would be there.

If she allows her imagination to escape it will swarm at her thighs, ache in her lower belly, and send a flush into her throat.  It will send a delicious tingling down her spine. It will conjure up of a thousand images of her own submission that will make her weak at the knees.

It will make her mouth dry and her sex wet.

She is trying to think of something else.



© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written five years ago, but I like it.

Photo © Luc Becks. (Sadly this account appears to be no longer active on Deviant Art)

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Posted by on February 14, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life


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