In summer

 

When winter

has settled in

it is hard

to believe

in summer

and the taste

of sunshine

on your skin.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by the late Steve Hanks

 

Ruined

 

You have ruined

my box of words.

None of them

are good enough.

None of them

are adequate.

None of them

can do you justice.

 

My nouns

are neutered,

my adjectives

are absent,

my verbs

are without value.

 

I have run out

of metaphors

similes

and superlatives.

 

You have ruined

my box of words.

How can I

describe you now?

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but probably relevant.

Art by the late Steve Hanks

 

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

 

The heart of my desire

 

I was born this way.

Beauty enthrals me

intelligence excites me

sexual submission

thrills me.

Control

is at the heart

of my desire.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Steve Hanks

 

 

In dreams

 

I will not be held

responsible

or accountable

or answerable

or culpable.

Nor will I

apologize

or feel guilty

or accept liability

or be judged

or even damned

for all the

dark

delicious

decadent

dirty things

I do to you

in my dreams.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a few years ago. But one dreams.

Art by Steve Hanks

 

A darker twist

 

She is naked.

She runs her fingertips along her cheeks and lightly over lips.

So gently that her skin tingles.

She closes her eyes and trails them over her chin, onto her neck and into the hollow of her throat.

They trace a line across her collar bones. She shivers. But she is not cold.

She is surprised to find her skin so sensitive to her own touch.

She parts her thighs. Wide. As wide as she can.

Breathing hard she allows her hands to slide down and cup her breasts.

She slowly circles her areolae with her thumbs, feeling the already erect nipples harden into tight buds.

She strokes herself, exquisite arcs of excitement. She almost becomes lost in the sensation.

She imagines her hands becoming his. She is under his instruction, under his control

She takes each nipple between thumb and forefinger.

She begins to squeeze. Hard.

In her mind she can hear his voice. Soft, deep, dark, commanding, certain.

‘Harder’

She tightens her grip and gasps at the pain. And yet also the pleasure.

She knows she is wet. Very.

His voice again.

‘Harder’

This time she is brutal with herself.

She cries out, yet maintains her vice-like grip.

It is like two electric shocks. Red hot wires running from breasts to belly to sex.

Urgent, sharp, shocking. intense.

Heavenly.

The deep pitch of her arousal takes her breath away.

 

She realizes her fantasies have suddenly taken a darker twist.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not a new post – but oh, that darker twist

Art by Steve Hanks

 

I am not a holy man

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will touch your brow

as you kneel before me.

I will whisper a prayer

to your beauty

and your body.

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will hear your confession

in the sacred darkness.

I will sing a hymn

to your sweet heart

and submissive soul.

 

I am not a holy man.

But I will place my hands upon you

and anoint you with oil.

I will bless the moment

of your conversion

that carried you

here to me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Steve Hanks

This piece is perhaps five years old – I am still not a holy man

 

Ruined

 

You have ruined

my box of words.

None of them

are good enough.

None of them

are adequate.

None of them

can do you justice.

 

My nouns

are neutered,

my adjectives

are absent,

my verbs

are without value.

 

I have run out

of metaphors

similes

and superlatives.

 

You have ruined

my box of words.

How can I

describe you now?

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but probably relevant.

Art by Steve Hanks

 

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

 

Surely fall

I have never met her.

Yet I can smell her scent on my fingers.

I can hear her laughter. The way it lifts and dances and makes me smile.

I can feel the press of her body, her skin soft against mine, my face buried in her hair,  I can imagine how she responds to my touch, the blush in her throat, the quickening of her breath and the rising of her breasts.

The hardening of her nipples. Her wetness against my thigh.

I can taste her kiss. So vividly that I am running the tip of my tongue over my lips to capture the sweetness.

I can see her eyes, bright, eloquent, shining, luminous.

Making me sigh.

I have never met her

But if I did

I would surely fall.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Steve Hanks

I have posted this a number of times.  But perhaps new readers will enjoy and old readers will forgive the repeat.