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/Faded Romantic

Art by Steve Hanks

 

Afternoon

Horses hooves

in the lane

outside my window

sheep bleating

in the field

billowing clouds

white on blue.

.

I sit here

daydreaming

music playing

tea steaming

and a long list

of things to do.

.

And wanting

and wanting

and wanting

you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

Art by Steve Hanks. She looks nothing like the wanted one, but it is a lovely painting.

 

Ripe

Not until

you are swollen

tumescent

engorged

flushed

full

hot

wet

and slick

is your fruit

ripe enough

sweet enough

and ready

for me.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

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/Faded Romantic

Art by Steve Hanks

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

 

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/Faded Romantic

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

 

Hungry taste

Oh to lay kisses

on your legs

from your elegant calves

to the soft skin

of your inner thighs,

parting your lips

and filling my mouth

with your hungry taste.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic

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

 

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

 

Afternoon

Horses hooves

in the lane

outside my window

sheep bleating

in the field

billowing clouds

white on blue.

.

I sit here

day dreaming

music playing

tea steaming

and a long list

of things to do.

.

And wanting

and wanting

and wanting

you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Steve Hanks. She looks nothing like the wanted one, but it is a lovely painting.