RSS

Tag Archives: submissive

Never call me ‘Daddy’

 

I do not expect

to be called

‘Master’

or ‘Sir’

unless

I have earned

your respect.

.

But never

ever

ever

call me ‘Daddy’.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Marina Marina

 

 
2 Comments

Posted by on September 6, 2018 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Sleeping Beauty

Photography by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

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

Photo by Tiffany Zettlemoyer

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.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 30, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

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 pin wheel, 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 four years ago. But perhaps new readers will enjoy …

 
5 Comments

Posted by on July 28, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

My thing

 

To a few

it might be

a good thing.

 

To some

it is probably

an unknown thing.

 

To many

it is certainly

a bad thing.

 

But regardless

this romantic

D/s religion

is completely

my thing.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Pat Erickson

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 27, 2018 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

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)

 
Leave a comment

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

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Butterfly Emerging

 

I have always been drawn to innocence

The girl who has never explored the longing, the yearning, the ache. The woman who has never allowed her desires to surface. The girl has never articulated the wanting within. The woman who has never let her caged animal escape.

She might be alone or partnered. She could be eighteen or fifty. She might be a mother, a student, a captain of industry, a writer, an artist, an everyday goddess, or perhaps all of these things.

But she will be a virgin to sexual submission

And I know there are those that might accuse me of wishing to take innocence and corrupt it, manipulate it or use it. I cannot deny the possibility that there might be such elements in my actions. We are complex creatures, we humans, and there is seldom only one single motivation.

Yet I know that the desire to teach, to instruct, to motivate, to mentor, to guide and to protect is at the very heart of my attraction towards the wide-eyed, the inexperienced, and those seeking something more.

And ultimately there is nothing more arousing, more moving, more gratifying, more lovely, more intense than watching a beautiful, exotic, sensual, erotically empowered butterfly emerging from the cramped chrysalis of her long hidden sexual submission.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

As often the case, I was looking for something else and stumbled on this from two years ago. And decided to repost.

Art by Emilia Wilk

 

 

 
9 Comments

Posted by on January 25, 2018 in D/s, Erotica, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

The One

 

Heaven__s_a_lie____by_helionn

He knows no other way

It is simply who he is. The way he has always been.

His earliest erotic fantasies were of control. And of damsels in distress.

And yet also of goddesses and worship.

He loves women. With respect. With admiration. With a deep and endless desire.

He needs to adore and to be adored.

Over the years has taught himself to be a Master of exquisite pleasure and delicious pain. He has known beauty, sensuality and submission beyond words.

But now winter tugs at his coat. He has become lined and grizzled, etched and silver.

The night is long. And his fire burns low.

Yet there is a light. Innocent, pure and holy.

Could she be the one

the one

the one.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

I wrote this in December three of years ago, and repeated it last year at this time. I think I was perhaps feeling a little weary when I first penned it. Smiles.
It has a wintry feel, so I hope it goes well with the snowflakes falling on my blog.

Photo/Art borrowed from Helionn on DeviantArt

 
8 Comments

Posted by on December 23, 2017 in D/s, Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,