The Dirty Romantic - You Make Me Need You

thedirtyromantic:

An Artists Canvas

Pale curves, milky flesh. Soft places to lose oneself.

A perfect blank canvas to leave memories of passion.

Hot welts and heavy touches write our story, words written with tooth and nail.

The beauty is, those words will fade, even while the memory of creating them remains.

So we write another chapter, pages filled with a touch, a hand against your throat, lips against your ear.

Word by word, mark by mark, the story grows, different every time.

The Dirty Romantic

http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

Or you could say

“If it doesn’t look like a demon is exercising on her body, you are doing it wrong”.

(It helps if you imagine you are a demon with a long, prehensile tongue with jaw muscles that would shame Hercules and who can breath through it’s ears.)

(via childofeos)

So I saw this, laughed, hard and put it back.

I can’t be cruel enough to send this.

Almost. So close but not quite.

rebelsnotes:

Shoes

Shapes.

(And shoes)

(With heels)

(That last part is important)

(Very important)

thedirtyromantic:

Wonder

The ink makes me wonder what my hands would feel like, placed there, covering the marks on her skin.

Snaking in to place, wondering where they will find their point of purchase. Grip firm on her hips, wonder at the tender flesh.

Pulling her in tight to me, bending and shaping her. Wondering if she will mould completely to my will.

Slowly, one hand released to slide over her hips, finding the wonder that is the small of her back.

Then a slow ascent along the curve of her spine, fingers tracing the soft grove. The path leading finally to find my hand grasping her hair. And a pause for a moment, to wonder where I will take it next

The Dirty Romantic

http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

akadoe:

After all the analysis, questioning and self reflection…candidly…does it move you? Are you a female for whom this resonates? Or a male who fully appreciates and needs the type of woman who is simply wired for this type of relationship?

I’m not one for passing comment on the way others want to live their lives and if it is consensual then everyone is free to make their choices.

But this depresses me more than I can explain. I find it hard to process this sentiment, to understand why someone feels the need or desire to be thought of in this manner.

I can’t align that only by becoming a footstool can someone be given their worth. I can’t assimilate that someone sees themselves as a ‘worthless cunt’ and can only find meaning by being used without regard.

I am not judging someone who feels that way, I just can’t understand it, at all. That a sense of self can only be brought through what another is willing to bestow on you, that self worth is held totally outside of the individual.

I also find it difficult to see where the pleasure is for the man, where the joy is in treating someone like this. I am dominant, I adore that dynamic of power, of what it can create but I don’t understand this dynamic. I understand the power and pleasure of submission and dominance but I don’t see how the individuals grow from this, how they build a mutual energy between them. It seems an uneven system, a broken loop.

I am unable to see anyone like this, to believe in such a perceived worthlessness. I couldn’t accept it and I wouldn’t reinforce it. I know this is my lack of understanding, of seeing this from the other persons perspective.

I know we are all different and my own likes and kinks would be seen as difficult to reconcile by lots of other people. And of course I know there are people who need and crave this. But I just fail totally to be able to put myself in either persons place to see the dynamic between them.

But perhaps what worries me most is how this could be perceived by those who don’t give a thought to that underlying dynamic. That the words and images and sentiment can be taken out of context. That it is only the veneer of treating someone like a ‘worthless cunt’ that is seen and taken away, not the underlying complexity of it.

I don’t purport to be an expert or a scholar in this and once again I am not judging someone else’s choices. I’m pretty sure lots of people will disagree with me on this and maybe others will tell me where my thinking is broken. But I saw this and it created a deep reaction in me, it depressed me. I couldn’t let this pass across my dash without commenting on it.

I’m interested in what others think about this.

(via greeneyedgirl39)

thedirtyromantic:

Unseen

She watches me, as I watch her.

We both know, though neither will mention it, that out of sight her cunt is exposed.

We both know the folds are wet, heavy, ripe.

And yet we wait and watch.

She won’t move until I tell her she can. She will hold the pose perfectly because I have asked her to.

So we sit here, with just my hand slowly perambulating over silky skin, rolling up and down.

And I simply tempt her with the sight. My growing need, straining against my solid grip.

And she retaliates by simply being still, poised sphinx like in her calm.

But I can see in her eyes she is anything but calm. I can tell as my fingers roll up and over my glistening head again, that she is churning inside.

So I wait and stroke. Delighting in the turmoil I am creating.

And instead I wonder at how delicious she must look from the view I chose to deny myself.

The Dirty Romantic
http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

Model - Mosh

thedirtyromantic:

Sweet shapes.

It is those small places that are the most tempting, those tiny details.

The svelte curve of her belly, the cute crease of skin at the top of her thigh, the rounded seduction of her shoulder.

So many places to explore, such variety.

thedirtyromantic:

Hands

What do they say?

Is it protection or anticipation?

Are they holding the dress in place or preparing to reveal everything?

Are they poised to become shields or pathways?

Does she know yet?

What do you want them to say?

The Dirty Romantic
http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

thedirtyromantic:

Ghosts

As he walks in to the room, he feels the ghosts of what was before. He can still taste them in the air, he breathes deeply and savours them once again.

Each movement, each moment, still a bright memory. The sound of their joy still resonates around him. He smiles at its touch

Closing his eyes, the memory is brought to life, sharper, more immediate. Every touch, each caress, every flavour.

Wrapped in ghosts, he relives those moments. The bitter sweet memory mixes with the wonder if it will ever be real again.

Words by The Dirty Romantic

http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

Picture Credits:

Incorporeal Punishment

Model: Soma Snakeoil

Photographer: David Bazabal, Forced Life Photography (Twitter, Facebook)

Rigger: Don Sir

thedirtyromantic:

Curves, swirls, flows and shapes.

The wonder of the female form, my reaction wired deep within me, leaving my heart jumping and my blood raging.

My eyes caress each sweep, lingering within those soft spaces, pondering the texture and taste.

Patterns seduce me, drawing me in only to be tempted by a pale expanse of virgin flesh.

Hours lost willingly following the light and dark, the hard and soft, the smooth and pliant.

And it all begins with a hand parting a curtain of hair, exposing a delicate arch of her neck to the barest touch of my lips.

The Dirty Romantic
http://youmakemeneedyou.tumblr.com

youmakemeneedyou:

I often see pictures that at some point I wrote words for.

I try to see if I can remember the words, mostly I can’t.

But I go back to read them again to see if my perspective has changed in how I perceive the image.

It’s an interesting game, to see how I’ve changed and in some ways how much I’m the same.

And if anyone was curious - these are the words that went with this image the first time round.

And no I didn’t remember exactly which ones they were, in fact I was surprised with which ones that went with it.

Command and Control

The man at the next table turns to once again look at you as you yelp. He has been watching all through lunch as the noises and moans have become louder and louder.

The waiters have been very attentive, passing by your table, checking everything is in order, that you are happy. It is as if they can sense how turned on you are right now, the animal instinct men possess tracking you down your need, hunting for the easy kill.

Your legs are shaking as the final wave of another orgasm passes over you. Knuckles white as you hold on to the tabletop trying to retain some sense of calm, holding on to your last shred of dignity. You lick the perspiration from your lips, the skin exposed through the open necked shirt glows with its own sheen.

Breathing deeply, you try and control your errant body, command it to relax and recover before the next wave hits you.

Your phone quietly buzzes on the table, you quickly flick it on and read the message and you gasp under your breath, ‘God no, please stop.’ The words on the tiny screen have just shattered any calm you had managed to claw back. Unable to avoid it, you are forced to read and reply otherwise the punishment will be ten times worse…