If I Discovered Eve in the Garden…

I have considered the temptation of Eve from my perspective. What if I had found her in the garden considering the apple? 

My strongest instinct would be tie her wrists around the trunk of the tree of enlightenment, spank her pretty ass hard until well marked, then untie her, drop her to her knees and drive my shaft deep down her throat until I filled it with my own seed. 

Then when she was on her knees looking up at me with those adoring eyes, then and only then would I shove the apple in her mouth. 

Posted in Erotic Thoughts, My Dominance | Tagged , , | 12 Comments

Grandma’s Last Thanksgiving

This will be Grandma’s last Thanksgiving.   She misses Grandpa terribly, is tired of making trips to the emergency room and has asked that no further interventions be taken to keep her alive.

And yet she is just well enough to travel two hours (as a passenger) to spend Thanksgiving with us.  Most likely, she will be of very good spirits, will smile, joke and socialize with me and my boys.

And yet I know this is the last one.  I also know that she loves me deeply as much as I love her.  Two weeks ago, she called on my birthday and I excused myself from a board room full of executives to take her call.  Her words to me were a pure expression of love.

As a teenage boy, I would drive two hours to spend time with her and Grandpa on their Midwestern dairy farm.  On one of those trips, I brought an easel and my oil paints.  And at the young age of 14, I set up an easel in the front yard of her farmhouse and painted the farm she loved so dearly.

I painted the red barn, the windmill that provided fresh water to the dairy cattle, the outbuildings and the two navy blue Harvestore silos.  For thirty years, that painting hung above their fireplace until she moved to assisted living and gave the painting back to me.

Now I am taking the painting back to give to her one last time.  I want it to be with her, a symbol of a beautiful life well lived and a love shared.

Posted in Other Musings, Uncategorized | 22 Comments

The Portrait of My Life

I have never believed in a Creator.  There is simply too much injustice that I cannot reconcile.  And yet I sometimes hear a wise voice deep inside me, gently instructing, consoling and illuminating my lessons and choices.

Is this wise voice a deeper part of my self, my own inner Master? Or is he the spirit of the universe?  Does it even matter?  For truly, it is my choices that have meaning, whatever their inspiration.

Yet, when I think about what has happened, a drama of extraordinary beauty and ugly pettiness, truly I could not script it better myself.  It is as though the divine hand of the Master had to teach me, had to paint it for me personally, in the starkest of contrast and color, the portrait of my life.

Posted in My Development, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Communion of Love


A Master is nothing without the wanton desire and adoration of his slave.  Indeed, he is not even a Master until anointed by the slave, and it is the deep gift of her soul and body that gives blessing to his power and his fierce desire to command her pain and pleasure in the communion of love.

Posted in Erotic Thoughts | Tagged , , , , | 22 Comments

Eve’s Choice

Let’s suppose for a moment that you are Eve in the Garden of Eden. 

You have a companion, though there is no passion. There is safety and your most basic needs are provided for in this sheltered and confined utopia.  Yet there is this ache inside of you, an awareness that something is horribly missing. 

Then a creature comes to you and says, “Daughter, you are naive and live like a child, yet what kind of life is it? Have you experienced ecstasy? Do you truly know the pangs of love? Has your soul been seared by pain and tempered in the heat of its lessons? Are you content to live eternally always knowing that you are a small fraction of all that you could be in your fullest glory?  Do you feel those pangs of want and desire in your soul? All you must do to truly live and explore all that you are, all that you can become, is cast off the shackles of those that confine you and protect you in this supposed sanctuary.”

So would you take a bite of the apple to realize the joys and pangs of your humanity or would you choose the conscripted, perpetual safety of the garden? What would you do?

Painting of Eve by Anna Lea Merritt 1885

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , , | 39 Comments

We Are All French

What words can I say? My heart is with my Parisian friends. Today we are all French in our sorrow, love and compassion. 

Image by Parisian designer Jean Jullien

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My Hope for Every Man

My hope for every man is that he sup from the Golden Chalice, such that the weight of his lament is lifted and his experience of the divine is discovered in the communion of love.

Image is of the ancient Chalice of Valencia

Posted in Erotic Thoughts, My Development | Tagged , , | 7 Comments

A Golden Thread


All I ask
All I require
Is the small gift
Of a golden thread
I need to feel
your current
and spark
I need to know
that your words
to me live
I will take it all
But I will not tolerate
empty words
that feel
the cold voids
of space
weave with me
a tapestry
give me
a golden thread

picture from DeviantArt posted by Blondbeoy99

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , | 13 Comments

Magic and Beauty

Time flows like a river
And yet I hardly feel its pull
Even in the autumn of my days
There is a new spring
Inside me
A rebirth in
Body and spirit
And I celebrate today
The sun shines in my life
My loves
and my friends
We are a flowering vine
All of us are eternally
In magic
And beauty

Thank you


Posted in My Development | Tagged , | 57 Comments

The Arc of Your Back


It is not the arc of your back
and its perfect tone
that draws me to you

It is not the fullness of your breasts
and their erect attention
that affix my gaze

It is not the strength of your thighs
or the curve of your ass
that firm my desire

It is simply your gift
the joy and lightness in your voice
and the adoration in your eyes

That delight my spirit
and inspire my dreams
Drawing me ever closer to you

Sculpture by Auguste Rodin

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

The Master’s Rose


Should not be kept under glass.   Original work in pastels by Mr Modigliani, October 2015

Posted in Uncategorized | 31 Comments

Rendezvous in Paris, Twenty Years Later 

Twenty years had gone by since the time of our love affair. I was now in my late 60’s and had long since retired from my career in the restoration of historic artistic properties. You had finally left your husband and had started a small business importing vintage jewelry. We had lost track of each other but had not completely left each other’s thoughts.

On a Tuesday, I was scheduled to speak at an international conference of art curators in Paris.  An expensive piece by Gustav Klimt in oils and gold would be on display.

A mutual friend (and former lover of yours), tipped me off that you were in town at a large jewelry show, and since it was on Monday, I thought I would stop by the show. When we were younger, we had dreamt of fucking in Montmartre, but now, two decades later, we were both finally here, though long since separated. I really didn’t have any expectation of finding you, but it was a beautiful day and a wonderful way to kill some time in the art district.

As I walked among all the displays of colorful vintage jewelry, I suddenly caught your eye. You were stunned to see me, but were friendly and gracious and gave me a huge hug, asking why I was in Paris and wondering how I had found you. There was some gray in your hair now but you were still beautiful and elegant. Your enthusiasm surprised me and I coyly gave my explanation, before agreeing to go for a walk and have lunch with you. 

And so we walked and talked. We shared the joys and pains of our lives. We talked about the lovers that had been gained and lost, the great joys and and maddening sorrows. We talked about choices and the learnings from those experiences.

And then as a small band performed on a street corner, I took you into my arms, putting one hand on the small of your back, and taking your other hand in mine and we simply danced.  And as I held you and our bodies swayed together, you looked up at me and I once again saw the love in your eyes before you put your head on my shoulder and cried, your tears falling onto my shirt, your arms clutching me in embrace.

A little while later we would kiss briefly and part, exchanging well intended but false promises of staying in touch. We never saw each other again.

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , | 12 Comments

Remembering Cezanne

Paul Cezanne died today in 1906.  I enjoy his work as a post-impressionist and particularly his still life paintings with a simple bowl of fruit.  Nobody could do a still life better than Cezanne.   In the gallery above, there is a painting of a boy in a red vest.  There is a fascinating story behind this painting as it was only recently discovered in Belgrade not too many years ago.  It is worth a fortune.  I have some thoughts to share about my own artistic development and will do so later today.  Love, -M.

p.s. special thanks to the J. Paul Getty Museum for the reminder

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged | 2 Comments

Siren Gets Married!


For those of you that have followed my blog for a long time, you may remember when I helped rescue a younger submissive woman from her very abusive and dangerous fiancee’.  This young submissive wrote a blog under the name of Sicilian Siren.  (If we are very lucky, she will comment here…)

After she left her fiancee, she asked my help in qualifying the various suitors and Dominant men that were taking an interest in her.  After weeding through a couple of bad apples, she settled in on a very nice man and starting dating him in earnest.

I hear from her every once in a while and after a lengthy absence, she remains connected to me on a couple of social media accounts.  Today, when scrolling through my feed, I saw a beautiful picture of her getting married in front of City Hall and I about hit the ceiling.

I cannot tell you how thrilled and happy I am for both of them.  To be honest, I don’t know how long this blog will last, but I will always remember this situation and the opportunity I had to help a beautiful and generous young woman turn her life around to find true love.

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged | 18 Comments

So Open Your Petals…


There are times
you hide away
preferring safety
feeling the world high above
looking down, casting judgment
And yet the She-Spirit knows
the smallest flowers are the most
cherished souls in the forest
touched by the hand of God
a Master’s creation
inspired, each unique
painted from his own palette
so open your petals
drink in the sun
you are a source of life to others
and you are not alone…

Picture is a blue hazebell wildflower, taken by me

Posted in Romantic Poetry | 10 Comments

The Spinning Orbit of Delirious Love


Imagine with me, for a second, that you are a particle in space, floating in a web with trillions and trillions of other particles.  Yet none are connected.  Each is alone.

And then something changes as though a nearby star has emitted a massive burst of quark through the universe.  There is something about you that has changed.  And as another particle draws near, he or she is attracted as though the forces of the universe, the laws of God and physics, have put you together in some kind of divine play.

The electricity flows between you as you circle and orbit each other, each anointed with the majesty and power of your attraction.  And what is it that holds you in orbit with each other?  Is it a kind of magic alchemy or purely the laws of physical attraction?

And then suddenly the flux in the universe changes, either naturally or by catastrophe.  Particles change their polarity and float apart from each other, leaving each other once again alone.

It’s then that you realize that this flux in the universe was love itself.  And the quark and quanta that flow in it were really trust and faith.  Only with trust and faith, can we draw others to ourselves in the spinning orbit of delirious love.

Posted in Sensual Writing | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

Passion and Artistry

My craft is to create the beautiful and the possible. And, in this, I demand the sensuous gift of all that you are. You will be dressed in vintage white and bound gracefully in the master suite of my old Victorian mansion. Soft light will reflect off your feminine curves like the muses of Renoir, Degas or Delacroix as I paint, draw or simply consume you. You are my muse, my love, my beautiful, and I will direct you fiercely in the scene that gifts you with my deepest passion and artistry.

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , | 16 Comments

My Heartfelt Apology to Kit

beautiful-blonde-blue-eyes-girl-pretty-Favim.com-130766_large (1)I was only 20, a junior in college at a large Midwestern university, when I met her.  She was 22, a fifth year senior and had already been accepted to Law School.  She was also one of the most beautiful and charismatic women on campus.  At 5’4″ and 105 pounds, she had blonde hair, a killer smile, striking blue eyes, a tight little ass that made men pant, great fashion sense, and a flirtatious,  intelligent personality.

She lived in one of the finer sorority houses on campus, but never came across like a sorority girl.  On our first date, she simply invited me to the living room of her sorority house for a chat.  When I took a seat on the white couch, she pulled out a chess board, set up all the pieces, looked up at me and said, “Black or White”.  I chose black, replying “Ladies first…”  This started off a wide ranging discussion of art, style, geopolitics, religion and many other subjects.  Then I asked, “So Kit, do you always play chess with your dates?”  She replied, “Yes, M, I do.  I can tell a lot about a man when I play chess with them (as she winked at me in her sexy, flirtatious way).”  Many moves later, I checkmated her.

This set off a torrid romance.  Our lovemaking was like two passionate hungry beasts that clawed at each other and couldn’t get enough.  When we weren’t fucking, we were cooking together.  Food, fashion, shoes (Nine West), clothes, sex, music and great discussions were her joys.  We enjoyed cooking in her new townhouse with its fabulous kitchen before we retired to more play on her giant waterbed.

But Kit also had some Daddy issues.  Her mother was a local television personality famous for her kids show in the morning.  Her father had divorced her mom, moved to a southern state, was a prominent attorney and dated a much younger playboy model.  This caused Kit all kinds of angst and there were times where she would get very moody and started fading in and out on me.  She would disappear for a month, then show up on my door, asking to be held.  I would give her a bath and then fuck her all night.

We never thought of ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend.  We were lovers and intimates that eventually started fading apart.  Part of it simply was our age difference.  She was starting law school and I was still in college.  I had dates with other women and she had occasional rendezvous’s with other men.  But there were some wild things that happened that I simply felt crossed the line.  A young man once chased me down in his car, cut me off and then pleaded with me to let him have a relationship with Kit.  My reply was, “Who are you?”  This kind of thing, along with her disappearances and reappearances, tested my patience many times.

One night, we had agreed that we would make dinner together at my place at 7 pm.  I had purchased all the food, set the table and had the wine chilling.  Seven o’clock came and went, then 8, then 9.  I called but got no response.  At ten, I was in a bit of a panic worried about her (she had some mild suicidal thoughts occasionally) and drove over to her townhouse.  It was there that I discovered her in a compromising position with another man that I had seen previously.

Infuriated, I drove home, wrote the nastiest, most brutal letter I could write and put it in the mail to her, essentially saying that I never wanted to hear from her or see her ever again.   I was angry and the intent of that letter was to hurt her in a way that she would never forget.

I was 21 at the time and I regretted that letter every day, every year, every decade afterward.  Whatever she had done, I felt terrible about my willful intent to hurt her.  It was a weight that I carried around within me and I deeply regretted my actions.  She still meant so very much to me as someone that I had cared for deeply.

She had always told me that, after law school, that she wanted to move to the south to be near her father.  After thirty years, I wanted to apologize.  The hard part was that she had a very common last name when she was single and the university no longer had a record of where she had moved.

Finally, almost 30 years to the day from our first meeting, I found her on Facebook working as an attorney in a small town in the Carolina’s.  She was just as beautiful as she was in college, had been married for 20 years, divorced and was recently remarried.  I sent her a Facebook message and asked for a time to speak with her.  She was very surprised to hear from me and agreed.

I called a few days later, heard the same voice that I knew so well thirty years ago and then I apologized.  I apologized for writing the letter.  I apologized for wanting to hurt her.  And I did not ask for or expect an apology for her actions.  We laughed a little, chatted about our lives, the great times we had together, the challenges and joys we had experienced and then I thanked her and said goodbye.  And to this day, when I think about the women that have reached me at the deepest levels, the number is less than five and Kit will always be one of them.

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , | 14 Comments

Beauty and Love of a Woman

20140420-044737.jpgWhat kind of fools are you, men of this world, to believe you can own a woman?  Are you so powerful, so righteous, that you catch fire with rope? For  a woman’s spirit is surely like fire and your rope is nothing but the wilting, charred evidence of your own false pride.  What good is it to shame her, to control her, if there is no gift to you?  Is it not better to love her and set her free than to place a crown of thorns on her head?

Master your own emotions. Control your stupid jealousies.  Give the gift of yourself, your honor and strength and then perhaps then she will suffer for you willingly, but it will be the kind that will make your heart sing, your body writhe in pleasure and your own soul will finally realize its salvation in the true beauty and love of a woman.

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 33 Comments

Nymph of the Lake

On a warm autumn day,
Leaves rustled and hot winds blew
My shirtless chest glistened in the hot sun
While men’s strong backs strained against dock and lift

And as I walked to water’s edge
Your naked form would rise to greet me
Those haunting eyes, full breasts and wanton hips
Beckoned me, “Come to me Sir.  All that I am is yours

Yet she was a spirit, a nymph
Not meant for union with mortal men
So as my arms parted cool waters, I heard her cries
I am so sorry Sir” as she disappeared forever into the depths

Posted in Romantic Poetry | 19 Comments

A Livorno Affair

Mr Modigliani:

I wrote this some time ago and still appreciate its romantic elements

Originally posted on Mr. Modigliani's Private Studio:


We met in the small Tuscan city of Livorno. It was a warm, sunny day and both of us sought our own solitude in a small outdoor cafe. And as I glanced over, I caught a glimpse of your beautiful, radiant eyes, looking at me, momentarily distracted from your deep immersion in an old hardcover.

“That is quite an old book you are reading there. What is it?” I inquired pleasantly. “Oh yes. It is quite a unique treasure called ‘Spy-jacked’ by Mavis Bacca Dowden”. And as we talk further, this beautiful woman tells me it is about a young violin teacher who makes her way back from Italy through Spain to return to Great Britain during World War II. Much of the book is a private true memoir about her exploits in Francoist Spain, she explains.

This leads us into a lively discussion about European politics and conflicts, its…

View original 426 more words

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An Altar of Carpathian Elm

Your body will be bound
On an altar of Carpathian elm
Your supple skin adorned
With pagan charms
Then lashed
With the stroke
Of braided leather
By your Master’s strong arms

Posted in Erotic Poetry | 12 Comments


Be steadfast in your resolve. Never back down from the communication of your own desire. Never apologize for the honest expression of your own expectations.

Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments

Pablo Neruda on Jealousy

“Love is not about jealousy. Jealousy kills love. Jealousy kills the capacity to feel freely.”

Posted in Uncategorized | 11 Comments

Altar des Dionysos by Gustav Klimt

I’ve recently acquired a greater appreciation for the artistic work of Gustav Klimt.  This is one of his earlier works, entitled “Altar des Dionysos”.  This painting is on the ceiling of the Austrian National Theater in Vienna, also known as the Burgtheater.  The theater itself is one of the great gilded theaters of Europe.

What Klimt has done is to put beautiful mythology, painting and architecture together in a sublime combination of sensuality and artistry.

Posted in Uncategorized | 12 Comments

I Will Bathe You…


In a small clearing
Of verdant green 
Tall pines whisper,
As I bathe you…
The soft breezes blow
Across a clear blue sky
A warm sun sparkles
As I immerse you… 
Close your eyes my doll
Feel my gentle command
And tender touch
As my strong hands
Love you…

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , | 34 Comments

A Different Place

I find myself entering a different place as though I were passing through a door. There still is the appreciation of artistry, the communion of spirit and my adoration for the female form. Yet I don’t need the affirmation and validation I once did. I grow more aware of my motivations, some borne of strength and others still of doubt, hurt or fear, and I settle into a more comfortable maturity, still confident of my command and mastery, but no longer needing to wave it in front of the world.

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To An Empyrean Sea

I dive into cool waters, my arms reaching away from sunlight and life.  There is no anxiety or  fear and though I angle down to the dark unknown,  I swim strongly, knowing my way.  It is not a drowning but a return to a truer self, the self that calls back to me, my own Master’s voice beckoning.  The cold water fades to an empyrean sea, no up or down, no surface or depth, particles of light illuminate.  I swim naked and unafraid, past fear and regret, sensing the blessing of spirits loved, finally arriving at self, Master rejoined, once again feeling the lyricism of my soul, the artistry of my hand and my own rebirth.

Words and image by Mr Modigliani

Posted in My Artwork, Romantic Poetry, Spoken Word | Tagged , , , | 23 Comments

A Small Dream

OldTownSq.PragueIt was late summer in Paris and the city was overrun by tourists.  Both of us needed to get away.  The day before, I had closed my studio near Montmartre and had purchased two tickets to Prague.  Now we were in my flat in Montparnasse packing.  There was laughter and joy in the room, as you packed a few sundresses and I threw in a few extra shirts and a pair of pants.

The train ride was long with an exchange in Cologne, but we chatted and touched in our sleeping cabin, trying not to take it too far as the conductor periodically walked up and down the aisle, checking on each compartment.  Fifteen hours later, we found ourselves offloading and taking a quick cab ride into the Old Town.  There we visited the massive old square, discussed Kafka and then, when the bells struck, we watched the Old Clock with the other tourists.

But this isn’t why we came.  We came to see the beautiful Czech countryside and invest our time in each other.  You were interested in the Farm-to-Table cafes and the organic produce.  I was interested in riding a motorcycle from village to village, staying in farm houses and  small bed and breakfasts.  Both of us wanted to sample the local wines.

And so that’s what we did.  I rented a large BMW motorcycle, perfect for the two of us, a couple helmets and some leathers.  You packed our bags even lighter into one backpack, bringing nothing but bare essentials and your favorite hat.

And as I look back on it now, I remember your arms wrapped around my waist as our bike sped down the winding country roads, the wind in your hair and the smile on your face.  We walked in the farmers’ fields and hand picked squash, green beans, and other vegetables that you prepared into a fresh medley.   It went beautifully with the bread, cheese and the wine that I had purchased in the village.  And while we ate, the moon and stars filled the night sky and the candles on the table flickered and reflected in your beautiful eyes.

Posted in Sensual Writing | Tagged , | 20 Comments

More Thoughts

I wrote a piece earlier in the week about how I’d like to see a little more focus put on a power exchange relationship that is egalitarian in its nature, but does not expect sameness.  The natural order of the masculine and the feminine are preserved and the deep biological, emotional and sexual needs of each are fulfilled.

I did receive a lot of thoughtful input on this from a variety of sources.  And it really is best that I not try to interpret their comments, but that I present them directly.  So I may compile some of this input and present it in a later post.  One of the most insightful said the following:

Men and women are both strong but in different ways and in a D/s relationship those strengths are heightened. and it’s actually not the woman who serves but the man. The gift of the masculine is service, direction and guidance, the gift of the feminine is radiance, energy and inspiration.

I thought this insight was remarkable.  It re-framed some things and motivates me to further explore the nature of the masculine and the feminine (so I am doing some reading in some highly regarded texts).  As I thought through my own experience, I certainly have been quite content when my lover brought radiance, energy and inspiration.  Such gifts, in turn, inspired me to write poetically, paint, draw and give all that I could sexually and physically.

With regard to my role and development, I feel I’ve grown so much and come so far in the last couple years.  I am different than I was 3 months, 6 months, a year or two years ago. As I think about it, I started this blog nearly three years ago.  There is so much more to learn and it’s not about great sex, giving instructions or engaging in a spectacular scene, it’s really about listening to understand, asking questions, finding common ground and agreement, communicating and sharing such that two people build together a dynamic together that is filled with joy, passion, mutual adoration, trust and respect.

Then we can start talking about the magic of a kiss, the tenderness of touch, clutching a woman’s neck with her back to the wall or the stroke of a man’s strong hand.

My spanking hand. lol


Posted in My Development | Tagged | 15 Comments

Love’s Flame, a Duet with Dana


Is love divine or a burning hell?
Hot flames burn as we stoke desire
Sanity and reason leave us
As we walk into the fire

Wicked licks of heart’s immense power
Marring the flesh to heal with sin
Breath of life, touch of passion
We invite the madness within

And this madness we seek to cure
Burns us in our fiery cage
Quenched only by the passion of a lover
Whose kiss soothes our rage

Smoke screens our fading inhibitions
As we melt the moon each obsidian night
Heated need flickers in the stars
As we bare our souls in love’s ecstatic might

I am so proud to write with Dana (who many of you originally met as Desiree).  Dana is one of the best pure poets out there, but more importantly she is a dear friend with an old soul and the kindest, warmest heart.  She has always been there for me when I needed advice or someone to talk with and I hope she would say the same for me (though I am not nearly as deserving).  Please give her all of your love.

Posted in Duets and Guest Authors | Tagged , , , | 11 Comments

A New Contract

It is time that we forged a new contract between men and women, one that affirms the strength, equality and independence of women, while valuing their beauty, femininity, sexuality and desire to serve. It is not a contract of the strong and the weak as is so often inferred by D/s language. It is a relationship of the strong and the strong. And yet there is power exchange, entered into mutually by both parties to create a relationship that fills the mind, provides safe harbor for emotion and sates the body and all of our sexual fantasies and desires.

I do not see this kind of power exchange relationship well defined in D/s language. And yet I know that there are many very strong women who feel drawn to a power exchange relationship, yet are turned off by the implication of inequality.

I wish to see a new style of power exchange relationship, that is defined on mutual strength and equality, but not on sameness, while affirming the deep ancestral and evolutionary imprint we have on us as masculine and feminine beings.

Painting of Jupiter and Antiope, by Flemish painter Bartholomeus Spranger, c 1596

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 28 Comments

The King’s Maidens (New Original Artwork by M)

A royal Mayan tomb was uncovered at Takalik Abaj in Guatemala in 2012.  Within the tomb were six ceramic figurines, representing the King’s maidens.  These female figurines guarded the entrance to the King’s crypt.  I have recreated these figurines in two dimensional artwork using oil pastels in this new original piece.

Original artwork by Mr Modigliani, July 2015

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Cumming High Above Mariacka In Old Gdansk

Gdansk is an ancient harbor city in the north of Poland on the south shore of the Baltic Sea.  It was a major trading port for the Hanseatic League that traded throughout the Baltic, including with the Dutch, the Swedes and the Baltic states of Lithuania and Estonia.

Its architecture is charming and very much like northern Germany, Holland or Denmark.  The Germans have occupied this city several times and called it Danzig.  Its central square is a not a square at all, but a wide cobble-stoned street (called Dlugi Targ) with arched gates on both sides.

In the middle of this street is Old City Hall, with its tall clock tower.  In front, there is a sculpture fountain of Poseidon with his trident, reminding all of the historic importance of this city as a trading center and shipyard.  But just one street over is beautiful Mariacka Street.

Mariacka has its own charm, also with arched doorways on both sides.  As we enter, a harpist strums her beautiful song as she plays just inside the canal-side gate.  Mariacka is also home to some of the best silver and amber shops in all of Europe and as I pull you inside one of the beautiful little boutiques, I spy several amber amulets.  One of them, the most expensive, has trapped an ancient fly.  I purchase it, place it on your neck and am filled with joy to see it dangling between your breasts.

The shopkeeper thanks us as I pull you out of the shop clutching your hand.  At the end of Mariacka is St Mary’s Basilica, one of the largest basilicas in Europe.  You are wearing a beautiful sundress today.  Your smile and eyes are playful and I want my hands all over your beautiful curves.  Walking through the big doors of St Mary’s, you are stunned at its enormity.

We stop and look briefly at The Triptych of St Mary’s, an ancient three-panel panel painting that shows the horrific scene of Judgment Day.  Both of us comment on what a spectacular piece it is and how it must been used so very effectively to influence the local populace.

As we look at the painting and wander around the cathedral, I am so on fire for you.  I can see your form in that pretty dress of yours. I want my hands on your breasts and to be deep inside you.  It is a quiet Monday in the off season in Gdansk and there are few around.  The basilica is nearly empty.  And because I have lived here before, I know what I’m doing, where we are headed and exactly what will happen.

Grabbing your hand, I pull you to a small door that leads up a flight of narrow steps.  It is 500 steps to the top of St Mary’s and it is the highest point in all of northern Poland.

It is so much more fun to have you in front of me going up the steps.  My hands are all over you, reaching under your dress, grabbing at your breasts, occasionally swatting your ass and feeling its delicious shape under the loose fabric.

We continue to climb higher to the upper reaches of the Basilica.  About three quarters of the way up, the stairs open up onto a platform that overlooks the top of the ceiling of the Basilica.  We are between the ceiling and the roof.  You reach for me and drive your tongue deep in my mouth while your hands undo my belt and remove it.  Unsnapping my pants, you reach in and start stroking my hard shaft with your hand while we continue to kiss passionately.  Fuck, I should just turn you around right here and belt your pretty little ass.

Yet I know what is at the top and so I keep pushing you forward.  We keep climbing past the large bells in the tower until we emerge high on the viewing platform.  The view is spectacular.  One can see all the tourists and shoppers down on the main street and on Mariacka.  The great ships of the Gdansk shipyard are off in the distance and once can see for thirty or forty miles off into the beautiful countryside.  We can smell the local cafes and still hear the beautiful melodies of the harpist.

And yet, despite all this beauty, all I can think of is having you right now.  And you desire the same as you quickly drop to your knees and take my shaft deep into your mouth.  My head just spins as I look down and see your adoring eyes looking up at me while you serve.

But this is not the way I wish to cum with you, so I lift you up (despite your protests), turn you around and bend you over the rail.  Lifting your dress, I swat your ass hard and the sound travels throughout the old town.  It is quite possible that some may be able to see us, but I really don’t care.

Your ass is now red and well marked and I spread your legs a little wider and insert my shaft into your wet mess.  You moan softly and buck your hips against mine.  The scene is a bit surreal but oh so perfect as we pick up speed.  I am just ramming you hard and deep, without mercy and the fact we are at the top of a very famous Basilica in public view motivates me even further.

You have never been driven so hard and I can feel you start to clench and quiver around me while your moans escape echoing against the walls of the tall building on Main Street.  I keep driving hard into you, holding your hips and using every bit of power and force that I can muster.  Finally, at the last second, I clutch your neck and choke you while I release waves of my large load over and over deep inside.

And really, could anything be more perfect?  The beauty of the city, the music of the harp, the soft curves of your beautiful body, the amber amulet dangling from your neck, all of it is perfect.  But what I love most is the look of adoration on your face as you appreciate my brazen desire and my seed runs down your thigh.

Photo is of Mariacka Street.  You can see St Mary’s Basilica at the end of the street.  Note the flat top of its highest tower.  All of this is accurate. 

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , | 21 Comments

They Are All About You


I dreamed of my life
In the bold strokes of a painting,
The fierce choreography of a dance
And your tender caress, my dear

I looked for you, I did
Searching the lusty eyes of muses
And movements of ballerinas on stage
But saw only glimpses of you

And even today, my dreams
My vision and the deepest art of my soul
Are all about you my love
They are all about you

Poetry by Mr Modigliani
“Art must be about love, or it is nothing at all”, quote by Marc Chagall
“Lovers”, painting by Marc Chagall

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 27 Comments

“Self-Clubbing” by L Passos

Note from Mr Modigliani:  As a writer and artist with some presence, I meet interesting, talented people from around the world and learn their life story, as they learn about mine.  The following is a guest post from a friend from South America, who though beautiful, intelligent and talented, has battled depression.  Her first language is Portugese and I assisted with some editing.  I also want to thank J for her support of her dearest friend and this post.  Ms Passos will read your comments so I encourage you to offer her your love and support.

“Self-Clubbing” by L Passos


In times of social phobia, self-clubbing is THE way out.

It is the way out of my boredom, out of what my doctor called, “emotional detachment “.

It’s all dark in the living room. The music, a mix done by a very heart-broken inspired friend, doesn’t play loudly.  It’s early evening. I just need to close my eyes and feel the music to find myself.

I wish I had drugs, though they are not quite necessary to make me feel like I have my soul – and body – free again.

Anxiety is imprisonment and I have been caught and put in a cage. The music makes my soul feel free. And because of that I cry.

I miss being free, with all its consequences: the craziness, the strength (I will call it power), movement, people, cold drinks, sunrises with sun glasses, runny makeup and the feeling of being alive.   I miss feeling alive.

I lost the will for living somewhere in a dark corner of a night club. Maybe because somehow I knew there is no middle ground in my life.   Either I throw myself into something completely or I restrain myself entirely.  I need to try to live and understand what a normal life is.

Here I am again. Tied up in my own trap.

Oh, but not now, right now. Now I am clubbing, self-clubbing.

Posted in Duets and Guest Authors | Tagged | 22 Comments

The Darker Shadows of Happiness

Beasts senses you
His nostrils flare
To catch the scent
Of your ashen wings
He hears their velvety flutter
Just out of reach
And quietly listens
To the soft melody
And the hopeful tears
Of your tragedy
In the darker shadows
Of happiness

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 16 Comments

A Slave’s Haiku


Something of a whore
She begs for validation
Her Master’s command

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged | 13 Comments

I Am the Jaguar King

JaguarKingI am the Jaguar King. I rule the city of Tikal deep in a rain forest of howler monkeys, parrots, snakes and jaguars. Warrior priests take my command and run the city and govern the residents.  My queen sits by my side in the royal court.

Slaves erect massive pyramids in my honor from blocks that are cut from limestone quarries. Others raise crops and hunt to keep me, my queen and our warriors well fed. Women in the city make my clothes, adorn my royal courtyard and serve my fiercest sexual demands or those of my warriors. Those that disobey are disciplined, but most wish to serve.

At my direction, war is waged on neighboring tribes. Prisoners captured are turned into slaves, killed outright or sacrificed to the gods. They are killed so that all know my power. I rule ruthlessly and without hesitation.

You were captured by my war chief in a neighboring village. The male warriors of this village are a nuisance and were killed immediately. As I kept you prisoner, I considered what to do with you. Should I please the gods by sacrificing you? Should I keep you prisoner or put you to work in the fields?

But your beauty is alluring to me. I can have any woman in Tikal as my slave, but your eyes are wilder, your thoughts darker and you remain defiant, while others beg to serve. There is a part of me wishes to punish you, to humiliate you, to soak you in the seed of a hundred warriors. There is another part, that I will not reveal to others, that wishes you to be my queen.lady-kabel1

It is nearing the dusk of the summer solstice. If I am to sacrifice you, it is the time. There will be a ceremony. No other citizens of Tikal will be permitted near the royal court and the sacrificial altar. I summon two of my priests and my medicine chief. The two priests are instructed to bring you naked and bound to the court at dusk. The medicine chief is to kill one of the caged jaguars, bring me his head, his pelt and a gourd filled with his blood.

As instructed, you are stripped naked, bound with vines and delivered to me. You spit and hiss and when I see your fiery eyes, I slap your face hard. The sun is beginning to set, creating a beautiful silhouette among the thirty large pyramids in the city.

“Put her up on the altar!”, I command. The priests lift you while you writhe and twist, laying you on your back. “Tie her to the altar. Make sure her legs are spread” They tie you with your head drooping backward over the altar, your knees bent and your legs spread wide with your cunt exposed.

At that point, my medicine chief steps forward. I step out of my garment and into the jaguar skin. The jaguar’s head goes on top of mine as I transform into a ceremonial Jaguar King for the sacrifice. He then hands the gourd of blood, a switch that has been cut from a branch in the forest and a sharp stone knife.

My medicine chief, my two priest and I begin circling around you slowly, citing incantations in a slow melody leading up to the sacrifice. As the sun finally disappears beyond the farthest hills, I raise the knife with both hands and bring it down rapidly, stopping just an inch from your heart. Your panic, pleading for mercy as I drag the knife over your breasts and up to your throat.

I then take the switch and deliver a sharp blow to your breast, then another, then more to your chest, stomach and legs. Sharp lashes are being delivered all over your body. Walking around to the other side, I smack the other breast several times. Then walking to the end of the altar, I take the switch and deliver a sharp blow to your cunt as you scream from the pain. Then I deliver more blows to your labia and clit until you are engorged and throbbing.

Taking the gourd, I drizzle the jaguar blood all over your marked breasts and stomach. Then I slowly slide my whole hand deep into your cunt, pushing it in deeper and making it larger. You start gushing and cumming all over me. Removing my hand, I take the switch to your cunt several more times.

Walking to the head of the altar, I pull aside the jaguar skin and drive my large shaft deep down your throat. There is no mercy and I can see your throat expand as my shaft is driven deeper. Your eyes water as you gasp for air. I pull back a bit and release a large load deep into your mouth.

Holding the knife to your throat, I look into your wild eyes and utter, “Do you wish to live slave?” Tears in your eyes and deep in subspace, you utter yes almost unintelligibly. Cutting the vines loose, I growl, “You are mine now whore. I will fuck your ass, your mouth, and your cunt whenever I choose. You will be disciplined regularly and you will obey my every command. If you refuse to obey, you will be killed like all the other whores. However, if you serve me well, you will be taken care of….”

Your teary eyes looked up at me and you nodded your consent. “Priests, take her to my residence and tie her ass up on my bed. I will be there shortly.” “And remove the queen. She is no longer needed.”

There was a purple and orange sunset in the sky. I could hear the howler monkeys and the parrots in the treetops. You were taken to my quarters. Your wounds were dressed. You were fed and then you were tied, your head down, your ass in the air with your swollen labia exposed. I arrived shortly thereafter to take what was mine and was very pleased.

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , | 31 Comments

Only For Him

What is it
that so delights a man?
Filling the depths
Of his melancholy
With lightness and joy
Perhaps it is the beauty
and the artistry
Of her pose
The soft hourglass
Of her hips
And full symmetry
Of her breasts
Perhaps it is
The sweet tendrils
Of her womanhood
Or the guttural symphony
Of her moans
Her desire
Her love and loyalty
And the deep, satisfying submission
Of her body, mind and spirit
All that she offers
Only for him

Painting by Pierre Bonnard

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged , | 26 Comments


Trapped in a tower behind an unlocked door
And banished by a husband she no longer loved
Her heart was finally set free
By the lyrical chains
Of a poet

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 18 Comments

My Own Perspective on Connection


When I wrote my last post, “Taking a Deeper Look Within”, I explored some of the inner psychology that underlies some of my D/s motivations.

Essentially I said that I have always had this belief, like a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, that I would not be met fully in the way that I desire to be met by a woman.  And yet every shred of evidence that I have in my current life is that this is NOT true.

Still the issue weighs on me in the same way that a poetic story lingers in my mind.   And so, I must write about it.  It is my method of healing and the way I must release my inner thoughts and vision.

When I first encountered this D/s world, I was presented with a wide range of labels.  I’m not going to go through the list as most of you already know a vast majority of them.  But what disappoints me is that they primarily describe the nature of the preferred sexual interaction, and not the fuller nature of the connection itself.

All I can really go on our my own experiences and the models and beliefs that are in my mind.  I know they are different for each person.  But, for me, connections must first be mental and intellectual.  I deal with small minds, trivialities and tasks all day at work.  In my romantic relationship, I want to discuss and explore subjects and ideas.  Those conversations should happen spontaneously because my lover is curious and enjoys exploring those subjects in greater depth and then sharing her thoughts and perspective with me.  I will offer the same in return and will naturally gravitate to subjects that are of interest to both of us.

Secondly, I need words of endearment, or an emotional connection.  It isn’t that I need to hear the words “I love you”.  I don’t really, though it is nice to hear.  What I need are words and actions of affection that demonstrate to me that I am respected, loved and adored.    One of the best ways I have received and given this is through poetic and sensual writing.  Yet, writing is not a requirement.   I can feel when there is an emotional connection and often it comes simply from the joy in her voice, the glint in her eye and the turn of her smile.

Third, I have had experiences where there was so much intuition and empathy between us that our connection felt spiritual.     I have had some surreal experiences where I suddenly knew what a woman was thinking at that moment.  I have had experiences where I knew exactly where a woman was and what she was doing, even though I had not been told or we shared the same dream.  When these things happen, I feel like our connection is on a different plane of existence.  This feeling is the most intoxicating of all.

Finally, with a least a couple of those other elements in place, I need a very high level of sexual play.  I am very fierce and demanding in this area and any woman that sexually communes with me needs to give herself completely to me knowing that the experience will be creative, very high energy and intense.  At the same time, I think there are many lovely opportunities for kissing, holding, caressing and skin-on-skin lovemaking.  I want it both ways depending on the mood and the situation.

I don’t want anyone to misunderstand my motives for writing this.  As mentioned earlier, I write to release these ideas, thoughts and visions that I would otherwise have to carry around solely by myself.  It is good to get them out.

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , | 24 Comments

The Bridge Tender


For 27 years, I have tended this old railroad bridge.  Deep in the basin of the river, the sandstone cliffs tower above me.  On top of these cliffs, the city bustles.  Lawyers, doctors, bankers and insurance workers scurry to their jobs, concerned with their next promotion, their children’s success and the angst of their love lives.

And yet I sit here, day after day.  They do not know I’m here, but I do not mind.  When I started, the trains would deliver grain to the brewery daily.  I was important.  But the brewery is no more, the bridge is rarely used, but still I sit, filling the time.  I think about my childhood, the sweetheart I loved in high school, and the father that I lost. What else am I to do?  Time is passing me by, but I am still needed.  After all, I am the bridge tender.

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged | 11 Comments


I am a dominant sapiosexual…I want your mind…your words…your dark secrets…your smile..all of it…like a meal served for me to devour…one small course at a time…and I, in turn, will offer mine…and we will see…when all the hard fucking is done…your ass is marked…your cunt and mouth taken…and your eyes…and lips…are caressed in tender kisses…if you can still stand

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , | 20 Comments

The Art of August Rodin and the Words of Anais Nin

“I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.” ~Anais Nin

Note from Mr Modigliani:  I have been paying a lot of attention to the sculpting work of August Rodin lately as I have a craving to try this form of art.  He had such an extraordinary understanding of the beauty of the female form.  At the same time, I have also been paying more attention to the words of Anais Nin, and when I saw both of these, I thought they deserved to be put together.  

Posted in Other Musings | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

Quark and Quanta


My mind used to hold
These precious golden fragments
That could be spun into
A tapestry of art and form
Poem and verse
And passion for the beautiful
Muse on my chaise lounge
Posing there
For my artful hand
Now it is a shattered ether
Of swirling particles
Quark and quanta
Always untouchable
More theory
Than practicum

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Beast Contemplates


As Beast drinks from his chalice
And dines on his meal of sweet flesh
He contemplates his passions
Kinks and motivations
And he asks himself
If ferocious sex
And submission
Is enough
To sate him
Is it enough
To fill him fully?
Had he looked
Deep enough?
Had he listened
To his own inner voice?
His own Master
Was he compensating
For his own pain?
Perhaps he was
A wounded Beast
Not knowing his own injury
An injury of spirit
In his own belief
And faith
The core of his being
Doubts resurfaced
Old beliefs spoke again
Would he
Ever be met fully
And completely
Strength for strength
Service for service
By the love of a woman?
He pondered
Sighed deeply
And continued
To devour




Posted in My Development, My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 15 Comments

The Taste of Your Lust


I will fill
Your fantasies
With lascivious
And wicked

I will spread
And break you
While your
Pretty eyes

And I
Will hold
Your heart’s lust
Savor its dripping red
For my fangs
To feed

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged , | 33 Comments

The Painting for Grandma

For confidentiality reasons, it is my policy to not post family pictures here, but this particular story is so important to me, that I am compelled to share.

I did give the painting to Grandma and she cried happy tears of joy. We talked at length about her happy days on the farm and my frequent visits to see her and Grandpa. She told me stories of her own childhood and her romance with Grandpa.

At the end of my visit, she told me that she loved me and that this was probably the last time I would see her. I told her that I would come visit her and call her when I returned home. 

Posted in Uncategorized | 22 Comments

Modigliani “Reclining Nude” Sells for $170 Million

NEW YORK (AP) — A painting by Amedeo Modigliani fetched $170.4 million at an auction Monday, setting a world record for the artist and achieving the second highest price ever garnered for a work of art at auction.

“Reclining Nude” was sold at Christie’s in Manhattan after a protracted bidding battle. Considered one of his best known works, the 1917-1918 painting nearly created a scandal when it was first exhibited in Paris. It depicts an unknown nude model reclining on a crimson couch and blue cushion.

The previous auction record for a Modigliani was $71 million.

Need I say more?

Posted in Uncategorized | 20 Comments

No Storm Can Defeat Me

No storm can defeat me nor cower me in its presence. Small minds and angry voices cannot diminish my passionate heart nor alter my course. I stand strong while ice and rain pelt at my skin, my spirit not deterred, still sure of my path and already reborn in the strength of my command and artistry. 

the painting is Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , | 16 Comments