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.  

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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

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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




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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

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Queen of the Sahara

She is the Queen of the Sahara
With perfect curves and beguiling eyes
Her charms and enchantments
Cast a spell over a vast kingdom
Her subjects
Tremble before her
Awed by power
Her ruthless grace
and beauty
And yet all the while
Her tender loving heart
Drenches in its own desire
for a wise Master
To guide her
Lead her
Command her
Looking up at the stars
On a cool, clear night
She feels loved
And simply wishes
To be a slave

Photo is of the beautiful and talented performer Haifa

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Love and Light for Cousin and Sir

Mr Modigliani:

Sir meets Sir and a cousin is reunited in a small moment of my life…

Originally posted on An Artful Man's Journal:

Church WindowsMy blog character, Mr. Modigliani, was born in Livorno, Italy and has his art studio in Paris.  However, I, the writer and real person, live in the United States and was raised in the Midwest.  Most of my extended family comes from a strong German Lutheran heritage and my own great grandfather was a very commanding and intellectual Lutheran minister.  If you travel to the town of my grandparents and visit the small prairie church there, you will find at least three generations of my family buried in its cemetery.  It is an important and spiritual place for me.

I also have many cousins and know many of my second, third and even fourth cousins.  One of my third cousins is the daughter of a minister and is naturally attractive, intelligent and worldly.  About twenty years ago, she had enrolled in Lutheran seminary, married another young Lutheran minister (who never matched her intellect…

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Kundera’s “A Festival of Insignificance”

Mr Modigliani:

Kundera is one of the central figures influencing my thoughts on life, love and sexuality… I am very excited about his English translated novel coming out soon.

Originally posted on An Artful Man's Journal:

milan_kundera_2_jpg_340x267_crop_q85There are a few writers, philosophers and poets who have had a huge impact on my own thinking and philosophy.  One of the most significant is Milan Kundera, the Czech writer who wrote “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”.  He is considered one of the greatest living writers and is a perennial Nobel prize candidate for literature.

Kundera, along with Vaclav Havel, was part of a group of intellectuals, writers and playwrights who were instrumental in overthrowing the Communists in Czechoslovakia.  This was known as “The Velvet Revolution”.  Havel was the playwright.

His book from 1984, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”, had an indelible impact on my own life philosophy and understanding of love and sexuality.  If you read his work, you will notice many Dominant philosophical, spiritual and sexual themes.  However, if you only pay attention to the erotic aspects of his work, then you will overlook the true power…

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Submission Is Not An Archetype

The title is provocative, isn’t it?  Though the vast majority of my followers are submissive women and baby girls, I want to talk about chasing the ideal of submission.  The reason I want to talk about it is that I continue to have the same conversation over and over with women who are doubting themselves, but continue to chase this ideal.

Let me say this out loud.  Submission is not some kind of perfect archetype ordained by the gods.  Isn’t the goal to achieve a higher higher level of joy in union with another?  Joseph Campbell famously quoted “Follow Your Bliss”.  One cannot truly achieve a blissful union if we are changing who we are on the inside to make someone else happy.  We need to be loved for who we already are.  As I have said before, you are already beautiful and worthy.  I have learned my own lessons the hard way in a relationship where BOTH of us were playing a role for each other.

I don’t believe it makes sense to pursue the perfect archetype of submission because there is no perfect archetype for Dominance to match in union.  Once we start to believe in these archetypes, then the whole value of the concept is diminished.  D/s is not a theology, it is the constant search of two imperfect people to create a more blissful union, based on trust and communications at all levels of connection with each other, emotional, intellectual, spiritual and physical.

p.s. I do love chain.  *wink*

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The Submission of Ishtar


My love
Remove your robe
Kneel before me
In the circle of candles
Your breasts forward
Nipples protruding
Back arched
Wrists crossed
Behind you
Eyes averted
You are my angel
But I am your Master
I lead you
Through the darkest valleys
Of your own fantasy
To the mountain tops
Of your ecstasy
All that you are
Your flesh
And blood
Your sex
And climax
All that you do
Even your very spirit
Is mine

Picture is of me

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My Soul Will Speak


Imagination is not merely a human faculty, but is an activity of soul to which the imagination bears witness. It is not we who imagine, but we who are imagined.  So my soul will speak, create and love as it so desires and my words, art, and passion will be its testament.

Words by James Hillman and Mr Modigliani
Drawing of “Master” by Mr Modigliani

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Strong and Unbroken


I will stand strong
My will unbroken
As I wade
Through rushing rivers
Fight through
The fiercest thickets
And scale
The steepest cliffs
To once again discover
The tender, fierce music
Of my own
Heart song

Picture is of me on a wilderness adventure

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The Storm in the Chrysalis

I am a man
hidden in a chrysalis
and though you may see
the beauty of transformation
inside it’s a fierce storm
driving rain
pelts my face
ice shards
tear at my wings
lightning bolts
shred the sky inside
yet my mind remains calm
as I repaint my beliefs
and ponder
in which world to emerge
to be known
or unknown
to be seen
or unseen
to be beautiful
or plain
to live
or just exist
or simply
to fly away

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Live Once Again

Mr Modigliani:

Whether you celebrate Easter, Passover or simply the onset of a beautiful spring, this is often a time to reflect and begin anew as the crocus, the daffodils and tulips bloom. What I wish for you is the release of the pain that you carry and your own absolution of self. I did a lot of thinking, working and writing while I was on my island this week and the first step that I am taking is absolving myself of my own mistakes, guilt and pain. May your day be a joyous as it can be. Look in the eyes of a child and see wonder and beauty.

Originally posted on Mr. Modigliani's Private Studio:


You have suffered so deeply. Do you know how beautiful you are? Roll the stone away from your pain and come to me. Take off your crown of thorns. I will brush away your tears, kiss you deeply and make you remember what it means to live once again.

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The Salvation of Ishtar


There was a beautiful young woman named Ishtar from Pomerania, in the north of Poland, who lived alone with her father near an ancient monastery in the village of Kartuzy.  She was a wild girl who looked nothing like the other Polish girls.  With her dark hair, exotic looks and fierce eyes, some mistakenly thought that perhaps her mother was a gypsy.

But others in the village whispered that her mother was Assyrian and had descended from a long line of Babylonian princesses.  They said that she had been a courtesan or a prostitute.  Others thought she had also been a spy or an agent for Russian or American interests.

Ishtar was always curious though and drawn to her dark fears.  “Father, who is my mother?  Why did she name me Ishtar?  What is the meaning?”  Her father would just look at her and say, “Your mother knew she could not stay with you.  She knew that you would struggle to understand your true spirit.  You will learn the meaning of your name as you grow older”

ISH87-2Her mother had also left Ishtar a necklace with an eight point jeweled star that she was required to wear every day.  What was the meaning of this star?  It was such a mysterious, ancient piece and why had her equally mysterious mother insisted that she wear it?

The village of Kartuzy is particularly known for an ancient order of hooded Carthusian monks.  These monks are known for emphasizing the inevitability of death in their monastic teachings.  They are solitary, celibate and speak only their religious incantations for most of the year.  Because of these practices, their history as warriors and their long dark robes and hoods, they are often feared by visitors of the village.

Once when Ishtar was walking by the monastery, one of the monks noticed Ishtar’s necklace and her wild eyes and said, “You are the daughter of Anu from Nineveh.  I see it in your eyes and you wear her cross.”  The monk was frightened and ran away.  So Ishtar, now a young woman researched her mother.  She researched the symbol that hung between her breasts and discovered that she was descended from an ancient line of sacred prostitutes.  In fact, her very name meant the goddess of love, war, fertility and sexuality.

Ishtar felt deep drawn to the monastery in Kartuzy.  There was something about it.  The symbolism, the secrecy of the monks and their incantations.  What were they like as men? Her fascination haunted her and at night she dreamt of the monks disrobing, revealing their strength of their bodies and taking her sexually.

One night as she was looking through her father’s closet, she discovered a monk’s robe.  He too had been a Carthusian monk long ago, but had never told his daughter.  Suddenly inspired, Ishtar pulled back her hair, put on the hooded robe and slipped out of the house to make her way to the monastery.

Quietly opening the heavy wooden door, she entered the old church.  Candles dimly lit the sanctuary while the monks slowly circled singing their chants in ancient Gregorian style.  Ishtar tried to blend in with them, but her hair fell out of her robe and another monk quickly realized that they had been invaded by an impostor.

A group of monks surrounded her as her hood was pulled back revealing her beautiful, yet wild feminine face.  A small group of monks brought her to the center of the sanctuary and began circling around her, holding hands and singing.  A larger group of monks also formed a circle and began circling around Ishtar in the other direction, singing their chants in a perfect, dark, yet beautiful chorus.

One of the monks stepped forward and disrobed Ishtar, leaving her naked and exposed.  Grabbing her hair, he forced her to her knees and placed a heavy metal collar on her neck. Four chains were secured to the collar and screwed to the floor and the monks continued their circling and singing.

Ishtar closed her eyes and listened to the heavenly, masculine voices.  It were as though a thousand Gabriels were singing just to her.  She smelled the scent of men as they circled and as she remembered the fantasies of her dreams, she reached down and began touching herself, getting lost in the music and the delicate touch on her own wetness.

As she did this, one of the monks stepped forward and opened his robe, bringing it near to left side of her face.  Then another monk did the same on the other side of her, while a third presented his cock directly in front of her.  Instinctively, she took his cock deep in her mouth while she used her left and right to stroke the shaft of the two other monks.  Three other monks from the inner circle opened their robes and started stroking themselves, aiming their cocks at her and spraying her back and breasts with cum, while the outer ring of monks continued to circle and sing.

And, in this moment, when many would be fearful and ashamed, Ishtar found within herself the greatest peace that transcended all understanding.  Suddenly she understood the message of her mother, the symbolism between her breasts and what she was meant to be.  She was strong and proud.  No longer ashamed, she finally understood that she was to serve with strength, with beauty and with the deepest submission. She had found the salvation of Ishtar.

Please listen to the musical selection from the German group Enigma.


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Colors of My Choosing

tumblr_nlmvnevi401s37q7mo1_500There are many ways to paint a woman.  I prefer mine quite pretty, chained and in a beautiful mask, before she is adorned in the colors of my choosing.



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The Real Work of an Artist


IMG_0762a friend recently said something… almost unnoticeable….but for me it is what I have been waiting to hear… and the next light in sequence turned on…. illuminating my path… because though I do not know the path forward… i do know that I am on one… and my greatest source of pain has not been what i have endured from others… it has been my own willingness to see within myself first… and be honest with myself…. always blaming another…. carrying my pain like a mantra to justify my misery …and my choices….  i have written poetry… i have painted…i have drawn… some say with beauty…and pain…i have let my rage and ferocity flow like a red river… i have gained lovers and lost friends that i cared deeply for… and yet i tell myself the same story over and over…my own mantra… you know me as an artist…as a poet… as a fierce lover…i have painted both the beauty and pain in my life…painted with blood, semen and tears…a brush in one hand….a knife in the other….and yet have i really put in the effort to create my own real life… in the same way i paint?…or is it simply a facade needing constant mortar ….via my own justifications… like an ancient fresco masterpiece on a decaying wall….i am capable… i am strong… and i have to power and the will to do so…and i am starting to put in the real work of an artist….

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Your Strength Revealed


The gift of
Your beautiful curves
And your submission
To my fierce demands
Is not a sign of your weakness
It is instead your strength
Revealed and used

Original art in mixed media (watercolor, colored pencil and ink) by Mr Modigliani
Words by the Beast himself
Posted in My Artwork, Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , | 29 Comments

The Skeleton Key – Part 2


continued from The Skeleton Key Part 1

Once inside the upper suite of the old bed ‘n breakfast, she knows that she is not permitted to speak.  Her role is to follow my command quietly and submissively until the scene is complete.  I instruct her to untie and let her simple dress fall to the floor.  She was told not to wear any panties or a bra and her simple jewelry is placed on the nightstand.

Putting a pillow against the nightstand for her comfort, I set her on the bed, resting her back against the pillow.  Immediately a leather mask is placed on her face and a ball gag placed in her mouth.  Her wrists are roped tightly to the headboard and her legs are spread, leaving her completely exposed, while I tie her ankles with longer sections of rope to the bed’s legs below.

The crop. Taking the crop, I gently tease her cheeks with it, then run it down her neck to her breasts.  I give the sides of her breasts a light tap with the leather tip.  Then I flick her left nipple, then the right.  I do it again. And again as each one grows harder, standing to attention.

Running the crop a little further south, I tease her tummy and then tap on the insides of her thighs. I lightly tap her right on her labia, then a light tap right on her clit, as she convulses.  I tap again a bit harder.  Then snap it harder, right on the hood of her clit, as she struggles helplessly against her ropes.

The wax. Walking over to the nightstand, I whisper in her ear, “Prepare yourself my love… This will not be easy.” I unplug the wax warmer and hold it directly above one of her breasts, letting one drop drip on the side, then on the other side, then on top and the bottom of each breast.  Her whole body is shaking.  Then letting the wax cool just a bit, I let one drop carefully drip right on her nipple as her arms flail against the rope restraints.. As she flails, I drip wax on her other nipple…

Slowly I drop small amounts of wax between her breasts, then start heading south, circling her belly button, dripping on her pelvic area and then on her inner thighs.  A small amount of wax is dripped on either side of her labia.  Spreading the labia with my fingers, I head just a bit north and drip just to the left and the right of her clit.  Now her legs are just shaking and I can hear her deep moans as I let a drip fall right on her clit, then another. Her legs shake wildly as I firmly remind her that she is not allowed to cum.

The ice. Taking a piece of ice, I run it along her neckline and let it drip between her breasts.  Holding it above her, cold water drips ever so silently and fiercely on each breast before I circle the ice directly around each nipple, making each one hard and erect.  A second piece of ice is put between her labia, then briefly inside of her, before moving north and teasing her clit until completely melted.  I watch with a bit of glee as her back just arches helplessly to fight her restraints.

The vibe.  She is still quivering a bit as I wrap some rope a couple time around the wand and then around the tops of her thighs.  The head of the wand is placed between her labia while I pull the ropes tighter, holding it firmly in place.  I turn it on low, just letting it hum gently between the lips of her wet mess.

The poem.  After placing the wand between her labia, I pull over a wooden chair and just watch as she quivers and shakes, sweat now rolling off her breasts…  I remind her that she will not cum and then open a small hardbound book.  Before beginning to read, I turn the vibe on a medium pulse… on and off, on and off, on and off…  As I begin the reading.

Come slowly — Eden!
Lips unused to Thee —
Bashful – sip thy Jasmines –
As the fainting Bee –

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums –
Counting his nectars –
Enters – and is lost in Balms.

The Denouement.  Turning the vibe on high, I stand up and slowly put the chair in its original location.  Returning back to the bed, I remove her mask and take the gag out of her mouth.  Commanding her jaw, I force her to look at me.  Her eyes are off in another world while she struggles to focus on me.  Speaking softly, I look deep into her eyes and simply say “Cum for me”…..

Poem is original work by Emily Dickinson
Animated image from Tumblr
All other work is, of course, my own



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Love on the St. Charles Bridge – A Duet

Some time ago, I asked Bruised Belly at The Migraine Chronicles to write a duet with me.  BB has written a number of these with other writers and so I am pleased that she accepted the offer.  Please visit her blog to see more of her poetry.  She writes with a poetic intelligence and deep sensuality.


He met her in Prague, and his desire for her burned
She was a Bohemian beauty and he a man of the world
And his heart, his soul, his very flesh yearned to make her his own
So he held her and whispered, “My love, my dear,
If you desire me, I will come back for you in one year
Meet me on the St Charles Bridge

A year of waiting, of yearning and wondering
Would he remember her, want her, still call her name
He promised his love, yet a year is long to carry a flame
She pretties herself as she looks in the mirror
Today is the day, it’s been exactly one year
She steps to the Bridge, gripped with fear

He worried, for it had been so very long
Would she be there for him, would she still care?
He longed for her eyes, her beauty so fair
Surely she was now taken, in love with a gent
He thought he had lost her, much to his lament
As he rushed to meet her on the St Charles Bridge

She sees him approach with a sad look on his face
She wonders why, as she runs to his embrace
With his arms wrapped around her all doubt erased
A smile, a tear, a promised kiss
That face of his that she has so missed
All worth the wait to meet on St. Charles Bridge

He gently wipes away her tears
Brushes back her hair and calmed her fears
Just off the bridge, a cellist strums an ancient song
While its melody wafts through the tall towers of old Prague
He looks in her eyes and drops on one knee
Dear love, he says, please spend your life with me

And so it was that day, that these two lovers
A pretty Bohemian and a strapping young Brit
Gave themselves to each other
On the St Charles Bridge


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Captured Angel

I’ve captured an angel and bound her with ropes and chain.  Her eyes have been wrapped in cotton raiment, her breasts bound tightly and anointed with oil.  A heavy steel collar is secured on her neck and I love to watch as her wings flap and flail.  Looking at her, I speak softly  “Go ahead.  Struggle my dear.  But you will sing and you will cum for me as I whisper in your ear.”

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , | 29 Comments

My Eyes Can See


Look at me
While I hold your jaw
And still your frenzied mind
Look into my eyes
While I peer deeply into yours
So that I may know your thoughts
Your fears and insecurities
Desires you will not admit
Cravings unfulfilled
Never expressed
But my mind hears them
All of them
And my eyes
Can see

Picture is of my eyes

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Do You See What I See?


Do you see what I see?  Do you love her beauty reflected in such austere simplicity?  Do you gaze at the subtle nuance of her lines and curves, the light and the shadows?  Do you lust for her form and gaze at the curve of her ass as it slopes into the arc of her back? Does your hand wish to run gently, then roughly over each slope and undulation?  Do you sense her submission in the averted turn of her head?  I do.  I always have.

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The Hills of Paris

Truth be told I did not paint for years
As though a part of me had died
And even in a beautiful Paris spring
All I saw was gray

And so I sat in my studio
With my cheap Bulgarian wine
Watching the spiders crawl across
My old wooden floor

When you came through my door
Something changed
A perfect light filled the room
And I awoke from my self inflicted tragedy

As you posed so graciously
Your radiant form on my chaise lounge
My mind suddenly remembered color
Layers, textures and hue
And the beauty of a woman’s body

Now once again I can see
Vivid colors in my mind and
The beautiful hills of Paris

I saw this photograph from the amazing Carl Warner and decided it fit one of my poems really well.  You can visit Carl’s work at

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Chain Her

If I am drawn to her
And feel the depth of our connection
Fed by her joy and devotion
If my body lusts for her
And I desire her to be mine

Then I will chain her
Beautifully and reverently
And use every part of her fiercely
Marking her with passion
And my love

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 28 Comments

The Gift of Her Spirit


I heard my name
Being whispered in the wind
So I set out and happened upon a fairy
With the face of an angel
And the wings of a dragonfly
“Sir, I have waited for you”
She sang as she fluttered about
“Take me Sir”, she implored.
“I will give you all that you wish for
You may tie me, chain me, fuck me
Take me wherever you wish
My body is yours
For your pleasure”

My dear fairy
This is a beautiful gift
But is not all that I need
I wish for the gift of your spirit
Given joyfully, without reserve
I wish to hear your voice
Singing for me
I wish to feel your love
In a poem for me
I want the gift of you
My beautiful fairy
Then I will tie you
Mark you
And devour you

The fairy listened to my words
While flitting and fluttering
Finally she said,
“Sir I just can’t,
My spirit is for no man”
I felt the drop of her tears
Land softly on my cheek
While she turned
And flew away

Picture entitled Forest Magic by Pygar, from

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Compassion for a Man’s Inner Life


When Hasty Words invited me to write for her, I told her that I wanted to write about the challenges that men face with compassion.  There are so many female bloggers on WordPress that share every joy and sorrow, but the men are so very few.

Men here that express themselves with vulnerability, honesty and humor become like charismatics at a revival.  Female bloggers flock to them because, I believe, there is such a need and desire for women to understand the inner lives of men.  They are drawn to a man who is willing to reveal himself, whether he does that with humor, vulnerability or simply raw unfiltered expression.

As men, we simply don’t communicate like women do.  Men and women seem to inhabit the same planet but lead completely different lives as though we are closely related species that diverged 10,000 years ago.  Breeding is still possible but the communication capabilities of women have raced ahead of men’s evolution.

At 52 years old, I never had a full appreciation for this until this last year.  Sure, there have been numerous studies and I have read related articles in The New York Times or The Atlantic (or wherever), but it didn’t really sink in.  What happened then is that some women befriended, trusted and allowed me to simply listen and participate in their conversations as women. In all of my lifetime, I have never really had this opportunity.

My observation is that women are so much better than men at being friends.  They wake in the morning and greet each other with love and warmth.  They share both the small and large details of their lives.  They mentor each other to better navigate difficult problems and make wiser choices in their lives.  They send each other small gifts to demonstrate their love and friendship for each other and they are the first people to rush in during a crisis.  Women constantly express love, compassion and support for each other.

Women, you can’t possibly imagine how different a man’s life is.  Everything I will say is a generalization, but we are lone wolves.  We carry all of our emotions bottled up inside and, for the most part, those emotions stay there, never to be expressed.  In the last 30 years, I think I have cried twice and I suspect that is not uncommon for many men.

As men, our lives are like we exist in a hierarchy of wolves, competing for our position and its rewards.  Even the other wolves we consider as our friends feel a bit like competitors and so we never really share and never, ever make ourselves vulnerable.  So instead, we bury our emotions deep under many layers of protection and focus on building, creating and solving problems.

And, to be honest, our women are not always so good and helping us with our inner emotional lives.  My own experience is that the women in my life have always wanted me for the needs that I fulfill for them.  And so I have spent decades absorbing various complaints and worries, trying to support and then solve practical problems while trying to provide leadership in all the aspects of my own life.

Expressing and communicating our inner life is ultimately is each man’s responsibility.  We must acknowledge that we have an inner life and that we have a journey that is uniquely our own.  We need to reach out and share ourselves more openly with other male friends that we can confide in.  We must also have the courage to peel away the layers of our protection so we may experience compassionate love from the women we cherish and love in our lives.

Permission to use this photo, “She Tamed the Wolf”, is graciously granted by the photographer, Raphaelle Monvoisin.  Raphaelle is a very talented graphic and web designer in Paris, France.  You may see more of her work at  

Posted in Duets and Guest Authors, Other Musings | Tagged , , , , , | 46 Comments

Never My Spirit


Neither a faery
Nor a sprite
She said to the Beast
“I am curious of your ways”
Still she said,
“Beast, you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

So he commanded her jaw
And kissed her deeply
While her eyes adored him
Still she said,
“Beast, you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

So Beast wrote for her
And shared his inner secrets
While she came for him
Still she said,
“Beast you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

Challenged further
Beast chained her and lashed her
And adorned her face with his seed
Still she said
“Beast you may have my body,
though never my spirit”

Meanwhile Beast listened
while faeries and sprites
sang and wrote for him
Now enraged,
He asked himself,
Why did she deny him?

And it was only
When Beast took
What had never been offered before
He felt the fullness of her gift
Still she said
“Beast you may have my body
though never my spirit”

Then Beast stumbled up on her
Not with another Beast, but with a man
Singing for him and writing joyfully
Giving freely what she would not offer
Never to him, never to Beast
He finally knew

Beast mourned and wailed
For he remembered the trust in her eye
He felt the gift she could not admit
Even while her words rang in his ears
And her knife stabbed his soul
“Beast, you may have my body
though never my spirit”

Picture of Holly by Natalie J Watts for Vecu Spring 2011.  Please google for more information.

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , | 27 Comments


SmashedHeartAwake at 2, 3, 4 and 5
My mind adrift
Filled with images
Of her naked body
Entwined with another
And paraded rudely
In front of me
My feelings are awash
Like the black, icy sludge
On my garage floor
Constantly swept
Only to return

Posted in My Pain | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

Mr M Meets the Spirit of His Wife


As I lay on the tarmac with Djanira weeping above me, I felt my spirit starting to move to a different place and though I was being transported through a dark tunnel. Toward the end of that tunnel, I saw a light and from that light, a vaguely shaped spirit emerged.

I drew closer to this spirit and immediately felt its love and care. Was this the destination that some people spoke about when they die? It didn’t feel like it. As I drew closer to the spirit, I was shocked to hear the voice and once again see the beauty of my first wife and beautiful muse, Jeanne.

“My dearest Amedeo, my love, I have come to speak with you. There is much in your soul that wishes to die and I know that much of that pain comes from me. Amedeo, you must let go of that pain and choose to live. Since my death, I have watched you grow so much as a man and an artist. An when you were suffering, when you were blaming yourself, while tears rolled down your cheeks, even while you stood strong for others, I was always there for you Amedeo. Even as a spirit, I wiped your tears and wrapped my arms around you.

I know that you blame yourself for what happened between us. But, know this my dear love, as much as you loved me, I was not the right woman for you. I was insecure. I was deeply afraid that I was not enough for you. I tried to control you too much and did not love you fully with my words and my actions. I never loved your body the way it needed to be loved and I never let you take mine the way you so fiercely desired.

Amedeo, I suffered with you when you sank into depression after my death. But I have watched you grow and become the man that I always knew you were. I have seen your strength and your command. I have witnessed your deep artistry, not only in your art, but in your life. I have seen your inner Beast take and make love to the women you care for so deeply. And, dear Amedeo, the one you care for…, I know her spirit. She does love you. Her spirit is good and wise and she mourns every day for your loss, even as she projects her strength and holds back her words.

My dear love. It is time for you to live. It is time for you to let go of the pain that you have held onto for so many years. There is joy in the living and the loving that you will still do. I will always be here for you. I am proud of you. I love you. But for now you must LIVE!”

As soon as those last words were spoken, I felt my spirit suddenly return back to my body. My eyes opened as I saw the blue sky above me. I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin and saw Djanira’s big smile and the happiness on her face. I was alive and it was time to start living again…

Posted in Erotic Stories | Tagged , , , | 38 Comments

Life Lessons of the Painter


I have been painting in this lonely studio in Montmartre for over thirty years now.  My studio is open four days a week and my clients are almost all women.  I used to believe that they simply hired me to paint, but along the way I have learned to listen to their story and capture their essence.

There is something about painting a muse that allows a woman to shed her inhibitions.  Not only does her dress fall to my studio floor, but so also does her pretense and her protections.  As I mix paint on my palette, my clients tell me about their husbands, boyfriends and lovers.  They reveal to me their hopes and fears, even their darkest, most secretive desires, for I have earned a reputation for being discreet with the women on this Parisian hill.

What have I learned?  I’ve learned the tender beauty of a woman’s spirit must be tended and nurtured each day.  I’ve learned the intense generosity that most women have toward their children, their family and friends and the men in their life.  And I’ve learned that long-term relationships are very difficult.  There are so many grievances, so many old stories that are like permanent markers on the path of a relationship.  These stories are never forgotten.  I’ve been told a million times how needy, small-minded and self-centered so many men are in their relationships with their women.  I’ve learned that a woman’s spirit, including her body and her loyalty, are gifts that should never be neglected or taken for granted.

And, finally, I’ve learned that I, as a man and an artist, will continue to learn these lessons, through my own successes and failures, until the air no longer passes through my lungs and I can no longer apply paint to my canvases.

Posted in My Development | Tagged , , , , | 27 Comments

Love, Grace and Countenance


I have thought long and hard
About the extraordinary gift
Of a woman’s submission
It is not just her body
Tied to my bed
And bending to my will
But it is the generous gift
Of her very spirit
How can I honor such divinity?
Am I wise enough?
Can my empathy and intuition
Guide me to the right course?
I have failed often
Yet grown each time
Can I trust another
And give of myself
Without vanity?
Can I reveal
What I have kept hidden
For a lifetime?
Why should I trust
When I have so little faith?
I have observed
So many men take for granted
A woman’s service
When her spirit
Is not truly theirs
And so the gift that I offer
Is one that no man would choose
And few women would expect
It is her freedom
Offered unconditionally
With the highest respect
And my deepest
Love, grace
And countenance

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 20 Comments

My Aurora


My Aurora
Goddess of the dawn
Brings the light of each day
Wings carry her across
Oceans and mountaintops
To join me in sanctuary
Bringing the sun
The joy of her spirit
And the deep, wet quake
Of her submission

Painting is “The Gates of Dawn” by Herbert James Draper in 1900

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 13 Comments

She Has Curves


She has curves
And a killer smile
She prances and dances
Struts and throws glances
Enchanting all the while
Oh you men…
Don’t be weak, don’t be soft
Don’t dawdle and don’t dote
Just command her
And drop her
Then fuck her throat

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , | 35 Comments

There Is A Tenderness


We talk gently and respectfully
Like mature lovers with lives and responsibilities
Speaking of burdens that we carry
But also the joyous play
That reminds us
To breathe
And feel
Like living
But when we fuck
We’re like a human tornado
A spinning melee’ of wet limbs and mouths
Reaching a fury beyond comprehension
Destroying everything in our path
Pounding the earth
Into oblivion and
Exceeding all the limitations
Of our imagination
And our bodies
Yet in the middle
There is a tenderness
In this storm
That calms
The spirit
Leaving behind
Bright blue skies
And the promise
Of another
Beautiful day

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 26 Comments

Taken Reverently


I will seduce you
Slowly and artfully
In an old mansion
With a cast iron bed
And an oval mirror
You will wear
A string of pearls
Your garters
Cuban stockings
The black brimmed hat
A hint of perfume
And nothing else
Except soft ropes
On your
Wrists and ankles
My cock
In your mouth
My seed on
Your breasts
You will be kissed
And taken reverently
Like a Victorian muse
Being painted by a Master
Transported in
And Spirit

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , , | 24 Comments

You Are My Art, My Canvas


I will silently watch by the glow of candlelight, while hot wax drips from your peaks and pools in your valleys. You will hold my hand and gaze into my eyes until I give further instructions. You are my art, my passion and I choose to use your body as my canvas.

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

The Power of a Man


How should a man use power?
To accumulate wealth?
Conquer other lands?
Rule a populace?
Manipulate a democracy?
Revel in the adulation of fans?
Acquire a harem of beauties
For his own pleasure and service?
How does he then soothe
The deep pain of his spirit?
For the ego of power
Only seeks greater conquest
And never experiences
The true bliss of
Metaphysical union
With a loving, trusting woman
For she is not a conquest
Her love and body are gifts
Offered with joy
And vulnerability
I always knew
Submission was a gift
What I hadn’t yet mastered
Was how to offer myself
Not just my body
And my mind
But my inner spirit
Wisely and maturely
Without reserve
But still wield
The power of a man

Words by Mr Modigliani, image by Kahlil Gibran

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

This Is the Hand


This is the hand
That will clutch your jaw
Back you to the wall
So I can check
Your folds

This is the hand
That will bend you over
Strip down your panties
So I can mark
Your ass

This is the hand
That will smother your mouth
Sinking fingers inside
So I can finger
Your hole

This is the hand
That will stroke your hair
And lift your chin
So I can kiss
Your tears

This is the hand
That will write you poems
Caress your pain
So I can cure
Your fears

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 44 Comments

On Pain


And a woman spoke, saying,
Tell us of Pain.

And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break,
That its heart may stand in the sun,
So must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in
wonder at the daily miracles of your life,
Your pain would not seem less
wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the
seasons of your heart,
Even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which
the physician within you
heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician,
and drink his remedy
in silence and tranquility:

For his hand,
though heavy and hard,
is guided by the tender hand
of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings,
though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned by the clay
which the Potter has moistened
with His own sacred tears.

Poetry and art by Kahlil Gibran

Posted in My Pain | Tagged , , | 29 Comments


FX Photo Studio_image

Spring is in the air
I smell the musk
Of the forest again
And of a woman’s scent
My insides stir
The beast growls
Come with me
I’ll strap you to a tree
Kiss you deeply
Lift your skirt
And belt your
Pretty little ass

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , | 38 Comments

Live Once Again


You have suffered so deeply. Do you know how beautiful you are? Roll the stone away from your pain and come to me. Take off your crown of thorns. I will brush away your tears, kiss you deeply and make you remember what it means to live once again.

Posted in Romantic Poetry | Tagged | 33 Comments

Tears of Submission


She has endured
More transgression
Than any woman
Should suffer
But through it all
Remained strong

Even in the face
Of the darkest storm
She offered her all
Her body
Her life
Her loyalty

And yet
Her sweet heart
Still cries
With vulnerability
And the tender
Tears of submission

Posted in Erotic Poetry | Tagged , , | 36 Comments

It’s What She Needs


She is not a sub
And may never be
Her inner voice
Convinces her of
A different choice

But her spirit wails
And her body lusts
For hard physical passion
Power exchange
Seed and submission

If you play with her
Deliver strength
Back her to a wall
Kiss her hard
Command her jaw

Use her
Discipline her
Drop her to her knees
It’s what she needs, and
She loves to please

Picture taken from Tumblr

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Dominance | Tagged , , , | 49 Comments

On Spanking

As I sit here by the fire, I found this draft on my iPad. I don’t think I ever published. This piece is aimed more at women who are exploring submissiveness, not the many of you that have every wood and leather implement ready for use in your night stand.

I had a great conversation about spanking with a blogger the other day. Spanking doesn’t really seem like the right term in that she really wanted her ass beaten pretty hard before she was fucked and used (using her words here). Her man just wasn’t getting it.

Most of the readers that I’m connected to on this blog are bright, very sexual women in their 30’s to lower 50’s. There are so few men that comment, especially on this subject area, that I feel compelled to say something to give a male perspective. Guys, you could help here.

Before I comment, let me say that this has been an area of progression for me for the last three years. I’m not going to have the same point of view as a long term, very experienced Doms and I have a much more aggressive view than any vanilla man. Any woman who has experienced me knows that I am different from most men on many different levels (and you already know that from my writing).

Women, let me tell you that 90% of men have no clue how many of you want this, how many of you need this for the deep satisfaction of your sexual needs and your very spirit. For very good reasons, us men are taught just the opposite at an early age. We are taught to date and to court and to be gentlemen. We are to woo you with our charm, our athletic skill, our intellect and our success (whatever advantages we offer). Just to be direct about it, we are taught never to hit or lay hands on a woman and most young men would be shocked to learn that a woman might actually want this.

This is the genteel societal approach to courtship. And, frankly, it is terribly dissatisfying. It ignores the fierce, primal sexual and spiritual being that is within us and does not satisfy what many women want and what almost every man needs.

Our inner sexual spirit is at our core. On top of that are many layers of protections, perceptions, societal expectations, fears, insecurities and motivations. My own experience is that women are closer to their core sexual being than most men, especially after the children get a little older. Many of us men are so wrapped up in the throes of economic competition that it seems we have many more layers to remove to get to that sexual spiritual core.

It takes a special woman to help us remove those layers and allow that inner beast to come out and play. Men are direct and don’t take hints well, so my thought is that, for those of you that are exploring your submissiveness, tell your man how important for your spirit to be spanked. Tell him that you want his beast in all his ferocity. Just say it. It will be fine and certainly start a lively conversation.

Finally, I want to be be very clear that I very much enjoy a charming, engaging date with a beautiful woman.

Posted in My Dominance | Tagged , , , , , | 33 Comments

The Shackles of My Mind


I was shackled
To her small mind
Her conventional priorities
Insecurities and angry tirades
But the most important shackles I wore
Were the ones I put on me
And yet I contrast that
With the soaring joy
Of having you here
Naked in my studio
Tied and bound
Not because I demand
Your submission
(Though you offer)
But because I crave
Your love

Posted in Erotic Poetry, My Development, My Dominance, My Pain | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Your Eyes


I see you
I can see into you
And even with your weak defense
Your eyes take me
To your beautiful depths
And one by one
I will open each little door
And enter every room
To consume your thoughts
Your dreams
And whatever else I choose
You will feign resistance
Like you always do
But I am three steps ahead
And it is much too late, my dear
For I already have you
And see it in
Your Eyes

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Romantic Poetry, Spoken Word | Tagged , , , , , , | 37 Comments

My Muse

Reclining Nude by Amedeo Modigliani

Reclining Nude by Amedeo Modigliani

So deeply beautiful
Moving really
As a woman
A spirit
A passionate lover
And my muse
Wild and fierce
But partially hidden
Your perfect lines
And gorgeous eyes
Inspire the artists hand
Your verse
With such sensual honesty
Moves the poet’s soul
And you
As a woman
Stir my
Most basic and intense desire

Image | Posted on by | Tagged , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Kink Day 8: A kinky image I find erotic.

Mr Modigliani:

Oh God…. bells go off for me, especially the spanking scene

Originally posted on emdimensional:


I have a tumblr. There are all kinds of images there…but today I’m feeling tender hearted. These speak to me right now.


View original

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Learning my lesson…

Mr Modigliani:

I love what Kate has to say about her life’s journey

Originally posted on Breathe In My Touch:

Things are changing. Where they will take me is a mystery. But that is the fun part, right?

I don’t want to jinx everything by extolling all the changes I am experiencing and the possibilities those changes are creating. Maybe someday I will expound upon them, but not right now.

Just know, I am happy. I am enjoying life right now. Even the challenge of buying a home has my insides jumping for joy instead of quaking in my boots.

Why is it I fear I will make a wrong decision? Why is it I fight against the flow of life? Why is it I hold back instead of taking a deep breath and plunging into the waters of life, like I would so fearlessly do as a child when I would follow my brothers into the deep end of the swimming pool?

Why is it I didn’t realize all…

View original 1,307 more words

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Did I Ever Love You – by Leonard Cohen

Mr Modigliani:

Leonard Cohen is such a great writer, poet and artist. A true renaissance man. His lyrics move me.

Originally posted on An Artful Man's Journal:

This reached me in only the ways that a talented soulful poet can…

View original

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The Best Representation of Beast





One of my most loyal followers commented that I have used two different pictures to represent Beast. She then asked which of these two is the best representation of him as the two pictures generate two different emotional responses.

Though I am very proud of the first picture above as my own personal artwork, he is far too pretty to represent Beast completely. The second picture, in my mind, represents the wisdom, strength and power that Beast possesses. Based on this, I will likely use this picture going forward.

Posted in My Development | 19 Comments

A Surreal Text Message

Last Thursday, I had a surreal experience that is just too difficult for me to explain as coincidence. In the afternoon, I had a conversation with someone about my instinct to be protector and told the story of a young woman that I helped rescue from a terrible situation with her fiancee’. Shortly afterwards, I received this text message.  It is almost like she heard me talking about her. And although the content of the text is sad and a bit horrific, i am pleased to report that she is doing very well and is very much in love. 


Posted in Other Musings | Tagged , | 7 Comments