HNT: Forty-three (Twenty-three Redux)

Desire. Passion. Lust.

The kind that dizzies your mind, ignites your flesh, that has you reaching out for his body in thought, in dreams, in waking, that seizes and bends and breaks time wide open, that has you longing to charge each endless moment with him, that has you yearning for the maddening lightness of his touch, his heady kiss so all-consuming, that leaves me aching, craving, needing after all these months for that one dark-eyed man.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their favourite HNT of 2010…)

I Wake with You

I wake
With you
The warmth of your flesh
The flavour of your skin
Lingering still on these soft lips
Your heady musk
Your masculinity, your being
Overwhelming, engulfing my senses

I wake
With you
This supple body craving
Instinctively seeking, curving
Ever reaching
For your sleeping form
Your touch
Your kiss

I wake
With you
I wake
With you
I wake
Without you near

HNT: Forty-two

With each new dawn
It is your name on my lips
It is your body on my mind
It is your passion coursing through my veins

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their Christmas gifts and wishes…)

HNT: The Gift of Giving

Jas and JM

I realise this is something of a cheat since Jas and JM are talented individuals in their own right. But how could I possibly resist a joint affair for the sexiest Aussie couple du jour? I couldn’t.

When I began to consider the perfect gift for this pair, my mind wandered into the usual territory: sex. (Can you blame a girl after reading some of their delectable swinging tales?) What better gift than a playmate or two? Oh yes… The perfect Adam and Eve… Bodies, soft and sensual, tall and masculine. Minds, thirsty and playful and intensely engaging. Appetites, lustful and eager, adventurous and sensitive.

But then I stopped and considered these two, reflecting on the true love they have for one another, the kind of soul connection many of us continue to search for, the type of love that sees them through the often complex negotiations of extended and blended families and aching times and Christmases apart.

For these two wondrous and beautiful people, I give them the gift of travel, with yours truly as baby sitter. (It’s the least I can do, no?!) I give them the gift of Hong Kong as it is not only an easy eight-hour flight from home but also one of the most enchanting places on this fine planet. I give them the gift of a family getaway with plenty of alone time to reconnect (and weave into delicious blog posts), to shop (oh, the shopping…), to eat, to wander, to gaze at a skyline that leaves you marvelling at the harmony between lush, natural wonders and man-made feats of glass and steel.

Merry Christmas, Jas and JM.
xxx 

Green Eyed Frenchy

For those of us lucky enough to be acquainted with this delectable French morsel will know Green Eyed Frenchy has been a little quiet on the HNT front of late having had (among other things) her camera stolen in a break-in.

The obvious gift would be a camera, but as I suspect she’s already shopping around for one which will allow us all to rejoice once more in the sumptuous photographs of her luscious form, I have been thinking along slightly bigger lines.

The past year has been a life altering one for Frenchy. She has been an example of style, of grace, of daring. In response to the way she embraces life, this is probably more wish than gift. For Frenchy, I want to give the gift of breathlessness. I wish for her a year of new experiences and adventures so good, so dizzying, so great, her breath will be taken clear away. In the best possible way, of course!

(If I was being more material, I’d be buying Frenchy a ticket to balmy Sydney to escape the snow and cold. Actually, that’s a very good thought. Now, where’s my piggy bank…)

May your Christmas be merry, Frenchy!
xxx


13 Messages

13 Messages is a man, a photographer, a blogger, I have admired for quite some time. I lurked in the shadows marvelling at his photographs and heartfelt words alike, often astonished at how instinctual, visceral and primal his imagery can be. In truth, his talent leaves me rather awestruck.

For 13 Messages, I also give the gift of a wish, that of a talent spotter: an individual who will be fortunate enough to stumble across the self-portraits that set the bar for us all, that school us in framing and mood, that teach us about dark and light and the shades of grey in between, that shows us the versatility of the wondrous masculine form, that demonstrate the (erotic) potential in everyday spaces.

As this is a talent that should be shared more broadly with the world, I call on the many to appreciate and marvel alongside the rest of us already in the know.

Merry Christmas, 13 Messages.
xxx

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players and their Christmas gifts and wishes…)

Mirror, mirror

I found myself back there again.

I found myself taking in the image I long for you to see once more, taking in the detail of the white shirt chaotically tugged open, the lace of my demi cups darkened by the peaks scarcely hidden beneath, the black pencil skirt bunched around my waist, the pull of my suspender belt gently marking my yielding flesh, the midnight nylon sheen kissing the legs raised up stiletto high.

I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass, easing the damp, ebony silk away from my sex, teasing the softening folds, my nipples, my breasts, caressing the bright, plump lips, the abdomen lean and fair, cupping the mons so eager, my hips sensually grinding against the hand, my body, my cunt, silently demanding their much needed release.

And as I found myself there again, as I slid in two digits and crooked to find that sweet, little spot, as I fingered and fucked, as I circled and strummed the blushing nub, as I tightened and clamped and released my glistening lust, as I relished the wanton reflection of the woman pleasuring herself, moaning so loud the neighbours would most certainly hear, I wondered just how long you’d be able to resist me if you found me just this way.

Would you resist me? Would you resist?

Would you stand in the doorway relishing the sight, unbuttoning your shirt collar, discarding your tie, grabbing then rubbing your aroused flesh through the fabric, your raspy breath the only indicator of your voyeuristic presence?

Would you move over to me, stand before me, so close your scent overwhelms my senses, so close I can feel the heat blistering off your muscular body, so close my watering mouth can almost taste you, so close I can see the first perfect drop of precum nestling in your cockhead?

Would you extend your teasing torture, liberating your throbbing shaft, your fingers delicately drawing back the foreskin, your fist sliding back and forth, back and forth, your hips gliding along with it, back and forth, back and forth, positioning your body between my open thighs, back and forth, back and forth, your glans now intermittently brushing the tender skin of my breasts, back and forth, back and forth, your thumb smearing your shine along the curve of my neck replacing the fragrance of my favourite perfume?

Would you step closer still, winding your fingers through these tousled curls, your dark gaze locking on the deep blue of my eyes as you feed your thickness into my mouth, as your fingers join mine down below, as your digits transition from lace to nylon to skin hot and moist, as my tongue licks and laps, as my lips voraciously engulf, as I suck you like a woman starved and denied, as my mouth fucks your cock and your fingers fuck my cunt, our orgasms rushing headlong to meet us?

Would you torment me cruelly, deliciously with the meat most desired, running yourself along my cleft, coating your hardness in my flowing juices, circling my clitoris with your glans, your kiss finally finding mine, our lips sensually devouring through my whimpering pleas for your cock, through the ragged cries to “Fill me, fill my cunt, fill me, oh God, please, fill me, fill me, fuck me, fuck me”?

Or would you simply take what you want, what is rightfully yours, just as you did that night, wrenching open your zip, pushing me back on the bed, your suit jacket thrown off and onto the floor, my legs instinctively splaying themselves wide, your hand releasing the glans hard and eager, guiding then nudging momentarily at my need, before plunging, sinking into the depths of my velvet heat, your mouth, your kiss swallowing my mewl, your hands a vice on my hips, mine grasping for your shoulders, your back, your arse, the sound and smell of our lust overpowering the room as you fuck me with passionate abandon, as you relinquish that control, as you leave the imprint of your shaft on my most intimate flesh, as we come loud and hard, our urgent desire screaming over this skin, melting these bodies together, as I come loud and hard, my cunt milking you from within, as you come loud and hard, splashing your seed deep, deep inside me, as we come loud and hard with the reflection of our merged bodies beamed back at us in the low afternoon light?

I wondered. I wonder. Would you resist me as I sit at the mirror?

HNT: Forty-one

Sultry Christmas night
Twinkling tree of lights
Wishing on a star brightly glowing
For peace and joy and lots of play
For red stocking filled with lingerie
For inspiration, guiding muses
For seductive passion, delicious teases

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players
and their Christmas themed delights…)

Four Walls

These four walls behold
These four walls bare witness
Absorbing, greedily drinking
Our heat, our sweat, our libations
This abandon, this savagery
Our maddening sensual passion

HNT: Forty

 

Let me lead you
Away
Astray

Let me lead you
Night
Day

Let me lead you
Body
Mind

Let me lead you
Take you
Make you
Mine

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Writing Desire

Words are not enough. My words are not enough. They pale in the face of yours, in the face of you. They are small, paltry, shamefully inadequate. My mind, it can not tame them, it can not craft them; it can no longer articulate the excess, the intensity, the passion that threatens to consume, to corrupt, to craze.

All that remains, all I have left is my body. This flesh, this blood, this bundle of nerves, this collection of freckles dotted along fair skin. This body. My body. The body that writes my desire. The body that longs to speak its own language, its truth, that aches to merge its nakedness with your own, that begs for your possessing touch, that calls for your seductive kiss, that screams for your sweet invasion, that seeks to know you, know of you, about you, as it has known and written of no other.

HNT: Thirty-nine

All it takes is just one look
All it takes is just one touch
All it takes is just one taste
And she is his
And only his

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Longing

As the darkness blankets the sky, as the approaching witching hour sings its silence,
I long to worship and indulge you, to make love to you, to know the man who sets this restless ache, who leaves me craving always for just one more taste, who compels me to want nothing more than to coax and tease and entice his flesh to release the cream of his passion with the heated whispers of my own yearning, with butterfly kisses and the trails of this slick, eager tongue, with hands and fingers, lightly touching, possessing, stroking, with the searing velvet dripping its sweet liquid lust, with my hips gliding, back arching, legs entwining, with the tender grip of my violent desire, with all that I am, with everything you require.

HNT: Thirty-eight

You say you want me

You say you need me

Through growls and whispers

Taunting, teasing

Through touch and kiss

Possessing, intoxicating

Come take me now

Don’t keep us waiting

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Punch Drunk

You.

Your face, your voice, your body; your thoughts and words and desire.

You.

Your dark, smiling eyes, your tickling beard, your maddening, masculine scent.

You. You. You.

You dizzy my mind, ignite my flesh. You speak to them both. No, you do more than that. You whisper and sing to them; you craze and soothe them; you groan and scream at them. You seduce them and me. We are powerless, us three. We can not resist. You make us want you.

You make me want you.

You intoxicate, you possess; you make me long through the morning, through the night for the man, the lover, the beast. You make me yearn for your hard uncut meat, for your fingering touch, for your sensual kiss, for your overwhelming heat, for a taste of the first glistening pearl of your arousal, for the talk and the laughter and the silence and the being as our spent, tangled bodies recover in the low afternoon light. You make ache with a lust and a passion that drive all thoughts from my head, that strike my fair form at each and every moment, that compel my hands to sate this slick, needy flesh when you are cruelly out of reach.

You. I’m drunk on you. I'm drunk on you already. And I never want to be sober again.

HNT: Thirty-seven

Hands tame the wild tousle
Lashes flutter against the bright
Her fairness curving, smiling, swaying
Ready to take flight
Ready to float away
Into the deepest starry yonder
On the sweetest, softest
Thoughts and dreams
Of him

(click)

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Right Now…

... My sex is so soft, so plump, so intensely slick my panties are fused to my bright flesh. This is the result of thinking about you, thinking about your face, your body, imagining ours mouths locked in the perfect kiss, slow and sensual, then urgent and bruising, our mingled breath already hot and ragged and shallow. Breaking away, my lips and tongue give and take and explore, brushing, dipping, licking the sweet, clean skin of your neck, travelling along its curve, moving down, down, down to your chest, to your hips, branding you as mine in their wake, my tousled curls leaving a teasing trail as I savour and consume you, my long, delicate fingers finding your throbbing hardness, grazing, tracing every ridge of your thick shaft before finally entwining the meat most desired, stroking you slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, my gaze now fixed to your desiring eyes, my thumb circling your burnished head, smearing you with the glisten I long to taste.

... My tight red knickers are deliciously constricting, hugging my hips and bottom and mound. As I sit here in the close, spring heat, I’m teasing myself over the thin cotton fabric, mapping the damp spot growing ever larger, prolonging the moment my fingers find my need as I hunger for your nakedness here in my bed, as I hunger to know every last inch of you, as I hunger for you to drink from my cup, as I hunger for your glans between these pink, sticky lips, as I hunger for you to bury yourself deep, deep inside me, my hips rocking, my pelvis grinding, our flesh melting, merging in the bliss, swallowing your groans and words of desire, our climax breaking the still of the night, your hot seed coating the walls of my velvet, my fair, lissom form your canvas to paint and create.

... My entire body burns with its fevered ache; my entire being calls out for you and you alone, its need to have you near me, next to me, inside me too great. In a very short while, I’ll move off into the bedroom, shedding the fabric along the way, fashioning a path for you to blindly follow. When I reach the white covered expanse facing the large mirror, I’ll perch myself on its very edge, spreading my creamy thighs wide, wide, wider until I see the gloss shining in the low light, until I feel my crazed passion rising up and breaking free. Then, and only then, will I fuck myself with my silicone proxy, slipping and sliding the thick shaft along my portal, circling and teasing my clitoris, before nudging it into my cunt inch by glorious inch, watching my petite form surrender to a pleasure at once too much and not enough. And as I fuck myself for you, for me, as I thrust the cock in and out, in and out of me, as I watch my body arch and buck and writhe, as I watch the lust lining my face, as I allow my mind to sink into you, as I allow my body to drown in you, as I allow you to take me over even at so far a remove, as I moan and scream and cry out my orgasm, it will be your name on these lips, it will be the name of the man I want with a softness and a violence that surprises even me.

HNT: Thirty-six

In the flicker of an eye, she appears before him in the low lit entrance, dressed in the deepest midnight black, as if conjured from the innermost recesses of his base imaginings. Guided by the seductively guttural moan of the jazz trumpet, she languidly slinks to the wall, pressing her petite frame into the stucco, her long fingers beginning the slow release, teasing open each clasp to reveal the satin, the lace and the firm, ready flesh to his transfixed gaze.

Moving toward her with an ease that betrays nothing of the urgency rising up inside him, he curls his hand around the growing swell straining the tailored suiting, relishing the fiery passion his intensely masculine arousal ignites, savouring his powerful hold over this rapacious woman.

Yet, as her look once again joins his, as the raspy breath escapes her glistening mouth, as she sensually strokes the swollen slickness down below, as she opens herself up for him, to him, his possession dissolves in an instant, her dangerous shadows unwittingly drawing him in, her unbound desire wordlessly calling him into her velvet web.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Credo

“Be a woman. It’s a powerful business when done correctly.”
Bobbie Barrett, Mad Men

Trace

As they crash over her one after the other, as they roar up through the petite body flushing her fair skin and swelling her dripping cunt, as they come in quick and thunderous succession intermittently driving out the breath from her lungs, she exhales the sweet syllables of his name, longing for his liquid lust, yearning for his scorching seed, aching to be filled with the cream of his climax, needing above all else, the tangible trace of his desire.

HNT: Thirty-five

I shed the veil
Of the past, of the wounds, of the limits that once contained me

I shed the veil
Through the word, through the deed, through the expression of my desire

I shed the veil
To embrace the mind and the body, to enfold the woman rising up inside me

I shed the veil
From this skin, from this flesh, for the man I crave to kiss and hold and taste

I shed the veil
Every moment, every day, every month of this past year

I shed the veil
For me, you, for us, my lone and collective witness

I shed the veil
On the femme, on the vamp, on the minx, cheeky, dark and light

I shed the veil
I shed my veil
And at long last
I am released, recovered, reborn

(click)

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Night and Day

You have no idea just how intensely I crave you. You have no idea how crazed and dizzying that craving. You have no idea just how I crave your mouth and its kiss, your hands and their touch, your scent and skin and heat.

Night and day.

You have no idea just how much I want to feel you, to feel your overwhelming masculinity, to feel your fingers gliding over my fairness, your thick hard cock slowly filling me to the brim, to feel you moving in and out of me, to feel your seed coating my most intimate depths, painting my breasts and stomach and thighs, glossing my lips and tongue.

Night and day.

You have no idea just how I need to feel you under me, to fit my body into yours, grind myself into you, my soft, swollen sex sliding along your uncut flesh, your burnished head teasing my clitoris, my climax screaming out of me, the scorched liquid lust coating and marking and branding you as my own, our mouths urgently feeding off your bruising kiss.

Night and day.

You have no idea just how I long to surrender to you, to have you surrender to me, to have you unleash your carnality upon me, to have you shred and rip and tear the cloth covering my slight form, to have you push me into that wall, to have you take me from behind, to have you fuck me, truly possess me as no other man has ever done.

Night and day.

You have no idea how I yearn to fuck you, to make love to you, hidden away, in plain sight, alone, with others, on a bed, on the floor, in the shower, bent over your desk at work, in front of a glowing movie screen, on a fast moving train, your fingers disappearing into my hot velvet cunt as my delicate hand strokes your slick, aroused flesh.

Night and day.

You have no idea how I ache to worship you, to taste you, to devour you, leaving nothing but your bones, how I ache to hear your raspy breath, to see the desire lighting your eyes, to sink into the man who inflames my body and mind.

Night and day. Day and night. Night and day.

e[lust] #21

Photo courtesy of Evocative Abyss

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #22? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

Important e[lust] update: e[lust] will be going on hiatus for the holidays. The editions for November and December would both occur around the holidays and I know I'll be short on both submissions and judges as well as personal time. e[lust] #22 will return in January, with ample advance warning, so please make sure you're subscribed for updates!



~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

D/s Without the D/s? - This is one of those situations in a real time D/s relationship where much of the “fun” aspects of the D/s needs to be stuffed in the closet for a bit. And for us, it’s not a great time to be either a masochist or a sadist. We can deal with that.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Yes, Jelly Sex Toys Can be Dangerous - Even if a jelly rubber toy says “phthalate-free”, it still can contain toxic chemicals that can cause skin reactions in some people. These toys are still non-porous and can harbor dirt and bacteria because they cannot be sanitized.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Unfortunately, this edition has no Top Three picks as I didn't have enough volunteer judges. If you'd like to volunteer to help, visit this page to find out more info and ensure that the Top Three picks continue.

See also: Pleasurists #101 and #100 for all your sex toy review needs.



All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

All Painted Up...

A Modest Proposal: Should Ginger & Cooper Fuck?

Happy Sexual Freedom Day

How Do You Explain

Life in spanking after 30: part 2


Erotic Writing

blindfold

Fantasy: Movie Night

Feeling Helpless

Gabrielle, Guest Star

Happy Anniversary...

History Lesson

I Still Don't Know How You Taste

Monday Morning 2am

Metallic Seduction

Need

New Erotic Story For The Holidays - Tinsel Temptation

Putting the car into park

The Ordeal (Part Four)

The Sweetest Violation

The Young Mom

The Moment

The Soccer Mom

Timeless in a Window's Light

Kink & Fetish

A space to hate and rage and be angry (photo story)

Beyond the Bedroom

Does liking Helmut Newton equal a fetish?

Happy Halloween: Light Me Up

I am all pins and needles

Kink and Fibromyalgia

Ownership and Monogamy

Punishing the servants

Pi

Switching It Up

The Cage

The Sacred Swinger Holiday: Halloween!

the most amazing night with HIM

The Pedicure

The Right Question

Wax on, wax off!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

All Roads Lead to Acceptance... I hope!

Crisis Averted

Dear boyfriend, I love you. And your cock.

Having Great Goddamned Expectations

If You Google it, I will Answer #9

I Don't Know If I've Ever Been Really Loved By a Hand That's Touched Me

How to Massage Man’s G-spot

My Coming Out Story

National Coming Out Day

Recovering From Anorexia

Role Reversal

Sadie's Condom PSA

There's something about 72...

If truth be told, I have a fascination for certain numbers. Numbers associated with hours and days and months and years, with exotic locales and everyday minutia. With love and desire and passion and men... Lucky numbers, serendipitous numbers, sexy numbers.

Now, there’s a new number in my life. And I like this number. So very much.

The first stands seductively proud: masculine, assertive; shoulders broad and strong; body oh so taut and lean. The second is soft, supple and sensual: she is all feminine curves and sultry undulations; her head coquettishly lowered, back enticingly arched, sitting in wait on her knees.

Yes, that’s right. Number 72. This yin and yang, this hard and soft, this man and woman, this deliciously lusty number is mine thanks to Rori, all of the judges and their incredible work and generosity. And it’s also mine thanks to you and your often dizzying support. 

I think it’s safe to say, this harbour city girl couldn’t get a luckier, sexier, more serendipitous number to add to her collection...  

Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2010

1. (Please see this post)
2. TBK from The Beautiful Kind
3. Iona and James from SapioSlut
4. Quizzical Pussy from Quizzical Pussy
5. Sadie from Sexie Sadie’s Stories of Seduction
6. Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
7. Adrian Colesberry from Adrian’s Blog
8. EA from Easily Aroused
9. Guy New York from Quickies in New York
10. Joan from Better Than I Ever Expected: Sex and Aging
11. 25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
12. AAG from AAG Blog
13. Bad, Bad Girl from BBG Blog
14. Holden from Packing Vocals
15. The blogging team at Sex is Fun
16. Elle from Kink Unleashed
17. Rachel from Rabbit Write
18. Clarisse Thorn from Pro-Sex Outreach, Open-Minded Feminism
19. littlegirlyone from littlegirlyland
20. Remittance Girl from Remittance Girl
21. Mistress Arabella from Bombshells & Rockstars
22. Axe from Unspeakable Axe
23. Coke Talk from Dear Coke Talk
24. Jack from Writing Dirty
25. Kayar Silkenvoice from Silken on Sex
26. The blogging team at Gentle Nibbles
27. Sinclair Sexsmith from Sugarbutch Chronicles
28. Lilly from This Could Be Dangerous…
29. Kit from Blogging Dangerously
30. Mistress Lilyana from Mistress Lilyana
31. TitsMcScandal from The Blogging Slave
32. suggestivetongue from suggestivetongue
33. Library Vixen from Library Vixen
34. Oatmeal Girl from Submission & Metaphor
35. Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
36. Rockin’ with a Cock In from Light Switch
37. Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
38. Shasta from Stiletto Diaries
39. Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
40. Padme and Anakin from Journey to the Darkside
41. PrettyPowerTools from Pretty Power Tools
42. Dark Gracie from Gracie’s Playground
43. Mollena from The Perverted Negress
44. The blogging team at Sex in the Public Square
45. The blogging team at Pop My Cherry Review
46. Emma and Maymay from Kink on Tap
47. Dave from Glimpses of Dave
48. Jake from Facts and Friction
49. Sylvanus and Mina from At Longing’s End
50. Lucy from Sexy Blogtime
51. Ms. Naughty from Ms. Naughty Porn for Women Blog
52. Wendy Blackheart from Heart Full of Black
53. Cin from Seeing My Own Reflection
54. Holly from The Pervocracy
55. Lady Pandorah from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
56. Olga Wolstenholme at Cuntlove
57. Jiz Lee from Jiz Lee
58. Aubrey from Vagina Drum
59. Black Pearl from The Filthy Ramblings of a Dirty Girl on Lock
60. Dallas from Naughty Americans
61. Jerry Jones from Little Submissions
62. Sir Zoomer from Vanilla-Xtract
63. Chantelle from Chantelle Austin International
64. Gloria from Gloria’s Oversexed Mind
65. Insatiable Desire from Insatiable Desire
66. Spring Flower from A Girl’s Gotta Have Options
67. Epiphora from Hey Epiphora
68. Wilhemina from Heartbreak Nymphomania
69. Erin from Let’s Eat Cake
70. Autumn from The First Day of Autumn
71. Kyle from Butchtastic
72. Cheeky Minx from Love Hate Sex Cake
73. Diva from Debauched Domestic Diva
74. Scarlet Lotus St. Syr from Purveyor of Pleasure and Wanton Lotus
75. Janie from A Hundred Ways to be Perverse in the Library
76. The Secret Slut from The Secretive Slut
77. Curvaceous Dee from Curvaceous Dee
78. Jefferson from One Life, Take Two
79. Kris from Phone Courtesan and Experience Kris
80. Lila from ¡Qué sinvergüenza!
81. Essin’ Em from Essin’ Em
82. Shon Richards from Erotiterrorist
83. Violet Blue from Tiny Nibbles
84. Evey from Voyeur on Display
85. Miss Mia from Things You Can’t Ask Mom
86. Coy Pink from No Need to be Coy
87. Mistress Matisse from Mistress Matisse’s Journal
88. Audacia Ray from Waking Vixen
89. That Toy Chick from Desk Full of Dildos
90. Britni from Oh My God, That Britni’s Shameless
91. SSS and ♀ from Sweat Shop Sissy
92. Ferns from Domme Chronicles
93. Jerome Nichols from Let’s Talk About Sex
94. Dreamwalker from Dreamwalker Sadistic Poet
95. Dr. Petra from Dr. Petra Boynton’s Blog
96. Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
97. Shirley from Reptillian Prostitute
98. Carrie Ann from A View from the Floor
99. Sophia St. James from Sophia St. James XXX
100. YOU! As always that last person on the list is you. Please, please, please leave a comment below promoting your own blog (or the blog of someone you love). Links are welcome, as long as they lead us to a sex-related blog, not a retail website or porn aggregation site.

HNT: Thirty-four

Crawl out of the darkness
Slide into the inferno divine
Allow my fevered passion
To warm and burn
Consume you

(click) 

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Flash

It is the flash of charcoal suiting that initially catches her eye; it is the detail of his cuff, the link, the starched white cotton around the strong wrist and large hand that causes her gaze to stray, that draws her along the path up to his stubbled chin, chiselled nose and molten stare.

But it is his thumb, gingerly and sensuously caressing, stroking, tracing the peaks of his lip, which sends a rippling surge through her spine, which sets the blush high on her cheeks, which leaves her breathlessly, achingly yearning to feel the maddening lightness of his touch.

HNT: Thirty-three

He tells me he likes pink.
He tells me he likes girlish.
He tells me he’d like to kiss me, taste me, make love to me
on a bed dressed in crisp, white cotton.

Who am I to argue with that?

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

The Sweetest Violation

Her eyes, heavy and desiring, chart the path of his hovering form, taking in the detail of his chocolate gaze, the mouth bruised by her kiss, the muscular torso shadowed by the dark matt of wiry curls, eventually locking on the mesmerising grind of his hips and the hardening flesh sliding between the soft, swollen lips of her dripping sex.

Closing in on her, his chest teasingly grazing rosy nipples, hands and fingers gliding over the mounds of her breasts, tracing the line of her taut stomach, possessing her creamy thighs, his heated whispers find her ear as she begins to beg and plead, her sultry whimpering ringing out in the otherwise quiet room.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he gives in to her and to himself, one strong hand reaching down to stroke the uncut meat glossed with her arousal, the other feeding its thumb into her eager mouth, his eyes now drinking in the sight of her legs widening in readiness, the rising blush on her fair skin, the delicate fingers caressing, snaking, digging into his hips.

Parting her bright folds, his burnished head nudges momentarily at the portal before he sinks headlong, filling her with a deliberate slowness, inch by inch, spreading, stretching, satisfying the plump velvet, inch by inch, his slick cock throbbing, enveloped by her tightness, inch by inch, his thick shaft pulsing as it kisses her needy and intimate depths, inch by inch, her legs winding around the base of his back, inch by inch, her own arching off the bed, inch by inch, their hands a roaming mangle, inch by inch, inch by inch, his ragged breath now joining hers, inch by inch, inch by inch, inch by inch, until he is there, until his glans is pressed against her womb, until their bodies and skin and juices merge, until they are captive, until they are rapt, until they are one in the sweetest violation.

HNT: Thirty-two

The shadow, the light
Unify and divide
They spread me open
Stretch me wide
They call for your sliding, gliding
Electrifying touch
They long for the slow, teasing journey
Up the silky line
To the velvet
To the pulse
To the heat
Of my desire

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Wav(e) of Desire

Into the slim silver box nestled lightly in her palm, she whispers her desire for him, breathing the heat of her need into his ear at an almost painful remove.

Delicate fingers now teasing electrified flesh, she shivers through the words, through the primal need to taste him, to devour his flesh, to tease her clitoris with his cockhead, to cover him in her scorching arousal, to open herself so wide her body might break, to feel his hard, thick cock stretch and fill and fuck her until she screams, until her nails rake his muscular back, until his pounding hips brand her creamy thighs, until their lips reach out for the fiery kiss, until their merged bodies are bathed in the passion all-consuming.

HNT: Thirty-one

Take me to the place

Where the men are mad

And clad in well-cut cloth

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Wanting

I want you
I want you too
I want to lose myself in you
Forget the hour, the day 
The lands that cruelly separate
I want to dive into your body
And simply float away

HNT: Thirty

In one swift move, he reaches in and shreds the pink satin covering her modesty, his deft fingers plunging deep into the slippery heat, her raspy breath and aroused cries filling the room.

As I watch him possess her, as I watch him unleash his desire, as I watch the primal power play of their grinding, scantily-clad bodies, my longing for the one out of reach on this night, for his commanding hands and their touch, for his mouth and its kiss, for his skin and scent and hardening flesh rises up and overtakes me.

Edging closer to the screen, I begin grazing, touching, teasing, shedding my own fabric prison, baring my needy flesh to their flame, bathing this fair nakedness in the glow, sinking my body into the very connection I crave at this moment above all other.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

There Are Days

There are days where words are simply not enough, days where my voice falls silent and short, where my mouth craves a unique expression of its lust, where my lips and tongue yearn to mark and inscribe with the hot liquid language of my desire.

There are days where words are simply not required, days where my skin seeks out his flesh, sweat and come, my fingers trailing the path of their want, my legs enfolding the form of their passion, my heat fusing with the lover of my dreams.

There are days where words are simply not important, days where my body calls to hear its own truth, where I long for the sounds of our grinding and thrusting, the echoes of cries guttural and soft, the music of a dance beyond measure.

And then there are days, there are nights, there are weeks, where words of the sweetest perfection live simply in his gaze, in his touch, in his kiss, in his speechless presence and breathless ardour.

HNT: Twenty-nine

Traverse the land

Cross the sea

Come here

Lie close

Hide away with me

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Fever

Last night, it finally broke. As my dreaming steadily filled with vivid images of him, with the sights and sounds and sensations of the two of us together – talking, laughing, fucking, making love – my body released its lustful want, its aching need, its crazed frustration. Waking with a start, his kiss still lingering on my lips, I lay in bed, my flesh scorched and drenched, damp curls glued to my nape, pink shirt and knickers fused to my torso, my recovering breath barely fracturing the night’s quiet.

Peeling back the covers and stripping down, my nakedness glistened in the low light as I drifted somewhere between sleep and consciousness, between my bedroom and the one of our love making. With the cool caressing me, I ran my fingertips slowly over my skin, delicate, teasing strokes from neck to collarbone, around the mounds of my breasts, on my hardening nipples, down the curve of my stomach to the softness of my hips and thighs, just as he had done in that perfect and consuming vision.

Within moments, I sank into the plane that offered me the gift of his presence. Submerged once more in his voice, his scent, his weight, in the intensity of his closeness, my body unconsciously reached out for him, at first calling silently, then screaming, then weeping so hard the wetness rose up, shiny droplets dotting my flesh as I spread across the bed in response, arms and legs opening wide and ready, the slippery heat flowing freely from my aching sex.

Hovering over me, his phantom drank from the stream, instructing my hands, guiding my fingers to the juicy plumpness down below, to the pink that yearned for his hard thick cock, to the cunt that longed for fulfilment. Sliding my palm over my mound, gliding my fingers from the portal to my clitoris, up and down, up and down, dipping in two fingers deep, deep, deeper, soft, ragged cries filling the room, my back sensuously arching off the bed, his material form was suddenly beside me, the white expanse dipping under his masculine strength. With his lips and tongue on my mouth, tracing my neck, his breathy whispers in my ear inflamed, incited this desire, compelling me, propelling me to the edge, urging me, imploring me to finger myself for him, pleading me to finger fuck the velvet heat he longs to devour, to fuck my dripping cunt harder, harder, faster, faster, to spread my lips and tease the nub of my purest pleasure, to touch and finger and fuck myself as he would, as he has, as he will, to come, to come, loud and moaning, to come, to come, slippery fingers, plunging, pumping, thrashing, to come, to come, to come. To come for him. For him and only him. In fevered sleep, in fevered waking. 

HNT: Twenty-eight

Before you
Before your body of perfection, your mind inspired
Before your gaze, your words, the warmth of your embrace
Your scent, your kiss, your sweet and heady essence

 I am bare
I am open
I am the primal and the sensual
Passion, craving, want
I am light
I am flesh
I am woman 

Reborn

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The Burn

The warmth
The warmth
In his voice
In his laughter
In his kind and generous soul

The heat
The heat
In his breath
In his stroke
In the words of his desire

The burn
The burn
In our speed
In our obsession
In our climax
In our conclusion 

HNT: Twenty-seven

In gilded glow, in shadows deep
The yearning for your soft caress
Lingering kiss, possessing flesh
Smoulders, burns 

Devastates me

(click)

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Video

Her gasp shatters the silence with the realisation it is her raspy voice, her desperate desire that have hardened his flesh, that have compelled him to show and record the intensity of his lust. Stroking his thick cock slowly, deliberately, silently, glimpses of his profile, his muscular arm, his creamy hip, his shiny head, tease and tempt, inciting her passion, watering her mouth and cunt in an instant.

Listening to the familiar accent speak of the yearning to press her nakedness against his, to have him feel her heated whispers in his ear, her lips on his mouth, trailing down his neck, his chest, his hips, his thighs, sliding around his throbbing shaft, her body grinds in time with his as she sinks three fingers into the velvet heat longing, aching for his touch.

But it is only once he throws his head back and murmurs to the witnessing silver box just how much he wants it too, just how much he wants her too, that her orgasm crashes over her so hard, so loud she calls out his name.

HNT: Twenty-six

Take me.

Touch me.

Taste me.

Caress then shred my cover.

 Do you want?

Do you dare?

Do you dare to want me, lover?

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Confession

As we gradually shed the veil, as we bare ourselves through the word and glimpses of skin, as our desire collides, fuses, coincides, as our urgent, carnal passions threaten to swallow us both, as our need to merge and fuck and devour overtakes the rational mind, it is your longing to kiss me, caress me, savour me, to make love to me, soft and slow and lingering, that trembles this fair body, that sets the fevered ache, that carries my breath clear away.

HNT: Twenty-five

Bathe me in the night
Cloak my flesh in blue velvet light
Bind me with your desire dark and dangerous

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Ghost

He has been haunting my dreaming of late. Nightmarish visions of the man I met at a tender age, of the man who shared my life for over a decade, of the man I promised to marry, of the man I loved, of the man I renounced.

In my waking hours, the spectre of our relationship, the moments, images, snapshots of a time together since past, flash before my eyes, colouring my day, forcing me back to memories sweet yet hurtful and numbing. In my mind’s eye, I see our tiny flat by the sea, the laughter, the music, the dancing, the fucking. I see our reunion years down the track after our separation, both a little worldlier, both humbled and seasoned by experience and heartbreak and age. I see the two versions of our selves and the palpable attraction that coursed between us, the unfathomable chemistry that crazed mind and flesh alike.

And in the pit of my stomach, I feel, at a strange remove, the sexual rejection, the withdrawal of affection, the emotional cruelty, the arguments, the silence, the recriminations, the fear and alienation and eventual loathing. On days such as this, I recall the way he would point out my flaws just as my lips would brush against that soft spot on his neck and my hands worked their way down from his shoulders to his chest to his hips. It had the desired effect, his criticism. Red-faced and wounded, I would leave him be. As he rolled over and fell instantly into sleep, I would lay back, my sex and tears pounding and hot, and consider how I could possibly transform myself into the image of perfection he so obviously longed for and required.

I have come to realise these exchanges were just as much about him as they were about me. They were called up to diffuse my voracious sexual appetite, to reign in the fluid and varied nature of my passion, to assuage the guilt of his infidelities, to temper the frustration and anguish of his own insecurities. They were strategically mobilised just as I was coming into myself and just as he was feeling lost and out to sea.

The pen and page have, for the most part, resisted him. There is but a mere whiff of him here. The words have not cared for his presence; they have not cared to bring him back to (my) life or the site of my rebirth. But my thoughts have turned to him once more, sparked by these dreams as well as conversations with friends and lovers new.

As I think back on him, I recognise he was a necessary chapter, an essential encounter, as without him, without our stunning and broken love affair, I would not be the woman I am today. I would not be the woman daring to embrace her carnal excesses, her fervour and abandon, her beautifully imperfect mind, body and soul. While there are days where his voice rings in my ears, where his whispers callously taunt, they are fewer and far between.

For now I as look upon the woman reflected back at me, as I submerge myself in the eroticism of posing for the camera, as I watch my hands linger over the body of a lover as well as my own, as I immerse myself in the sensual and the primal, as I live and breathe and write and fuck and come, I see the beginnings of the woman I always longed to be.

In writing these words, in bringing him into the light, into the glow of the screen, my true hope is to set the last of him free, relegating his phantom to another sphere with understanding, with gratitude, with love.

HNT: Twenty-four

He lingers in the doorway, his muscular chest rising and falling, his thick meat progressively hardening, as he drinks in the woman craved as no other, as he takes in the sensual curve of her mouth, the heady scent of her perfume, the shiver rippling through the flesh wordlessly calling out for his touch.

And as he crosses the threshold, his arms encircling her waist, his eyes gazing into the deep, their bodies finally merging as one, she exhales his name along with her heat, her yearning finding its voice, her desire finding its mate, her passion finding its home.

 

(click)

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Body and Mind

I woke with you on my mind, with the vision of your body hovering over me, with the urge to feel our warm nakedness entwined in the low morning light, with your heated murmurs on my neck, your wiry curls tickling my breasts, with your eyes firmly locked on mine.

I woke with you in my body, with my flesh reaching out for your all, with our aching desire igniting my skin, with our yearning to merge inflaming my form, with your slippery hardness sinking right in, your lips tracing the curve of my mouth, with your seductive moans crashing over us both.

And as I woke with you on my mind, in my body, in my thoughts and sensations sultry and sweet, I wondered if you did just the same.

HNT: Twenty-three

Every minute is an hour

When you’re not by my side

When my flesh calls out for you 

And only you

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Suit

With an effortless double click, his reflection is before me: eyes framed, expression pensive, lips full and inviting, he is the picture of suave sophistication in the tailored cloth of black.

As my gaze travels the length of his form, seeking out the nuances of his handsome face, noting the strong hand resting easily on his thigh, taking in his caramel skin pallid under the glow of the artificial light, I realise just how very much I have missed him.

HNT: Twenty-two

Round midnight
Bed waiting, sleep calling
Little enticement without you here

Without your strong arms entwining
Without the murmur of words seductive, electrifying
Without your heady kiss so all-consuming
Without the man of passion who sates my yearning

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Hand of Man

Strong, masculine hands seizing their craving, their want, their desire.

Coarse, powerful hands sweeping, grazing womanly skin silky and fine.

Commanding hands mapping the line of my back, lifting me high, spreading me wide, sating the ache that all but consumes me.  

Hands, fingers, dexterous and greedy, that tease my clit, that work my slit, that crook to find my sweet little spot, that fill my tight cunt to the brim. 

Hands caressing my face, my neck, the soft mounds of my breasts, vice-like grip on my hips as his thick shaft glides in to the hilt, as it savagely pounds my slick velvet heat.

Hands in my hair, on my head, digits mapping the curve of my lips as I slide your glans deep, deep inside, as my tongue licks and laps at your slippery head, as I fuck your pulsating cock with my mouth.

Hands tenderly fixing ties that fasten and bind, marking my form with the signs of possession for which I yearn and long.

Hands speaking their sensual passion, recording the rise and fall of my breath, the rhythmic, thudding beat in my chest, committing to memory the body laid bare before them. 

Hands, hands, his glorious hands, weapons of worship and hungry invasion.

The hands holding me down, the hands setting me free.

The hands touching, taking, giving all that I need.

HNT: Twenty-one

As the rain lashes against the window on this blustery night, he surveys the woman before him, his eyes caressing the pouting flesh of the creature who has tortured him with her desires, who has inspired a hunger and frustration foreign to him until now.

While he aches to reach out and take hold, his body shivering, his thick uncut meat throbbing as the pungent scent of their mutual arousal fills the room, he restrains himself. On this night, there will be no giving in to her. Not easily or swiftly, at any rate. For on this winter’s night, he longs to hear the confession of her own desperation, yearns for the sweet, whispered appeals for his weight, his skin, his kiss, his cock, his come.

Once she surrenders herself with the very words that drew him in, once the fevered need rises up and breaks over her supple form, once he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt her tight little cunt is flowing the nectar most craved, he will scale the metal barrier and join with her; arms snaking, hands exploring, mouth devouring, possessing, partaking and worshiping with his entire being.

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Plea/d

Please, please. It’s all I want. It’s all I need. It’s all I truly long for.

Please, please. Take me, fuck me, kiss my flesh with your glorious cock. Drive your thrust softly, roughly. Come with me, come for me, come hard, come loud, come all over me. Cover my lips, my breasts, my tongue.

Please, baby, please. Seize me, possess me, bend me to your will. Fuck me, fuck me, come deep inside me. Come deep, deep inside this sweet aching cunt.

Please, please, please.

HNT: Twenty

The cocktail has been the symbol of their eventual meeting from the very beginning. Shaken or stirred, vodka or gin, olive or twist, their preferences were duly noted. In their countless communiqués, it was the object that not only held the tentative promise of a certain time and place, but also the means to draw one another out, to tease and taunt and play with words, to express the intensity of an attraction and desire that increased with each passing day.

Now as they stand in the low lit room together at last, velvet night blanketing the sky, the oily slick in their glasses rests barely sampled, the words spoken surprisingly scant. Together at last, alone at last, they have no need for either. Raspy breaths fill the silence, eyes wander and roam, slowly and deliberately consuming at a practiced remove one final time as they linger on the precipe.

But once his fingers lightly brush an errant curl aside, their achingly desperate bodies leave them no other choice than to plunge headlong, zippers urgently gliding and hissing, skin and heat merging, hands caressing, arms winding, around her waist, around his nape, their lips brushing, locking, tongues dipping, tasting, hungry mouths seeking, devouring, their flesh fusing and binding, passions igniting and possessing in this dizzying moment of perfect firsts.

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Bronze

Standing at ease against the cool of the white stucco, gaze bright, smile wicked, he is a breathtaking vision. Of bronzed nakedness, of imposing strength, of profound masculinity, of sexual audacity. Of sheer perfection.

Settling into the plush chair located in the shadowy corner, she allows herself the freedom to take in his detail, her eyes languidly travelling along the terrain of sculpted muscle and wiry curls, along the hot skin deeply kissed by the sun to the cool, milky pale of his hips and thick uncut flesh.

It is the contrast between the heat radiating from the russet glow and the freshness of irresistible cream that ultimately awakens a gnawing hunger, watering her mouth and sex in equal measure. It is the contrast that beckons her to him, that lures her semi-clad form to close the space between them, that draws her delicate hands to his tensing arms, her slender fingers to the legs tantalizingly splayed, her fiery nails to graze the line of the torso well defined, her moist, sensual lips to his raspy breath, her eager tongue to the mouth desperate for her kiss, her fair suppleness to his intoxicating potency, her slick velvet cunt to the glisten of his raging cock. 

HNT: Nineteen

Keep your diamonds, sapphires, rubies and your pearls
Save your metals precious, your luxury divine
Shield your glistening decadence that all too often blinds

Give me instead their imitation
Dress me rather in their muted relations
In exchange for the most desired of treasures

Grant me his alluring flesh and mind celestial
Offer up the touch, the kiss that sears this passion upon me
The man, the body, the one lover who travels my fair form as no other

 (click)

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