Fusion

She stares for an age at the screen, barely able to see through the passion blurring her vision, barely able to comprehend the desire she provokes in such a man.

Yet, the proof is there before her. The proof of his desperation, his yearning, the ache that crawls under his skin.

She blinks over and again, her chest rapidly rising and falling, her breath catching in her throat, her slick cunt thumping against the denim covering her groin.

And although she realises the gesture an imitation, she too can not control the impulse to merge her flesh with his, to extend her touch to the electronic body, caressing the large, strong hand reaching out in a futile attempt to feel her own absent form.

Voice

She smiles somewhat shyly, although her face unseen by him as she breathes softly into the receiver, the sound of his masculine yet mellifluous voice at odds with the deliciously debased filth whispered from his sweet lips.

Closing her eyes, picturing his beautiful face and hands, she listens to the liquid velvet accent outline the opportunities awaiting them, awaiting their flesh – the wet sounds from her throat as he fucks her mouth, the shine on his face as she smears and marks him with her dripping cunt, the binds she will use to dominate and possess, the bruises kissed with tender care after he has claimed her as his own.

HNT: Three

The words are scarcely formed, escaping his lips as a husky rumble from his vantage point behind me. My unseen smile forms with a slow wickedness, fair flesh unconsciously arching deeper to find his touch.

Open shirt grazing my back, his hands hover tormentingly in the shadows playing against my almost bare form. Scorching breath finds my lobe with the echo of the very same phrase sending shivers along my spine.

Backing away and extending the tease, his lone finger charts the curve from the top to the hollow, eventually hooking itself lightly into the left side of the pink barrier that stands between us.

Yet in one deft move I am naked and the slow reveal cut abruptly short. As he pins my hands roughly above me, his muscular chest squarely against my back, rosy nipples hardening under the cool of the stucco wall, thighs glistening with the first signs of my pleasure, the sound of the zipper’s gliding metal teeth is now the only one in the room.

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

Nineteen Words

She has read his words several times over in a vain attempt to regain her breath, her composure, her sense of this time and place and the intensity suddenly spiralling wildly through her body.

Unfolding before her, they paint a vivid picture of his emerging desire and hardening flesh as well as the craving to plunder her mouth, cunt and the very essence of her desiring force.

She recognises his carnal drives, and the shadows in which they often seem to lurk, in an instant. In them she sees her own, rising up, taking over her rational mind and needy form as his cock and beautiful face and body become the centre of her own sexual imaginings. 

But there is something more in him, something that already sets him apart, something he encapsulates in a short string of simple words. These words, innocent and benign in their own right, have been placed together by him in a way that tears open her sexual soul.

The thoughts and feelings that assail his mind in the dead of night and the obscenely early hours of the morning as he strokes himself, smearing the precum dripping from his swollen head, circulate around her. Her wants, her needs, her obsessions. And the very things she hasn’t experienced but will one day grow to love, will one day be unable to live without. The very things he can give her, take from her, as master, as slave, as man, as lover.

And because no one has ever dared express a yearning to know her in such an intimate and yet primal way, to delve into the depths of her darkness and her light, she undresses in front of the screen, her naked form illuminated by the artificial glow, and begins her exploration with his words as her witness.

Cream

She climbed into bed that night without showering, undressing slowly in the dark, retracing his path. As each discarded piece fell at her feet, the scent of him rose up to meet her, flooding nose, mind and sex with the fresh memory of their meeting.

Peeling off the minute black g-string covered in his dried creamy seed, she ran her long, delicate fingers back and forth along the renewed moistness hoping her body had retained enough of his slippery goodness for the pleasure of her midnight treat.

HNT: Two

She stretches out languorously, foot reaching for the curtain, flooding the bed with soft autumnal daylight. While her body continues to hum from the morning’s decadent play, she soaks up the gentle morning warmth increasingly aware of the renewed intensity rising up inside her.

Requiring more, desiring more, needing to feel the weight of his body bearing down upon her once again, his silky hardness penetrating her heat, she slides her leg back down and across the bed. Her glistening cunt now spot lit in the glow, she patiently awaits his return.

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

Dark and Light

In the darkness, in the light, and the shadows in between,
I am shrouded, I am cloaked, in my desire.
Just us two, you and me, me and you, here and now,
in a moment shaped for our embracing.
Come with me, take my hand, join me in the dim,
merge your carnal lust without reserve.
Let us taste, let us feed, lets us feast and gorge, devour,
bodies fair, bodies soft and hard and eager.
Lay me out, strip you bare, possess, control, restrain,
set us free with rapture sharp and bright.
Fusing lips, melting tongues, fingers searching, flesh grasping,
selfish and noble pleasure bound.
Lick the sheen, sip the nectar, savour flowing juice and cream,
from cups of woman and of man.
You are mine, I am yours, just for each other longing,
to submit, to surrender, to release.
Look only now to a dawn, to a morning never shining,
to the night shielding our primal tryst.

HNT: One

This is a first. Of sorts.

He has seen this lingerie and dress before, but never in the flesh, never up close on my bed in the light of day.

Desiring eyes momentarily drive my nervousness away as I lie on my side, the fabric bunching around my thighs, his hand travelling along my legs, taking in the texture of the denim, the silkiness of the lace, the soft swell of my breast.

Smiling hungrily, he reaches back, producing the camera, small and light, beginning once again with the very form that brought us together.

“Don’t be shy,” he tells me. “Show yourself.”

But words seem to fail me. There are merely two circling my head.

“Be gentle…”

(So, here I am taking the plunge…)

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

Jet Lag

After more than a week, my body continues to lag half a day behind craving the cold and the sleet and grey clouds hanging low and the 76 to Waterloo, my daily view of St Paul’s and the long meandering walks from Ludgate to Fleet to the Strand and the sea of dashing men with that certain sparkle in their eye, the hustle and bustle and crowds overflowing and Penn and Picasso and Matisse, cinnamon porridge and builder’s tea and the Turkish pastry shop up the road brimming with the goodies I love.

And strong arms firmly pressing a warm body against me.

Intuitive Touch

In the low, fading light, he reaches out to her, hands making contact with soft warm skin, fingers trailing so delicately her body unconsciously reaches out for more of his touch. Blazing blue eyes sweep and record every detail, every curve, every freckle and dimple and arc of her slight form.

He lays her out exploring her womanly terrain as if new found territory. Hand hovering over her increasingly hot expanse, it makes contact along her neck, collarbone and the path between her breasts as he holds her down with a gentle strength.

Mouth, lips, tongue on the surface now, he breathes in her scent, sweet yet rich he whispers, moving down to her moist, enveloping flower as he handles her with such sensual care she begins to shake at the foreignness of the sensation.

Her longing rises up to meet him, giving her over, surrendering her agency, as she marvels at his ability to read, to perceive, to know exactly what she needs and when, to recognise the fluid nature of her desire and crave its multiplicity.

Table Top

Legs hooked over the sides unashamedly spreading and displaying her in full, pert breasts rising and falling with each sharp, excited breath, she counts down the seconds to the moment of his invasion.

With the sound of his feet making their way across the hard-wood floor, her cunt thumps its raging pulse through the fine pink mesh, releasing pool after pool of her sweet nectar into the fabric and down her thighs.

Before her at last, he wastes little time, sliding down his zip to free the angry purple cock in need of this merging. Pushing the g-string to one side, he nudges his glistening head into her plump lips, hands possessing, hips driving, hard shaft plunging deep, deep, deeper into the searing velvety wetness as her back involuntarily arches and their low guttural moan reverberates around the cavernous room.