HNT: Eight

Looming large over his pliant little toy, he contemplates her fate, relishing the dominance that has torn its way through his skin like a ravenous animal, instantaneously taking his stiff ready cock to dripping and diamond-hard.

Captivated by her wanton display, her chest rising and falling with each sharp intake of the thick, pungent air filling the room, the damp black silk between her splayed thighs somehow glistening in the low light, he struggles with the intense need to touch her fair skin and mark it as his own, to maul and paw and finger her to a loud, thunderous height, sinking the digits slippery with womanly nectar into her mouth to suckle and cleanse, joined shortly after by his throbbing rigid shaft.

For the moment, he resists giving in to her. And himself. Leaning in, he inhales the scent of his prey, nose hovering over the line from neck to collarbone to shoulder, his flesh at an almost painful remove from her own. In a voice hoarse with barely contained desire, he outlines precisely how he will make her wait, the craving to see her long and hunger and beg even greater than his own immediate carnality.

Kneeling between her legs and roughly shredding the flimsy fabric concealing her modesty, he tells her this delayed gratification will force her to confront her own darkness, the unspeakable acts she has only ever contemplated alone in the shadows, the insatiable vampiric lust for the meat of men in all its variety, the unrelenting, pussy-thumping necessity to both possess and submit.

And as he moves up along her cunt, branding his own body with the liquid heat of her passion, he knows, without doubt, this night will ultimately compel her to honour the alluring woman at the heart of this sexual multiplicity.

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

Communion

Stand over me, lean over me, tall, commanding and strong,

your body ready for the pleasures here awaiting.

Look at me, gaze at me, your eyes sweeping over me,

caressing curves with passion from afar.

See me, see into me, map the surface, chart the depths,

as no man has ever dared or ever done.

Feel me, touch me, stroke the body bathing in the glow,

the body reaching out for you and you alone.

Hold me, commune with me, merge your rapture and your pain,

be unafraid to bare, unmask, expose.

Drive into me, sink into me, drown me in your flood,

plunge into a moment brief that lingers on.

HNT: Seven

From the plush chair in the corner of the room behind her, she feels his eyes, their molten chocolate coating her every move and curve, their gaze clinging to the black silk as it inches with frustrating slowness down the hollow of her back and past the globes of fair pouting flesh.

Savouring the tease, she controls the smile insisting itself on her lips as well as the impulse to turn around altogether to meet him. Instead she crooks her head ever so slightly, glimpsing large beautiful hands unbuttoning and releasing, rubbing and stroking, a playful grin drawing at his full mouth.

All the while she continues the languid dance, arching and bending, the fabric hissing along calves and kicked off at her ankles, hips rolling, legs spreading, feather light fingers brushing and caressing the electrified skin of her increasingly desperate body.

Sensing her rising impatience and need, he holds himself back, taking pleasure in the mounting anticipation, indulging in the view, truly relishing the moment their mischievous game comes to an end as he crosses the threshold, presses his body against hers and they begin to loose themselves in melting heat and merging skin and the first of countless searching kisses.

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

Naked Truth

The hour of their call meant she was somewhere between sleep and consciousness, defences low, mouth spilling forth the uncensored thoughts and sensations of body and mind.

In the warm rumpled bed with the phone cradled next to her ear, she revealed herself to him in the way she only could when immersed in the midnight dark as his voice and laughter and the intimate details of his life wove their way into her very core.

But now she worries she has bared too much, too much of herself, her insecurities, too much of the desire he ignites in her and the attachment she is beginning to feel after so short a time.

And so her stomach churns and head vertiginously spins as she wakes quietly weeping, fearful of the vulnerable openness he has inspired, fearful he no longer cares for the view from here.

Come

His voice, initially thick, hoarse and grainy with pent-up desire, transformed itself in that glorious moment of release as I murmured in dirty detail just how my newly well-fucked cunt full of another man’s seed would forcefully take him, would insist on being cleaned by his lips and tongue, would slide itself to the hilt onto his raging cock, would envelop him in soft, velvety wetness, would urgently ride the piece that completed my puzzle, would milk right out of him the come that truly belonged inside me.

HNT: Six

Standing almost motionless before him, lightning white desire radiates from her body, bleaching the lilac walls, cloaking the fair form and mind in the deepest of shadows. The base thoughts prickling her skin, hardening her nipples, soaking her sex, circulate around his possession, around seizing and controlling him in his entirety.

Riveted half naked to the edge of the bed, his untouched cock rigid in its denim prison, strong hands gripping the sheets, he sinks into the whispered words of her carnal need to feed off him and suck him dry, wear him down and break him open, bring his smouldering passion to an uncontrollable burn.

Claiming all she requires with no thought for his ruin, his spent, cunt smeared body will be, in the end, proof of her ownership.

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

The Art of Men

Breaking away from the others, I wandered around the final room, on the periphery of the oppressive throng, taking in the beauty of the art of men from a time long past. My overwhelmed gaze distractedly skimmed, unable to fix itself, unable to rest, unable to find an object of pure visceral attraction.

Until I saw it. Until I saw her.

From the margin, she drew me in, the invisible thread reeling me closer and closer, parting the tight knit crowd of men intently studying her every detail. Finally before her, I stood transfixed, barely able to catch my breath, contain the gasp, control the rapid thumping in my chest.

My eyes began to roam, feverishly at first, taking in the swirls and curves, the rumpled sheets, the generous pillowy bed, her naked indolence, the dirty neutral palette, afraid my time would prematurely come to an end with the arrival of yet another interfering audience.

But very soon after, we were alone. Taking my cue from Bonnard, I began to languidly absorb, feasting on each stroke, each ridge, each arc and twist and bend, slowly devouring the sensually and wantonly laid out body displaying its womanly splendour.

And as I stood spellbound by the dozing woman, you came to me, crashed over me, flooded and overtook me. As I stood amid the hustle and bustle in the gallery, I rode the wave of your words, your thoughts, your face.

The wave of you.

I stood facing the canvas longing to be her with you as my artist, you as my voyeur, you as my lover on the other side of the frame watching, gazing and patiently waiting for the end of my slumber.

Admission

In her absence, he tells her, he drifts into sleep stroking his hardening sex with her body on his mind, with her mind on his mind, with the Pandora’s Box of her soul on his mind.

And in the presence of his searing honesty, his desire clear and bright, she throbs and trembles and cries.

HNT: Five

On this night, the ties that bind are makeshift, fashioned from a narrow black patent leather belt worn by her earlier in the day. In no mood for trifling, he crudely straps her slender wrists together hoping for immediate signs of his force on her creamy skin as he positions her against the wall.

She is just as he wants her, just as he wants to gaze upon her while considering the infinite possibilities of her defilement. Scratching the muscular abdomen through the gap in his shirt, he moves up close to begin staking his territory, his touch shifting from unnervingly light to achingly fierce – the tips of fingers skimming her silky inner thighs; his stubbled chin scrapping along curves and swells; the full-lipped mouth kissing and licking; sharp teeth biting and marking; his deep, deliberate breaths consuming, guzzling, savouring the sweet, spicy essence of his willing victim.

Standing, trembling, her body is now a vessel of pure sensation, his darkness and light washing over her, sinking in and overtaking, ears filled with the rapid thud of her heartbeat, eyes blinded by the white hot beam of her lust. And while she is at his mercy, she knows submission affords its own unique power, tearing at the limits of her pleasure and her pain, at the boundaries surrounding her ordering mind.

She knows this in her very depths just as she is certain of the dilated pupils of his chocolate eyes, the fine mist covering his torso, the precum seeping from his thick hard uncut meat, fusing his desperately throbbing cock to his boxers. In the end, she knows the power it also holds over him, she also holds over him. And as he twines his fingers through her hair, leading her roughly to the bedroom, bound and possessed, she knows her acquiescence sets them both free.

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

Exchange

You will do as I say. You will do as I want. You have no other choice. And you know it.

I do know it. I know I have no other choice than to obey you. You, your voice, your body, your face, your ability to see me, see right through me, impels my body and mind to follow without question or reason. It leads me instinctively to you. It breaks me open, it strips me bare, destroys every vestige of my shame and inhibition.

I know.

I don’t know how this has happened so quickly. I don’t know how you can know me in this way. How do you do that? How can you know these things about me? How? How? How can you see and feel and know the very things I can scarcely admit to myself?

I already hate you a little for that.

I know you do. I know. I like that you hate me. I love that I do that to you, see right into you, see and recognise the depraved things you want for yourself, from yourself, from me, from others.

You see me, see into me, in the same way. As I see myself in you, you see yourself in me. I see the things you’ve never allowed any of the others to see.

Please, stop.

You know I can’t do that. It’s too late to go back. There’s no way back, not now. This you know.

Yes. I do.

Besides, you don’t want that. You like being my slut, don’t you?

Yes.

You love being my slut, don’t you?

Yes.

I can’t hear you, slut.

Yes. Yes. Yes. I love being your slut.

Tell me then, my sweet little slut, tell me what you imagine when you’re ravenous and desperate, when the ache crawls under your skin, when your cunt drips from its starvation.

I think about you. I think about excess. In those moments, I crave excess.

Of what variety?

Men. Many men. A roomful of men. Just for me. All for me. All there for my pleasure alone. Giving, taking, feasting, gorging.

I love how insatiable you really are under the nice girl façade.

I figured as much. I somehow knew you’d like that contradiction.

So, where am I?

You're sitting in the corner of the room, my beautiful voyeur lurking in the shadows, as I am pleasured by a room full of men.

That's exactly where I want to be.

I imagine you stroking your hard, thick slippery cock as you watch these men taking me, fucking me, plundering me, giving me more pleasure than I can stand.

I think about my legs being parted by large, strong hands, a foreign mouth kissing my plump, glistening folds, licking and slurping and drinking my juices, his lips and tongue on my needy clit, my hips bucking, my body writhing. As I’m coming, loudly moaning and whimpering, another approaches and takes hold of my face opening my mouth, my lips and tongue skidding across his swollen head, licking greedily at the sheen before he slides his erection into my hot little mouth, fucking me slowly, steadily, then a little roughly, just as you like it.

Fuck.

Would you like that? Would you like that, baby? Would you like to see your slut being eaten by a big, strong man while another fucks her pretty little mouth?

Yes, I would. You know I would. You know I would relish watching your pleasure even in the face of my own jealousy, don’t you?

I do, baby. I do.

I also know when I come, you would like me to look you squarely in the eye, seeing the way that jealousy makes your uncut meat diamond-hard and slippery wet, your pleasure meeting your pain. Your handsome face would register another man’s invasion, my sodden cunt impaling itself on him to the hilt, filling me to the brim, my hips grinding and swivelling, small circles at first, then larger thrashing loops, our pelvic bones crashing, my fingers digging into his hairy chest, his force blushing the fair skin of my body.

Yes. Yes.

Rising from your chair, you walk over to me as yet another moves up behind me, nibbling from the base of my spine to my neck, languidly tasting, our lips and tongues at last consuming, his hands moving around to tease my small, pert breasts, hard and rosy nipples, his angry purple rod nudging my tight hole, hands moving down to part my cheeks wide as he takes the part of me that has only ever been owned by you.

Oh, fuck. No. Yes.

I think about you standing over me, joined by others, watching and stroking their cocks, using my mouth and my hands to jerk their hard-ons, using my body as a canvas for their newly spent hot seed. Hands rubbing and massaging the rivers of spunk, cream on cream, coating my slight body with the essence of these men, the essence of men.

This is just as I've pictured you, wantonly laid out for ready consumption and debasement. At my hand, at the hands of others.

You’re such a filthy little slut.

Yes, I am.

What happens when they’re done, when they’ve used you up?

You know what happens.

Tell me. Say it. I want to hear it. I need to hear it. Tell me what happens when your pleasure has been satisfied?

My pleasure is never truly satisfied. Until I have you.

Until I am reclaimed by you.

Until you take me back as your own.

Until you possess me as these men bare witness.

Until your naked body is intertwined with mine.

Until your jealous passion is released onto me, into me, into my mouth, into my cunt.

Until you fuck their seed out of me, until you lick away all trace, until you bathe me in your scent and sweat and saliva and come, until you immerse yourself in mine.

Until we ride the waves of pleasure together, until the marks on my skin are yours and yours alone.

Until we spend each other dry, use each other up, until nothing remains for another.

My slut. My beautiful little slut.

Always.

Caramel

Although the desire to touch verging on painful, she holds her ground, allowing her eyes to take in the perfection of his form, their lingering descent clinging to every ripple and muscle of his tall frame, to the smooth skin of his taut stomach.

Walking a little unsteadily towards him, her heat escaping in shallow breaths, she reaches out one lone delicate finger, skin finally meeting skin, cream meeting caramel, and slowly follows the trail of fuzz disappearing into the waistband of his bulging grey sweats.

HNT: Four

The fiery heat in the dusk sky had found its way into the room, saturating the usually neutral palate, overwhelming the freshness and purity of the air.

Much like the blazing glow, there was nothing subtle or nuanced about him on this night, nothing approximating the sensual tenderness that was so often his calling card. He was here purely to satisfy the darker, more debased side of his desire.

Clearly willing, clearly aroused by the prospect she would be taken in any and every way he saw fit, her fair skin began to blush like the setting sun.

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