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

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

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

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

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)

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

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…)