Satin Skin

As my transfixed gaze took in the detail of the garments suspended in the glass case, I wondered about the women who had inhabited their forms, the bodies once swathed in fabrics coarse and refined. I wondered about their curves, their skin, their scent, their sensuality, desires and cravings, my eyes absorbing the shapes and textures, attempting to place my fair flesh within them and within that time and place.

Standing in the shadowy museum light, I willed them to speak their secrets, their stories of love and lust and loss. I willed them to whisper the tales of these women if only to reassure me of my own place in the world. If only to reassure me that my voracious and often limitless carnality is not merely a product of the here and now but rather a hunger we carry, we bear, we release through each and every lifetime.

Master

He makes slaves of us all. With his hands, with his voice, with the mouth that worships pussy. With the striking words that leave us shivering, wet and dizzy. With the hard, searing cock that fills and opens and possesses with its volatile bliss.

HNT: Fifteen

Cosseted indoors at last, away from the rainy chill of the night, he moves toward me in a gesture to take my coat. Silently refusing, I languidly slink to the narrow passage illuminated by the glow. Up against the wall, my steely blue gaze meeting his, gloved hands begin to ease, unfasten and release, revealing stockings, corset and little else. Pushing aside the warm woollen layer, soft leather fingers graze the silky mound of my hip, slithering their way to the heat radiating from my naked, eager sex.

And as the hush in the room is broken by our raspy breath, his advancing body, his lids heavy with desire, his hands roughly tugging shirt collar and leather belt, speak to me of only one sure, beautiful thing.

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

Capture

His face, his body, his voice have captured her imagination with a dizzying speed. As his piercing gaze flashes through her mind, as the deep accented drawl echoes in her ears, as he courses and flows through her slight form, she wonders about the man a world away from her own and the compelling lure of him.

She wonders about his hands, their touch, the scent of his skin, his expected force and his astonishing sensuality, his energy and stillness, his heat, his physicality, the view of his overwhelming frame looming over her.

And as she allows her mind to wander and meander along his body magnetic, she slavishly follows, her own scorched, electrified flesh achingly reaching out for one more rapturous union.

HNT: Fourteen

Cheeks flushed with simmering desire
Lips rosy soft, twin aching peaks
Hands, fingers tracing, gliding, mapping
Forever longing
For the kiss, for the bliss
Of your touch

(click)

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

In the End

In the end, there seems to be nothing but a whisper separating us all. Difference, otherness, foreignness seem to be nothing but fast crumbling notions from a history long past.

In the end, we all seem to want and long and yearn for the very same things, need the very same things. No matter our time or place. From the mind, from the spirit, from the body.

Passion. Pleasure. Acknowledgement. Wisdom. Connection. Independence. Knowledge. Mystery. Discovery. Submission. Domination. Control. Freedom. Wonder. Bliss.

Desire. Desire. Desire.

And Love.

Possibility

Darkness and light.
The shades of grey in between.
Sultry poetry and gruff demands.
Delicate touch, bruising possession.
Primal desire and tender caring.
Electric exploration, engulfing recognition.
Sexual and sensual, artistic and intellectual.
Man, woman, singularity, multiplicity.

The breathtaking possibility.

HNT: Thirteen

The sultry, seductive moan of the jazz trumpet winds its way into the cosy room as the muted lamp light casts its enveloping glow. Awaiting his arrival, she takes pleasure in the sensations of the here and now: the plush throw caressing her freshly bathed skin; the faint aroma of a favourite scent clinging to the curve of her neck; the soft lace tickling her hips; the delicate fingers drawing sensual circles on her bare flesh; the butterflies taking flight in and across her electrified body; the steady pulse beginning to thud out its addictive rhythm in her awakening sex.

Surrendering herself to the moment of solitude, she wonders if the demure yet wanton picture she has painted will please him, if the waiting gift will sate his hungry longings, if the familiar woman before him has retained something of her novelty, her mystery.

Snapping her back to the present, the trembled gasp from the doorway dissolves her uncertainty in an instant. Standing tall in the small threshold, a visible shudder rippling through his muscular body, his eyes are simultaneously thankful and greedy, his gaze travelling with a deliberate slowness, consuming every last detail of the scene, of the woman, of the feminine hands skimming the fair terrain, of the heated breath escaping her glistening mouth, of the aching thighs and hips and breasts all straining toward him and his touch.

And just as she can endure the distance between them no longer, he is beside her, shedding his outer fabric layer, joining her warmth, his hands meeting hers in their exploration, his lips lightly taking hold of her silky peaks, his tongue languidly tasting and savouring her own, his strength bearing down upon her fragility, his passion seeking out her velvety essence, their flesh fusing, melting, merging in a timeless lover’s embrace.

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

This Body

It is a body that wants, a lust that gnaws, a desire that eats away at the fabric of her everyday, a carnality that overtakes her in shattering waves, dizzying her mind, dissolving her boundaries. No matter how much or little it receives.

In the light of day, in the dark of night, it incessantly reaches out for more, hungry for masculine flesh new and familiar, ravenous for the manly exotic in its infinite variety, famished for domination and possession, starved for submission and surrender, longing for words and deeds and lips and hands and cocks and come.

The body, this body, her body.

This body that is mine.

HNT: Twelve

It is a command voiced with the hoarseness of his desire, a command she follows breathlessly without question, a command that sets his skin on fire, a command inciting her yearning deep within, a command that has him aching, wanting, rigid, a command leading hands to her feverish form, a command that instinctively brings him to his knees, a command baring fair flesh against the scarlet screen.

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

Man

You are my hungry want incarnate

My need made flesh and blood

My carnality made juices, sweat and come

When my eyes sweep down along you

Imposing, muscular and strong

I see a man aching to release, submit, surrender

Intoxicating at close distance

Your scent a heady, lethal mix

Compels mind and body to thoughts primal and impure

Take, possess, command you

My slut, my toy, my whore

I will use you and exploit you for my pleasure

Strap you roughly, bind you crudely

To the base of the platinum bed

My body looming in tall spikes of shiny leather

Body splayed wide open

I will tease and taunt and feel

The arousal as it screams up from your core

Spend and mark and bruise you

My own cunt slave you will be

Here and now and forever more

HNT: Eleven (One Redux)

Here we are again. Same room, same bed. Same dress.

Yes, it is. You remembered.

Of course, how could I forget?

Does this mean you approve of the repeat performance? I would have thought you might want something new.

You know very well I approve.

Good.

But, now that you mention it…

I knew it.

The dress, it has to go.

Deal. Next date, new dress.

No. It has to go. Now.

Excuse me?

You heard me. You have five seconds to get it off. Or, I’m taking it off for you. And I can’t make any guarantees about the state of the dress when I’m done with it.

How much time do I have?

Five.
Four…
I'm serious.

Yes, I know.

You’ve picked the wrong man to toy with.
Three…

Yes, but then we both know how much fun can be had toying with a wrong man.

You’ll pay the price for that kind of cheek.
Two and a half…

Promises, promises.

If you think the dress is the only thing that will be mauled by these hands, you’re sorely mistaken, my little minx.
Two…

Damn, you always know how to get me thumping.

The distraction tactic isn’t working.
One…

What, no half? I don’t know, I think it might be. That’s a delicious bulge there, lover.

One…

I love the way your cock strains against your jeans. There’s nothing more insanely sexy than the sight of an erection trapped in denim.

One…

How I’d love to run my hand over you right now, firmly rubbing that pulsating rock with my fingers and palm.

One…

Unzip you slowly, bending down to inhale your spicy, pungent scent.

One…

Reach into your boxers, my fingers twining around your slippery heat, releasing you, gazing at your beautiful glory.

One…

Stroke you slowly, surely, up and down, up and down, up and down, dipping to give your swollen head the smallest of licks.

One…

Mmmm, you taste so fucking good.

One…

Becoming impatient, my soft pink lips form the perfect “O” as I continue to stroke you, my other hand massaging your balls.

One…

Nudging the head of your oozing dick through my lips, my tongue swirling and flicking, licking your delectable flesh lollipop as I look up to meet your gaze.

One…

Hands curl around your arse as I tilt my head back, your rigid shaft sliding down my throat.

One…

Pushing your entire length into me, your hips now thrusting, your cock fucking my mouth, my mouth fucking your cock.

You little slut. I'm going to tear that thing to shreds and fuck you until you scream.
Zero.

Finally.

(click)

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players… Happy 5th Anniversary HNT!)

Duo

She knew in an instant she wanted them both. She knew in mind, in body, in slick thumping sex she needed them both. In sweet succession. In pleasurable togetherness. In painful separation.

As she slips her hands under the table and begins to caress their inner thighs, her fingers progressively working their way to the rock-hard erections pulsating in their groins, she motions for them to lean in and listen.

With cheeks lightly flushed and tongue nervously moistening her rosy lips, she admits in a raspy murmur the thoughts, fantasies and desires rushing through and overtaking her.

The desire to consume the dark-haired submissive and blue-eyed dominant sitting beside her. The desire to make one her slut while the other makes her his.

The desire to be filled, stretched, torn open wide by cocks and mouths and hands rough and smooth. The desire to bind her submissive to the bed, use him, make him her cunt slave, graze his firm flesh with fingers and nails, ride his cock slow and deep, hard and fast, denying him the ecstasy of release until she is ready and sated.

The desire to be kissed and licked and sucked and marked with tender care and piercing abandon. The desire for her master to fuck her mouth as she is impaled on the other, his hands in her curls, hips thrusting, her hands on his balls, wound around his arse pushing him deeper into the back of her throat, wet, slurping sounds from her pussy and mouth filling the room.

The desire to be taken and possessed, defiled and debased. The desire for her blue-eyed man to take her away to the wall, to support her slight body with his large frame as he fucks her roughly, passionately, the small of her back slamming into the stucco, bruising fair skin, their tongues clashing, lips urgently devouring, her tight pussy clamping around his thick, throbbing hardness as her clit brushes against his stomach and they plunge headlong into their thunderous climax.

The desire to be seen and savoured, worshipped and adored. The desire to look over at her beautiful slut, chocolate eyes watching, immobilised body waiting, his spent cock finding new life again as he takes in the view.

The desire to be, all at once, in control and utterly surrendered.

Gloss

Before she finally takes her leave from him, she reaches into his trousers, delicately scoops a large creamy drop of his newly released passion and carefully shines her pink, upturned mouth.

And as she strolls home with the autumnal sun warming her spent and marked body, she slowly and deliberately licks the peaks of her lips savouring every last trace of his delicious gloss.

HNT: Ten

The rules of the game are absolute.

Discard your inhibition.
Cast your boundaries aside.
Immerse yourself in pleasure’s infinite variety.
Embrace your carnal hunger.
Dive into your insatiable greed.
Take what you want.
Give what I need.

Are you ready?
It’s time to begin.

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

Wonder Lust

Each glimpse of him is a breathless revelation. Each view an assault on her raw inarticulate passion. Each moment he is before her, she can not resist the lure of his perfection. She can not help but drink him in, sink into him, submerge herself completely in him.

And wonder.

About his touch, his scent, the softness of his lips. The strength of his arms, the flavour of his skin, the view of his nakedness walking toward her. The familiar yet distinct way her body will open, surrender and bruise as he savagely fucks her from behind with his diamond-hard shaft.

The Others

When my own darkness descends, when I can no longer make sense of my place in the world, I find comfort in the shadows of others. In the words that speak of love and loss and passion and pain. In the words that light up the screen and ink the page. In the words that tear me apart and put me back together.

HNT: Nine

He takes her by surprise, so much so she needs to steady herself against the wall, the warm, newly showered body now tingling as it meets the chill of the stucco.

From below, his large commanding hands explore the arch of her back and the thin band of black satin across her hips before cupping, possessing then spreading the blushing cheeks to burrow face, nose, lips, tongue into her softness, kissing, licking, slurping, seeking out her juicy essence, gorging on the plump pinkness, savouring the shocks of pleasure progressively weakening her knees.

Rising to his feet, impatience finally breaking over his sweaty naked flesh, he spins her round to face him. For a brief moment, eyes roam and absorb the damp tousle plastering her neck, the rosy nipples beckoning for attention, the arms stretching out wide, at once bracing and inviting. But as the throb in his groin snaps back his attention, he lifts her slight body, breathlessly nudges the soaked g-string aside and in one mouth-watering thrust impales her with his thick, pulsating cock as his greedy mouth swallows the sweet moans of affirmation.

(click)

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

In Want

I wanted it all.

The possibility, the promise, the risk.

The pleasure, the pain, the complexity.

The body of strength, of weakness, of beauty exotic.

The sweet laughter, the scars, the luminous soul.

The fucking, the sex, the making of love.

The cuts, the bruises, the soothing hereafter.

The light-hearted banter, the debates deep and raging.

The words, the silence, the sound of him coming.

The man, the master, the lover, the whore.

The wordsmith, the artist, the poet.

I wanted it all.

I want it all still.

But it can no longer be.

And so the want is left achingly wanting.

Until it fades out of mind, out of body, out of sight.

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…)

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.

Last Goodbye

My stomach leaps in that familiar, excited way as you walk towards me. Your tall, lean body next to me, against me in moments, your soft, sweet lips, your needy, assertive tongue, urgently seeking me out, dipping in for your last taste, our last taste.

Sitting languorously together in our favourite cosy corner, legs tangled, your arms wound around my waist, hands tickling the bare skin peeking from between my shirt and jeans, mine along the broad expanse of your shoulders intermittently caressing your head and nape, we are uncaring of the others surrounding us. Fondling, caressing, touching, in full view once more, our faces a whisper away as our mouths upturn in small smiles, the two of us looking into one another, seeing, appreciating, desiring, memorizing.

Relaxed in each other's company, talking, laughing, touching, hands seeking out skin and flesh, it is also a strangely intimate meeting for two people who have spent such a short time together. We talk around the subjects that bind us – love and loss and words and writing and sex and fucking and our need for more. More of each other, more time to explore these lustful bodies and the way they seem to fit so perfectly together with each meeting.

But we have had enough talk. You lean into me, kissing me lightly, sensually at first, your lips grazing and brushing and somehow tracing my own soft pink peaks with the slightest touch. Into your mouth I sigh then moan, a barely audible response to the witnesses around us yet just enough to tell you exactly what I want and need. Deep and hard now, your lips and tongue overwhelmingly greedy as they fuck my mouth, your hand slides up my top to my breast and nipple, massaging, circling, tweaking, mine moving down from your chest to your lap to stroke the pulsating bulge I love so well. As we lose ourselves in the moment, my body responsive to your every touch, I am reminded of that day, our naked intertwined bodies, your mouth devouring my cunt, your cock hard and slick with precum dancing across my tongue, the sight of you sliding in and out of me, your fingers in my curls, mine digging into your back, bodies slapping, smacking, squelching, our synchronous orgasm loud and hard, surprising and delighting us both.

With that picture running through my mind, screaming across my body, we part. It is again time to go our separate ways. Coats, scarves, layer after layer, we recompose ourselves for the cold outside. Kissing and hugging, we are acutely aware of the time ticking by and the commitments we need to honour. But we part only to be drawn together again, kissing, kissing, kissing, hands roaming, bodies clinging.

One last gentle kiss and we break for the final time. You walk away and as I look back you do the same. With a wink and a smile you turn the corner and are gone, out of sight, out of touch. Even though you are no longer here, even though we have now said our goodbyes, as always you linger, the scent of you on my clothes, the taste of you on my lips, the trace of your touch seared onto my flesh.

And oh how that makes me smile.

Of Dreams

He has been haunting my dreams. This man in my dreams is the man of dreams, of my dreams.

I know his eyes, his mouth, his hair. I know that soft spot on his neck. I know his smell, his laugh, his kiss. I know his intimate caress.

Somehow I also know his name, even though we have never met.

I know him in moments and flashes and through my vivid, dream-fuelled senses. I know him only in fragments. When I try to piece him together he is elusive, fading, disappearing, defying recollection.

But in dreams, in dreams, he comes together again for me, with me. He comes together and strokes my cheek and reads my words and loves me as no other man has ever dared.

On a Winter's Day

After months of teasing each other out, after week after week of slowly shedding the veil, after days upon days of passionate intensity, after hours of needing and aching for each other's scent, taste, skin, heat, after all this time and lavished attention and words sweet and sultry and downright filthy, after one hundred and twenty minutes and one hot fuck, it is all over.

From where I sit, hands hugging my steaming cup of tea, Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery look back at me. They look back at me as I do the same, looking back on this time and feeling as if everything yet absolutely nothing has changed.

My encounter with him has left me wanting, longing, yearning. It has stirred and shaken and unsettled deep desires, both dark and light, desires now adrift and free floating without a warm body to anchor them or bring them to life.

Alone once more, I gaze at the grey sky wondering about the possibilities waiting out there for me on this cold winter's day.

Mouth

His mouth. His mouth. How it makes me pulse and ache. For him. For more. I pulse and ache and thump, thump, thump while he takes charge and flips me over onto my back and spreads my legs across the white expanse on which we play.

Kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, his hands stroke my almost naked body, beginning at my neck, tracing my collarbone, taking in the swell of my breasts, fondling my hard rosy nipples, possessing my waist, moving across my tummy and hips and thighs and calves, ending with a gentle foot caress. At long last his mouth joins in, kissing, licking, sucking, roaming hungry gestures marking me with his seemingly insatiable lust as my body quakes and shivers in response.

Impatience now rules his moves as he finally slips the cream and black satin g-string from me, my hips and bottom rising up, meeting his smiling face as the silky fabric and his fingertips brush my fair skin. Once past my feet he holds them to his face, inhaling deeply, absorbing my scent at a remove, extending the moment we have both yearned for over many a night and day.

Head sinking down, he takes his time to look at me, to memorize, to truly see the curve of my mound, the neat strip of fuzz, each pink plump fold, my flowing slit now glistening in the low light. And after what seems like an age his lips meet mine, kissing my cunt as if it were my mouth, lips possessing and consuming, his tongue slowly slithering out, moving across the hood of my clit oh so deliberately, making tiny circles around and around and around, my juices now pouring out of me, his tongue now darting and flicking as he pushes his big thick thumb into my pussy, twirling and fingering, replaced urgently by two others crooked towards him, sliding, probing, in and out, in and out, in and out, my pussy splashing and squelching, his moans and groans as he sates his own hunger withdrawing his fingers and drinking me in, his other hand stretching out to find my right breast, my one hand on the very same hand, the other stroking his head and pushing him in further, deeper as my legs open wide, wider, wider still threatening to tear me apart, whimpers and moans and animal groans, my begging and pleading for more, for more, right there, yes, there, oh baby don't stop, don't stop, my body unconsciously convulsing, my back arching with each new flick and lick of his tongue, with each kiss and suck of his mouth, with each wave of pleasure that courses through my slight body and releases the warm creamy flood.

Behind Closed Doors

The months characterised by my submission and acquiesce flew out the window once he was there before me. This flesh and blood man, skin soft, body hard, whose clean, sweet yet masculine scent left me swooning, would be mine for the taking. My own personal plaything, my fucktoy, my lover. Mine, all mine. For one day at least.

Having shed his coat in a heap on the floor, he stood in the entrance, watching and waiting silently, the short sharp breaths and straining bulge in his trousers betraying his arousal. I stepped forward, a little coyly, teasingly, pushing him firmly into the wall, pressing my hips into his erection, his hands supporting the small of my back as I leaned back, my hands caressing strong forearms, hips grinding ever so lightly, relishing the sight, delighting in the moment.

The tease didn't last long, my impatience finally crashing over me in a wave as my mouth found his. Much like our very public encounter the previous day, we became fevered and hungry and insatiable in a matter of minutes, lips and tongues lashing, devouring, tasting, kissing, kissing, kissing, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, his hands travelling from my back to my arse and back up to my breasts, my own making their way from his neck, along his shoulders to his chest.

Breathlessly I broke away, one hand on his chest as if keeping him at bay, my eyes locked securely on his. I moved in again for a more sensual kiss before I began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it oh so slowly and deliberately from his trousers, fingers trailing through the gorgeously thick hair on his chest, my lips on that very silky spot on his neck, covering the long, lean line in deep tongue kisses that allowed me to absorb his very essence as I moved down, down, down his torso stopping once I was on my knees in front of him.

It was just as I'd imagined, just as I'd fantasized all those long nights alone in my own bed far, far away, touching and fingering myself at the thought of his rock-hard ready cock. My hand, still a little cold, reached out to him, rubbing and stroking him through the wool fabric of his pin-striped trousers just as it had done the day before. I leaned in, pressing my cheek to his now throbbing erection, running my face along the ridge, kissing him deeply, my hand cupping his balls, feeling him quiver at my touch as my other hand snaked around his arse and his wound through my curls.

I kept teasing, teasing, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, my hands trailing along his thighs and calves and back up to his raging hardness, rubbing, rubbing, kissing, kissing, kissing, until it was too much for either of us to bear. As I looked up at him and began to slowly unbuckle his belt, sliding it through each of the loops, his smiling eyes had transformed into a disbelieving yet hungry gaze. Flicking the buttons open and easing down the zip, my hand a thin layer away from his achingly hot flesh, I leaned in again to take in his scent as I eased him out of the boxers.

I was mesmerized, in fact I always am, at the sight of a hard throbbing cock. The sheer deliciousness of his thick shaft, angry purple head, shiny with precum, bobbing in front of me, is difficult to explain. Words often do it no justice at all. Licking my lipstick smudged lips, I kissed his tip, lightly licking at the sheen before opening my eager mouth wide to accept his big hard gift.

And what a gift it was. My mouth, my lips, my tongue, couldn't get enough, as I licked and flicked at his head, my hand joining in and stroking his length, his cock moving in and out, in and out, my mouth fucking his cock, his cock fucking my mouth, my unconscious moans, his rapid, excited breaths, my hands forcing in more, more, more fiery flesh as I gripped his behind, stroking, stroking his thick shaft as I moved down to take his balls in my mouth, gently licking, squeezing and massaging them with my lips, my mouth back on his cock, tasting his juices, oh baby you taste so good, stroking, stroking, stroking with my delicate fingers as our eyes momentarily met, my lips once again wrapped around him, you are so fucking beautiful, look at you, look at you, licking, flicking, swirling my tongue on his head and then down his thumping shaft, his knees beginning to buckle, the familiar twitch forming in his stomach as I threw off my top and leaned back to feel the first jets of searing hot creamy come splash onto my breasts, stream after stream after stream, my hands massaging in his newly expressed passion, his hands joining mine, my mouth back on his cock to lick him clean.

His sticky hands held out to me, he lifted me to my feet and kissed me deeply, tasting himself on my lips, tasting the sweet release of his desire just as we had talked about in our many exchanges. Breaking away I walked into the bathroom, stripped off my skirt and stood in front of the mirror in the lace topped stockings and satin g-string of his choosing. Soaping myself up at the sink, my rosy nipples hard and erect from the shock of the warm water and the events of moments before, he came up behind me, his large strong hands taking over, make circles on my chest, fingers tracing my breasts, pinching my nipples, hands rinsing me clean then patting me dry with the fluffy white towel. Still standing by the sink, our reflection beamed back at us while I reached back, hooking my arm over his neck and accepting the long, deep sensual kiss he offered up once again as his hands moved along the soft fabric of my knickers to cup my eager and very wet cunt.

And as I took his hand and led him to the bed, I knew from the impatient and hungry look on his face our afternoon of pleasure was only just getting started.

In Full View

My boots clacked down the stairs to the almost deserted seating area. Just as I turned the corner there he was − standing, waiting, eyes sharp and bright with lust. For me. Breathless from the cold wind outside and the gaze that somehow bore through my many layers to the naked flesh beneath, I tried to control the impulse to run the few short paces into his strong arms.

Within moments I was enveloped, his kiss hard, eager and overwhelmingly passionate, my gloved hands around his nape, his arms wound around my waist, our bodies desperately fusing together as our tongues and lips searched and devoured. At last I broke away, stripping off as many socially acceptable layers I could while his eyes swept along to take in the skin-tight jeans and snug charcoal top he had so very nicely demanded I wear.

Comfortably seated on the sofa, our backs to the only two other people in the room, we tried our hand at conversation as we drank from the steaming mugs before us. We tried to talk of anything other than the current coursing between us, the sheer magnetic pull that led my body to his and his back to mine. Needless to say we failed, in such a deliciously miserable way. As soon as he swung his body towards me, his one leg tucked under the other creating a cosy little me-sized nook, I was his. Leaning in, his hands just short of lifting me onto his lap, we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed, hands feverishly roaming, exploring, mapping soft skin, fiery flesh, the light stubble on his face leaving traces on my fair skin, my lips and tongue on his neck working their way along its strong line, breathing in his sweet yet manly scent, my fingers finding the gorgeous hair on his chest through the tiny gaps between the shirt buttons, my delicate hand rubbing his thigh, my fingers finding the straining bulge in his trousers, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing his rock-hard cock, feeling his heat and a slight dampness, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, feeling him pulse and throb under me, his hands, oh his hands, still a little cold, finding their way under my top to my breasts, caressing, feeling, massaging on the surface and then inside my bra, fondling, playing, pinching my nipples, trailing over my tummy, down to the waistband of my jeans, caressing my denim covered pussy as he whispered into my mouth how he would fuck me the following day, how he wanted to lick and eat me until I screamed, how he would lift me up and impale me on his achingly hard cock while he played with my clit and I would come clutching and clenching and splashing and flooding over and over and over again.

It was more than I could take, more than I could stand. A minute more and I would have lost all control right then and there in full view. Again I moved away, reluctantly, while at the same time a little surprised at the force of our mutual need. Our bodies now side by side, the conversation a blend of the prosaic and the salacious covering the weather and the cold and the heat we were feeling and relationships and lust and writing and words and how very much we needed one another at that very moment as he hooked my legs over his and we plunged once more into each other and his hand travelled along my thighs and between my legs and tried to manoeuvre its way beyond the waistband as the other found my breasts yet again and I whimpered and moaned softly into his ear the various ways his dirty little girl needed to be taken by him.

Time, however, was not on our side, and we finally needed to part for the day. We stood, locked together, me on tip-toes with hands once more around his nape, him bending slightly, hands around my arse and thick erection pressed teasingly into my belly, the two of us still desperate for more as I took his hand and slid it down the front of my jeans to my achingly hot wet pussy. Gasping into each other, his two fingers inside my dripping cunt, we kissed and kissed and kissed our goodbye until the next time we would meet.

35,000 feet

Winging my way, slicing through air, slipping through clouds, bending time.
Mile by mile, inch by inch, distance finally closing in.  
Seconds, minutes, hours. Hours, minutes, seconds. Ticking, grinding, crawling along.
Pressure, force, resistance, on mind and body and achingly hungry sex.
Floating, gliding, sleeping, dreaming, thoughts of you, thoughts of you, thoughts of us.
Hoping, longing, impatiently waiting for your scent, for your kiss, for our intertwined naked bodies merged together in the bliss.

I'm on my way, I'm on my way, I'm on my way. To you.

Proxy

Tousled hair framing her down-turned face, rosy nipples erect, stockinged thighs pressed coquettishly together, legs long and lean accentuated by vertiginous stilettos, the gems on the tiny g-string sparkling in the low light. One arm hooked high on the wardrobe door, the other gently caressing her hip, she waits for the detached glass eye to capture her pose.

It is a poor substitute, this mechanical silver box, staring, gazing but never truly seeing the desire rising up from deep within and prickling her skin. Orange light blinking, body momentarily frozen, she wonders if he will sense just how she aches for his presence, yearns for the sensation of his fingers trailing over her burning naked flesh, his large hand cupping her moist flower, his strong masculine body overwhelming her from behind, drawing her into his own incendiary lust.

On this steamy, airless night it is her only means to him, to his eyes, to his body hungry and needy. And on this night all she has is this feeling, this intensity, this moment, frozen in time, alone in her room.