e[lust] #17

Photo courtesy of Elle from Kink Unleashed

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #18? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

Editor's Note: A little change in how things are done for this edition - you'll notice there are no "Top 3" picks - due in part to the holiday I ended up being extremely short on judges and I didn't have enough for fair voting. So instead, I expanded my "Featured Post". (If you'd like to volunteer to be an occasional judge for e[lust], just email me, Lilly, at questions.e.lust @ gmail.com) Also, please be sure to check out the new summer schedule in effect until the 20th edition.

~ Featured Posts (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Why Pride is Still Important - When someone tells me that they don’t think Pride is necessary, I can’t help but believe that they go through life with tunnel vision. I live in New York where for the most part I can walk around being a big ol’ queen and I’ll make it home alive, but there are people who live in places where they can’t. Even here in New York you’ll get called a faggot from time to time by passing cars or groups of punks, and even here in New York I hear stories of people getting the shit kicked out of them just because they were gay.

Fantasies and Condoms - Our culture has created a narrative in which sex only feels good and looks sexy if no one is protected. We’re all suffering from this narrative, but sex workers are probably suffering the most.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Some days we need a little hope - I encourage you to practice random acts of kindness that could be worthy of inclusion on the site (GivesMeHope.com). Be nice, be caring, let your heart open up just for the sake of bringing someone some happiness or comfort. Do you know how good it feels to just give?

See also: Pleasurists #83 and #84 for all your sex toy review needs.

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

Kink & Fetish

An Anal Adventure
Bound in the Night
Being a Tart
Danger may explode without warning
Found It: Pearls for the Submissive Wife
Morning Rituals
Shoe Slut 
(another!) Shoe Slut
Spanking my ass while fucking so he feels every wiggle
Submission is impossible in the absence of humanity
Strip, boy
Swallow Falls
The Trigger
The Beast with Three Backs

Erotic Writing

A long hot day

And then we kissed...

A Picture of Lust

Ass Plug

'Come For Me...'

Depths

Exchange II

Forbidden Fantasy

Fucking Mika for the first time

Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

Getting Off...On The Road

Katie's First Time

Master Class

My Favourite Waste of Time

Microfantasy Monday, week 84: Addiction

Picture to Word 2

Sociable

Saturday Night Plans

Safe Sex

The Train

Thunderstorms are Sexy

Teaching Respect (Part 1)

You First

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Adventures in Birth Control
Erotic Awakening: A Swinger’s Comments
Friends With Benefits His Lush Behind!
Getting Started - Hotel Parties
Greetings From The Deep End - Swinging and Openness
How To Have Multiple Orgasms
Mr. Strong
Play Safe. Stay Safe. Get Tested. Be Protected.
Political Cuddling: Asking, Talking, Touching
Reflections on Glass
Something I Wish I'd Had 10 Years Ago
Sex: A required part of the college curriculum
Shades of Grey
Three's Company
Ten Life Lessons I’m Learning from Enslavement
Uncomfortable
Walk of Shut The Fuck Up

Sex News, Interviews, Politics and Humor

Interview with Scarlett Chaos aka Essin'Em
The Media is Not Responsible for Your Poor Body Image
To Shave or Not to Shave

HNT: Eighteen

His commanding hands persuade her lithe body to recline as they trace the contour from her breasts to her silk sheathed legs, registering the barely visible tremble working its way across her electrified form. Sliding between the soft warmth of her thighs, palms and fingers teasingly graze the available creamy skin before decisively splaying them wide across the expanse of the sofa’s arm.

Hardening flesh now pressed firmly into her nook, his hungry digits work their way beneath the delicate lace, gliding along her slippery plumpness, urgently sinking into the depths of her velvet heat, stroking in and out with sensual force, circling and fondling the core of her purest pleasure. And just as her bliss begins to crest and overtake her, his large frame leans in, eager mouth at the ready, desperate to grasp the sweet sound of seduction escaping her lips.

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

Through the Word

We give of ourselves through the word, through the prose, on the screen, on the page, through the lips and the tongue murmured sweetly into the waiting ear.

We give of ourselves through the word, through the needed expression of the ache, through the fissures of pain and of bliss, in the bright of day, in the veil of the night.

We give of ourselves through the word, through the turn of the phrase that inflames, through the writing that arouses desires on the surface and hidden deep within.

We give of ourselves through the word, through verse as skin and bone and as flesh, longing to be sensually touched and caressed, yearning to be savagely fucked and set free.

And as we give of ourselves through the word, we give of ourselves through the body. The body, my body, his body. The bodies that give, the bodies that take, the bodies that lust and merge and devour.

The bodies that ardently follow the word.

HNT: Seventeen

Footsteps echo on the wooden boards once her suede stilettos hit the stage. Peering out into the dimmed empty theatre, she surveys the vacant velvet rows longing for her audience. Of one.

Stepping into the golden shimmer of the spotlight, she lowers her eyes and surrenders her mind to the music, relinquishing body to the guiding melody, immersing herself in the sensuality of the physical, bending, spinning, stretching, testing her limits.

Even though alone in the cavernous space, she performs for the man never far from her thoughts. Flesh now alive, hungry, electrified, she performs for his phantom presence, for the eyes taking in her teasing movements, for the exhilarated, masculine form absorbed and distracted by the woman on show.

(click)

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

Exchange II

It’s been too long.

Yes. It has.

I’ve been thinking about you.

Is that right?

Yes. Right thoughts, wrong thoughts. Filthy, depraved thoughts.

I never would have guessed.

I know I’m a bad man for neglecting you, darling. Do you think you could ever forgive me?

I might be able to forgive you. “Might” being the operative word, there.

I’ve been reading your words.

You’re forgiven.

And looking at your photos.

Now, you’re definitely forgiven.

In the name of research, of course.

“Research.” Of course.

They are…  You are… You still are…

What?

Delectable. Exquisite.

I am?

You always have been. To me.

Oh.

I have a confession to make.

You don’t like the photographs after all.

I’ve been stroking my cock to them.

Oh god.

Oh yes, darling. I’ve been a dirty voyeur reading your words, looking at your body. I look at you while I stroke myself, taking my stiff cock to a hard, leaking missile, thinking about all of the things I want to do to you, thinking about the other men that might be getting off on you.

Fuck.

You’ve had that effect on me from the very beginning. You know that.

I wasn’t so sure there for a while.

I bet there are quite a few of them out there jerking off to you.

You like that idea, don’t you?

Yes.

You always have.

Yes, yes.

My lips, my mouth, my pussy, my tight little hole being taken and possessed by other men and used for their pleasure.

Oh. Fuck. Yes.

And their mouths and hands and cocks taking pleasure, giving pleasure, giving me pleasure, more pleasure than I’ve ever known, more pleasure than I can physically bear, more pleasure than…

Say it. I want you to say it. I need you to say it.

More pleasure… More pleasure that you can possibly ever give me on your own.

Fuck, fuck.

It turns you on even as it makes you a little crazy, doesn’t it, baby?

Oh fuck, yes. I’ve been thinking about you, thinking about this so much lately. I can’t get it, and you, out of my head. And those other men that want to fuck you. I get so hard knowing there are other men that want to fuck you just as much as I want to fuck you, as urgently, as savagely, as completely as I want to take you, fuck you, use you, mark your fair, pretty skin.

Actually, there are a few contenders.

There’s my little slut. Will you tell me about them?

There are five men, five very different men with radically different bodies and personalities and sexual desires. Five men that make me thump, that make me wet, that make me want sweet things, dirty things, downright debased things. Five men I want so intensely I fuck myself softly, brutally, passionately. Thinking of them, fantasizing about them leads my hands to my cunt no matter where I am or what I’m doing. It leads one, then two, then three fingers into my dripping slit, it leads my thumb to my needy, swollen nub, it leads my hands to my hot aching flesh, to my breasts, to my hard rosy peaks.

And this insatiable hunger and need will lead me to them. To all of them.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. You made me shudder. You’re making me shudder. My hands are shaking.

I’m so glad, baby. I like making you shake. It excites me like you wouldn’t believe knowing I have that effect on you. I’m dripping wet knowing my greedy appetite has that effect on you.

It does. You do. My throbbing cock and the precum smeared all over my stomach proves you do.  

Oh, that’s quite the delicious picture, lover. And you’re quite the exceptional man. Trembling, leaking, salivating, feeding off my perversity, off my need for men in their multiplicity. Off my need for you to be my filthy little voyeur.

Oh, I do. I do. With you, I do. I’m hard in an instant thinking of them taking you, spreading you open, filling every hole, roughly pounding your cunt, your ass, your mouth and throat, painting your petite body in rivers of their cream, you moaning and screaming from the extremity of a pleasure you have lusted after for so long.

I’m hard now imagining…oh fuck…picturing a big, thick shiny dick sliding out of your well-fucked cunt, come slowly oozing, dripping, coating your inner thighs and your ass as he straddles your face and your lips and tongue lick him clean.  

You’re such a dirty slut.

Yes, I am.

I like having you as my slut.

Oh fuck.

You like being my slut, don’t you?

Yes.

I can’t hear you, slut.

Yes, yes, yes.

That’s better. Shall I tell you, then, what I have in store for you, my slut, my whore, my beautiful little fucktoy?

Oh. Fuck. Yes. Please.

I like hearing you beg.

Oh fuck. Please, please.

I can’t quite hear you, slut.

Please. Please. Please.

That’s much better.

I’ve decided I want you there for the first of them. To see me with the one man I want the very most. The one who makes me throb and pulse and thump at the sheer thought of his hands, his mouth, his cock, his overpowering body. The one who sets off my starvation with the sound of his deep voice. The one who sets my cunt salivating with a single piercing look. The one who will eat me and fuck me and take me as no other has ever done before.

Oh god.

And all the while you’ll be tied to the chair by the bed, your painfully erect, uncut man-meat leaking delicious nectar onto your beautiful caramel skin, begging for touch, for my touch, begging for my mouth, my lips, my cunt, my hole as you watch him use and control me.

As you watch him make me his dirty little slut.

Oh, god. Fuck. No. Yes. Yes.

Yes, my darling, you will be there to witness it all. To witness the possession and domination of a body you know so well. To witness another man’s voracious cunt love being sated by me and me alone. To witness his lips and tongue devouring my clit, my kitty, my arse. To witness his hard cock filling me to the brim, his rock ramming, pounding, fucking my pussy, his hands searing my skin, grabbing at my flesh. To witness his thick, pink flesh penetrating the tight little hole I’ve only ever wanted possessed by you until now. To witness this big, strong hulk of a man smearing his face, his chest, his cock, every inch of his skin with my flowing juices, branding himself as my new lover.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And once he’s done, once my spent, fucked, stretched, marked body has been his, after he is done making me his slut, I’ll proceed to make you mine.

Oh god. Oh god. Yes. Yes.

I’ll proceed to wreak my revenge on your body, a tender and brutal revenge I know you crave more than anything else.

Oh, fuck. I do. I do. I don’t know why but I do.

I care not why you do, my darling slut. I merely care to give you what you need and desire most.

Oh, fuck.

I know, I know. The dance is on, lover. Yet again.

It’s been too long.

Yes. It has.

HNT: Sixteen

Bound to the chair behind her, his chest rising and falling, erect cock glistening in the low afternoon light, he has no other option than to watch as she climbs onto the bed and begins the task of shedding the ebony lace from the fair body trembling with unexpressed desire.

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

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…)