HNT: Sixty-nine

Tug

At the strings

Of the flesh

Of the soul
Of the heart

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

Take It

Take it
Touch it
Seize it
Scratch your name right into it

Spread it
Eat it
Drink it
Drag your rough seeking tongue all over it

Fuck it
Pound it
Spend it
Sink your hard angry cock deep into it

Take it
Use it
Own it
Do what you will
For this body is nothing now without you

HNT: Sixty-eight

The low dusk light
This winter’s day
They call to have you near

To have you here
In my arms
By my side

To have your flesh
Caress my warmth
Against my rapid beat

To have my lover
Meet the fire of my longing
Merge with sensual moment complete

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

No Direction

She points the way, although he needs no direction, her delicate fingers climbing the bare legs raised up stiletto high, trailing the silken line from ankles to calves, skimming the quiver of thighs splayed open, spread wide, parting the rosy folds of the sex dripping its hot liquid lust, tracing lazy circles around the nub swollen tight with desire.

She guides the way, even though he requires no assistance, her hands winding, possessing his head and face and smile, edging his gaze, his greed close, close, ever closer, holding him steady and firm at her sweet and pungent portal, his gasping breath, his gulping inhalation inspiring the maddening beating in her cunt, his mouth, his lips, his tongue grasping at the air whispering between them, his mouth, his lips, his tongue longing for that first perfect, honeyed kiss, his mouth, his lips, his tongue yearning, craving, aching, reaching for the woman, for the cup, for the flood, for her uniquely, addictive glisten.

HNT: Sixty-seven

Once the darkness descends, once the moonlight beams through, once the sapphire glow of the night engulfs the room, the shadows, the spectres, they come for her. They come for her desiring flesh, for her skin fair and blushing, for the body ever reaching for his alluringly forbidden touch. They come to feed on its fire, its need, to coax its secrets chaste and corrupt. They come, winding in and around her, pressing hard and tight against her, pinning down their woman, seductress, their lover. They come mapping her, marking her with certainty, with obscurity, their trace a cruel reminder of her longing for him, for him, to have him, to have him, in her bed, between her lips, in her cunt bright, greedy and glistening. 

They come, they come, alone and together, they come...

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

Myopia

I need a lover.

I need you as my lover. You and only you.

I need your body strong, your body warm, your gaze and scent and kiss, your thick, hard lingering heat. I need your words, your silence, your song. I need your touch light, I need your touch dark, I need your touch complete.

Right now, I am certain you sense this, feel this, know this … fear this … to be true. I am certain this obsession, this addiction, this myopia is finally beginning to dawn.

And yet, the day on which it breaks is cold and grey and blustery, is without little hope, is without any sense, is without the rational thought that tempers the body written through with a desire so deep it tears the flesh, the soul, this woman to shreds.

HNT: Sixty-six

The thought of you

Guides
My body to the floor 

Persuades
My flesh to bathe in the bright
Compels
My fingers to feel, touch, caress
Sways
My hips to grind deep, groove right

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

Four Seconds

In those rapid beats of the clock…

Did you see?
Did you sense?
Did your flesh and blood perceive?
Did your stirring, insatiable cock by some means know just how this body yearns for your lingering touch, your urgent caress, just how this woman longs to drown in the depths of your sensual kiss?

In those swift strokes of the hand…

Did you feel?
Did you believe?
Did your skin prickle in its understanding?
Did your breath rasp and accelerate, your muscular chest heave once you realised it was you
I reach out for in the night, once you grasped my maddening need to melt and merge with your hard addictive heat?

In those sharp bangs of the drum…

Did you hear?
Did you discern?
Did your sexual soul take hold?
Did your ears swim in the moans of pleasure escaping these soft full lips, your body shudder, your uncut meat drip as I fingered and fucked this cunt to the light in the name of your passion, our flame?

In those fleeting pulses of time…

Did you taste?
Did you discover?
Did your mouth ask, speak its truth?
Did your lips and tongue offer their words, their hunger, their enveloping benediction as they craved me near, as they devoured me from afar, as they compelled you to recognise the sweet and cruel mistress of this irresistible, overwhelming desire?

HNT: Sixty-five

Baby

Come to bed 

It's cold outside

My body needs

Your fire

Your golden touch

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

Stifle

It is his cock that stifles her scream.

It is the intensely thick, pulsating shaft languidly sliding between her full lips, teasing her flickering tongue, filling her slender throat, fucking her pretty little mouth that muffles the guttural cry from deep within her lithe body as he commands her to tease her cunt through the lace drenched in her liquid arousal, as he demands the removal of the white innocence bound tight around her hips, as he raises the succulent fabric to his nose and mouth, inhaling the dizzying perfume of her cock lust, drinking down the sweet musk of her desire.

HNT: Sixty-four

To gaze and map and kiss
With sweetness, sensual bliss
To have, to hold
To merge and melt and fuse
With body soft, with man desired
To linger, to know
To soothe and sate and pleasure seek
With the pink, in the golden glow
To give, to take
To feel and fuck and love
With indulgence, decadence complete
Is to live

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

The Rhythm of Desire

Want
Want
Want
Want

It beats its rhythm, every moment, every hour, every day, shaking me from my slumber, waking me in the dead night, reminding me, taunting me, taunting this body, this feminine flesh weak and alive, compelling my hands to reach out and touch, my lips to feed and caress, my legs, my cunt to open and bloom wide and electric for the breath and the skin and the man and his thick, hard, completing heat.

Want
Want
Want
Want

It is my pulse, my gait, my grind, my sensual arc and bend and curve, my essence, my measure, the quantifiable measure of my need, of my cock lust, of my obsession, of my passion for his mind and his body and his sexual soul, for the flesh that perfects, for the kiss that consumes, for the cunt lust that propels his own rapid heartbeat.

Want
Want
Want
Want

It drives me, slows me, begins and ends me, it tears me to shreds and pieces me back together again, this want, this hunger, this need, this desire for pleasure in its infinite variety, this desire for the wanton, the carnal, the erotic, this desire for the multiplicity we crave and we seek, this desire, this desire, this desire for him, for him, for him.

Want
Want
Want
Want

HNT: Sixty-three

Through the dark of night

Across skies and lands and seas

I'll be your star

I'll be your light

I'll guide your way

Back here

To me

(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to wish him a Happy 6th HNT Anniversary
and to see this week’s gorgeous players…)

Fuck The Words

Fuck the words
Let them go
Give me your grunt, your growl, your moan
Grant me hard flesh, control, your power
Make me shudder, scream, surrender
Pound me mute, pound our come through the silence
Fuck the words
The body beckons  

HNT: Sixty-two

 

On his command, her hands will chart the path from her neck to her breasts to her hips, delicate fingers teasing, finally easing the ebony netting past fair pouting flesh as she bends deeply at the waist, exposing her glistening sex to the light, to his gaze, to his hunger.

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

Cover Girl

I have a confession to make.

I’ve harboured a dream, a desire, for quite some time. I’m sure it will come as little surprise considering this Antipodean’s fondness for exhibitionist self-portraiture.

Ever since I was old enough to appreciate its allure, ever since I could grasp its magnetism, I wanted to be the one gracing a glossy cover; to be the face or the body, to be the woman, who represents if not an ideal beauty then an idea, a mood, a sensation, a play on shadow and light, a feminine sensuality and sexuality born of the everyday.

It seems a certain Easily Aroused English gentleman has seen fit to make this dream a reality. This extremely fortunate Minx – and her self-portrait – adorn the cover of his newest collection of erotic fiction: Concupiscent. 

If, by some chance, you haven’t had the good fortune to stumble across his exquisitely erotic and decadent work, make haste… Go ... Read ... Indulge ... (And buy ...) You won’t regret it. You can trust me on that.

And once you’ve recovered from the sensual and carnal pleasures and exertions that invariably follow an encounter with such words, make your way back here. Why? Because I have some book news of my own coming your way very soon…

Minx x

(To you EA, my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for thinking my image a fitting accompaniment to the wondrous words that invariably leave me in a tailspin. I am honoured to be your cover girl…)

Stay

Don’t go.
Stay.

Lie by my side, curl your nakedness into mine, caress then spread the legs raised up high, fit your imposing body into this here aching flesh, swim, swim, dive and plunge into the warmth, into the heat, into the tight velvet embrace, into this sensation, this moment enslaving and pure.

Don’t go.
Stay.

Let me kiss your tiredness away, allow my lips to tease and tempt you, to taste and know you, to breathe you back to life, to lead you into the shadows, to guide you into the light, to stain your pulsating flesh with scarlet signs of burning passion, to lick the pearls of your arousal glistening, to worship at the body, at the cock, at the man who inspires and sates my infinite yearning.

Don’t go.
Stay.

Stay. Stay. Stay. The outside world can wait…

HNT: Sixty-one

Wrap yourself

In cotton crisp

In feathers fine

In woman wanting, warm and willing

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

I Want...

I want your cock. I want it as no other, hunger for it as never before.

I want your cock. I want to rouse it from its slumber, tease it to hard, thick, glistening life. I want to feel it pulsing in my hand, in my mouth, in my cunt, in my rosebud.

I want your cock. I want to rouge my lips blood, shiny red and stain your shaft with my sultry kiss. I want to open the hot, wet tunnel between these lips, sliding you in, gliding you down, tasting, devouring the very essence of man.

I want your cock. I want the cock of the gentleman seasoned and contained, the cock of the teenage boy on the very edge of his self-control. I want to bury your uncut meat so deep inside me your body growls and soars, your searing cream spilling forth urgently, violently to mark my soft fair skin, my bright clutching walls.

I want your cock. I want it all to myself, selfishly taking and feasting on the flesh and the come and the man yearned for by so many. I want to please and pleasure it, charm and beguile it, captivate it, claim it as my very own.

I want your cock. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. Your cock is all I want.

Free Fall

In that moment, she loses herself completely.

In that moment when his seductive body finally kisses her supple flesh, when his hands sensually travel along the curve of her hips, the taut line of her abdomen, when his lips and tongue circle the tender swell of her breasts, rousing the pale halos into aching peaks, when his mouth urgently devours her glistening sex, taking her to the very edge and back again, when his fingers mercilessly tease the rosebud with promises maddening, when his hard cock slowly invades her sweet, enveloping tightness, when his pulsing meat is buried so deep he cries out her name, when his molten gaze fixes, melts into the blue, she free falls into the abyss, drowning in its primal darkness, basking in its blinding light, floating on the quotidian jetsam at long last a faint and distant memory.