Confession

As we gradually shed the veil, as we bare ourselves through the word and glimpses of skin, as our desire collides, fuses, coincides, as our urgent, carnal passions threaten to swallow us both, as our need to merge and fuck and devour overtakes the rational mind, it is your longing to kiss me, caress me, savour me, to make love to me, soft and slow and lingering, that trembles this fair body, that sets the fevered ache, that carries my breath clear away.

HNT: Twenty-five

Bathe me in the night
Cloak my flesh in blue velvet light
Bind me with your desire dark and dangerous

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

Ghost

He has been haunting my dreaming of late. Nightmarish visions of the man I met at a tender age, of the man who shared my life for over a decade, of the man I promised to marry, of the man I loved, of the man I renounced.

In my waking hours, the spectre of our relationship, the moments, images, snapshots of a time together since past, flash before my eyes, colouring my day, forcing me back to memories sweet yet hurtful and numbing. In my mind’s eye, I see our tiny flat by the sea, the laughter, the music, the dancing, the fucking. I see our reunion years down the track after our separation, both a little worldlier, both humbled and seasoned by experience and heartbreak and age. I see the two versions of our selves and the palpable attraction that coursed between us, the unfathomable chemistry that crazed mind and flesh alike.

And in the pit of my stomach, I feel, at a strange remove, the sexual rejection, the withdrawal of affection, the emotional cruelty, the arguments, the silence, the recriminations, the fear and alienation and eventual loathing. On days such as this, I recall the way he would point out my flaws just as my lips would brush against that soft spot on his neck and my hands worked their way down from his shoulders to his chest to his hips. It had the desired effect, his criticism. Red-faced and wounded, I would leave him be. As he rolled over and fell instantly into sleep, I would lay back, my sex and tears pounding and hot, and consider how I could possibly transform myself into the image of perfection he so obviously longed for and required.

I have come to realise these exchanges were just as much about him as they were about me. They were called up to diffuse my voracious sexual appetite, to reign in the fluid and varied nature of my passion, to assuage the guilt of his infidelities, to temper the frustration and anguish of his own insecurities. They were strategically mobilised just as I was coming into myself and just as he was feeling lost and out to sea.

The pen and page have, for the most part, resisted him. There is but a mere whiff of him here. The words have not cared for his presence; they have not cared to bring him back to (my) life or the site of my rebirth. But my thoughts have turned to him once more, sparked by these dreams as well as conversations with friends and lovers new.

As I think back on him, I recognise he was a necessary chapter, an essential encounter, as without him, without our stunning and broken love affair, I would not be the woman I am today. I would not be the woman daring to embrace her carnal excesses, her fervour and abandon, her beautifully imperfect mind, body and soul. While there are days where his voice rings in my ears, where his whispers callously taunt, they are fewer and far between.

For now I as look upon the woman reflected back at me, as I submerge myself in the eroticism of posing for the camera, as I watch my hands linger over the body of a lover as well as my own, as I immerse myself in the sensual and the primal, as I live and breathe and write and fuck and come, I see the beginnings of the woman I always longed to be.

In writing these words, in bringing him into the light, into the glow of the screen, my true hope is to set the last of him free, relegating his phantom to another sphere with understanding, with gratitude, with love.

HNT: Twenty-four

He lingers in the doorway, his muscular chest rising and falling, his thick meat progressively hardening, as he drinks in the woman craved as no other, as he takes in the sensual curve of her mouth, the heady scent of her perfume, the shiver rippling through the flesh wordlessly calling out for his touch.

And as he crosses the threshold, his arms encircling her waist, his eyes gazing into the deep, their bodies finally merging as one, she exhales his name along with her heat, her yearning finding its voice, her desire finding its mate, her passion finding its home.

 

(click)

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

Body and Mind

I woke with you on my mind, with the vision of your body hovering over me, with the urge to feel our warm nakedness entwined in the low morning light, with your heated murmurs on my neck, your wiry curls tickling my breasts, with your eyes firmly locked on mine.

I woke with you in my body, with my flesh reaching out for your all, with our aching desire igniting my skin, with our yearning to merge inflaming my form, with your slippery hardness sinking right in, your lips tracing the curve of my mouth, with your seductive moans crashing over us both.

And as I woke with you on my mind, in my body, in my thoughts and sensations sultry and sweet, I wondered if you did just the same.

HNT: Twenty-three

Every minute is an hour

When you’re not by my side

When my flesh calls out for you 

And only you

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

Suit

With an effortless double click, his reflection is before me: eyes framed, expression pensive, lips full and inviting, he is the picture of suave sophistication in the tailored cloth of black.

As my gaze travels the length of his form, seeking out the nuances of his handsome face, noting the strong hand resting easily on his thigh, taking in his caramel skin pallid under the glow of the artificial light, I realise just how very much I have missed him.

HNT: Twenty-two

Round midnight
Bed waiting, sleep calling
Little enticement without you here

Without your strong arms entwining
Without the murmur of words seductive, electrifying
Without your heady kiss so all-consuming
Without the man of passion who sates my yearning

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

Hand of Man

Strong, masculine hands seizing their craving, their want, their desire.

Coarse, powerful hands sweeping, grazing womanly skin silky and fine.

Commanding hands mapping the line of my back, lifting me high, spreading me wide, sating the ache that all but consumes me.  

Hands, fingers, dexterous and greedy, that tease my clit, that work my slit, that crook to find my sweet little spot, that fill my tight cunt to the brim. 

Hands caressing my face, my neck, the soft mounds of my breasts, vice-like grip on my hips as his thick shaft glides in to the hilt, as it savagely pounds my slick velvet heat.

Hands in my hair, on my head, digits mapping the curve of my lips as I slide your glans deep, deep inside, as my tongue licks and laps at your slippery head, as I fuck your pulsating cock with my mouth.

Hands tenderly fixing ties that fasten and bind, marking my form with the signs of possession for which I yearn and long.

Hands speaking their sensual passion, recording the rise and fall of my breath, the rhythmic, thudding beat in my chest, committing to memory the body laid bare before them. 

Hands, hands, his glorious hands, weapons of worship and hungry invasion.

The hands holding me down, the hands setting me free.

The hands touching, taking, giving all that I need.

HNT: Twenty-one

As the rain lashes against the window on this blustery night, he surveys the woman before him, his eyes caressing the pouting flesh of the creature who has tortured him with her desires, who has inspired a hunger and frustration foreign to him until now.

While he aches to reach out and take hold, his body shivering, his thick uncut meat throbbing as the pungent scent of their mutual arousal fills the room, he restrains himself. On this night, there will be no giving in to her. Not easily or swiftly, at any rate. For on this winter’s night, he longs to hear the confession of her own desperation, yearns for the sweet, whispered appeals for his weight, his skin, his kiss, his cock, his come.

Once she surrenders herself with the very words that drew him in, once the fevered need rises up and breaks over her supple form, once he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt her tight little cunt is flowing the nectar most craved, he will scale the metal barrier and join with her; arms snaking, hands exploring, mouth devouring, possessing, partaking and worshiping with his entire being.

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

Plea/d

Please, please. It’s all I want. It’s all I need. It’s all I truly long for.

Please, please. Take me, fuck me, kiss my flesh with your glorious cock. Drive your thrust softly, roughly. Come with me, come for me, come hard, come loud, come all over me. Cover my lips, my breasts, my tongue.

Please, baby, please. Seize me, possess me, bend me to your will. Fuck me, fuck me, come deep inside me. Come deep, deep inside this sweet aching cunt.

Please, please, please.

HNT: Twenty

The cocktail has been the symbol of their eventual meeting from the very beginning. Shaken or stirred, vodka or gin, olive or twist, their preferences were duly noted. In their countless communiqués, it was the object that not only held the tentative promise of a certain time and place, but also the means to draw one another out, to tease and taunt and play with words, to express the intensity of an attraction and desire that increased with each passing day.

Now as they stand in the low lit room together at last, velvet night blanketing the sky, the oily slick in their glasses rests barely sampled, the words spoken surprisingly scant. Together at last, alone at last, they have no need for either. Raspy breaths fill the silence, eyes wander and roam, slowly and deliberately consuming at a practiced remove one final time as they linger on the precipe.

But once his fingers lightly brush an errant curl aside, their achingly desperate bodies leave them no other choice than to plunge headlong, zippers urgently gliding and hissing, skin and heat merging, hands caressing, arms winding, around her waist, around his nape, their lips brushing, locking, tongues dipping, tasting, hungry mouths seeking, devouring, their flesh fusing and binding, passions igniting and possessing in this dizzying moment of perfect firsts.

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

Bronze

Standing at ease against the cool of the white stucco, gaze bright, smile wicked, he is a breathtaking vision. Of bronzed nakedness, of imposing strength, of profound masculinity, of sexual audacity. Of sheer perfection.

Settling into the plush chair located in the shadowy corner, she allows herself the freedom to take in his detail, her eyes languidly travelling along the terrain of sculpted muscle and wiry curls, along the hot skin deeply kissed by the sun to the cool, milky pale of his hips and thick uncut flesh.

It is the contrast between the heat radiating from the russet glow and the freshness of irresistible cream that ultimately awakens a gnawing hunger, watering her mouth and sex in equal measure. It is the contrast that beckons her to him, that lures her semi-clad form to close the space between them, that draws her delicate hands to his tensing arms, her slender fingers to the legs tantalizingly splayed, her fiery nails to graze the line of the torso well defined, her moist, sensual lips to his raspy breath, her eager tongue to the mouth desperate for her kiss, her fair suppleness to his intoxicating potency, her slick velvet cunt to the glisten of his raging cock. 

HNT: Nineteen

Keep your diamonds, sapphires, rubies and your pearls
Save your metals precious, your luxury divine
Shield your glistening decadence that all too often blinds

Give me instead their imitation
Dress me rather in their muted relations
In exchange for the most desired of treasures

Grant me his alluring flesh and mind celestial
Offer up the touch, the kiss that sears this passion upon me
The man, the body, the one lover who travels my fair form as no other

 (click)

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

At This Very Moment

All I want right now, right at this very moment is your body, your desire, your touch.

Your intensely masculine flesh nestled firmly against me.
My rosy peaks teasing the muscular line of your back.
Your breath catching as my kiss finds the curve of your neck.
My fingers weaving through the mane of your sun-kissed chest.
Your shudder as my hand finds the glory of a hardening shaft.
My sweet, flowing arousal glistening in the low light.
Your seductive groan as I part my pink, shiny lips.
My mouth longingly reaching out for its first taste.
Your digits sensually weaving through fiery curls.
My tongue swirling and skidding across your salty passion.
Your knees weakening at the force of my devouring greed.
My fair form streaked in the cream of your pleasure.
Our desperately yearning bodies softly, savagely fusing together.

All I want right now, right at this very moment is you.

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.