Category: D/s


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, dizzy. With the hard, searing cock that fills, opens and possesses with its volatile bliss.


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: Wanton Woman

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, cunt clenching necessity to both possess and submit.

And as he moves up along her sex, 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.

8_from above(Remember to knock on Osbasso’s door to see this week’s gorgeous players…)


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: Silhouette

6_SilhouetteStanding 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…)

HNT: Bind

5_Wall_VIOn 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…)


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?


You love being my slut, don’t you?


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 roomful 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.


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 glans 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 man.

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 bear 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.


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.


Unconsciously he leans in, his hand reaching for her supple available flesh. She stops in her tracks, eyebrow arched, surprised and a little delighted for the opportunity to reprimand. Mind and body once again united, he resumes the position. She rewards her obedient filthy man with a small sly smile and a long, deep cock kiss.

And Then I Am His

He is upon me in moments. The wiry curls and muscular chest framed by the unbuttoned white shirt, the growing swell tightening his black trousers.

Body hovering over me, his intoxicating scent floods my senses and sets the butterflies in my stomach free. I am his. Instantly, instinctively. This he knows.

It begins with his hands, with his touch. He holds me in his grip, a velvet vice of hunger and desire. Wound tight, his arms seize me, control me, a prison of pure intent and wandering lust.

Pinned to the bed by the glorious weight of his frame, I am a willing captive. He winds one arm around my shoulder, the other beginning its journey along the curves of my slight body. He sweeps in long lingering strokes, taking in every crevice, every turn, every freckle, stopping now and then to devour my eager lips and tongue with his own.

Strong hands and fingers map the line of my neck, the dimple of my collarbone, the soft mounds of my creamy breasts and their hard aching peaks. Down, down, down they move and glide, rising and falling over my taut abdomen, hips and thighs. As they continue their descent down my legs, their possession is unrelenting. They begin to paw and maul and knead and take. They spread me open, they lay me bare, tracing tormenting circles that make me arch and buck, that force my hips to rise up to his touch, that make me pulse and long and throb, that fire up every cell until I whimper, moan and plead.

He shows no mercy in response, heavy desiring eyes my only reply. He continues the pleasurable offensive, stroking me harder, deeper, faster, lips and tongue now following suit. Sliding down my body, his lightly stubbled face scratching, teasing, his mouth kissing and nibbling, every inch of skin and flesh, each soft pink petal of my wet little flower, plump, open and ready for his first taste. He spreads open the bloom, sliding effortlessly into the dripping dew one finger then two then more, tongue flicking, licking, making tiny travels around and on my clit, his fingers slipping, probing, deeper and deeper, crooked to bring me closer and closer, to him, to the brink, to the crest, to the wave of pure pleasure.

And when he can take it no longer, when his desire aroused and unsated can be endured no more, when the rock-hard throb in his groin demands its own release, he sets it free. Dragging me down to the foot of the bed, his hands again begin their offensive, stroking and stroking up my arching hungry body, stroking and stroking the thick tumescence asserting itself from below, stroking and stroking until he plunges decisively, deliciously into the very depth of my being.

Arms now snaked around his strong smooth neck as my breasts merge with his chest, I moan barely perceptible words of my lust in his ear as he takes me, strokes me, strokes inside of me, strokes in and out of me until the heat rises to the surface, bubbling up from my core, until the current screams over my skin. In and out, in and out, my cunt clutching as he strokes his hard pulsating cock in and out, in and out of me until it is too much to bear, until I cry out for more, until I beg as this greedy girl should, until the fever serves me up, until I open myself up completely and wantonly, until the light blinds these eyes and my body releases the flood.

Above me, below me, alongside of me, he strokes and touches and pleasure provides, playing, fingering, kissing, fucking, giving, taking, feasting, gorging until the craving overtakes my body, until my mind is no longer my own, until I am woman to his man, until I am paper to his pen, until I am the body on which he writes his desire.

And then I am his to do as he pleases. And then I am his to do as he will. And then I am his. And then I am his.

I am his. I am his. I am his.