Category: Erotica


77_troubleFrom the moment his eyes fell upon her, he knew.

From the moment the heady blend of her scent and perfume overwhelmed the room, the very air he drew deeply into his lungs, her clear yet provocative gaze holding his as introductions were swiftly dispensed, her full, wanton lips unsealing themselves initially with a sultry sigh before she casually spoke her greeting and his name, from the moment she shook his hand with a firmness at odds with the sensual eroticism of the parting gesture that saw the slender forefinger of her delicate hand trail its way from the centre of his palm to the fleshy tip of his middle digit, eager to electrify his body, reluctant to break away from his strength and his touch, he knew.

He knew she was nothing but trouble.

She was the kind of trouble he had conjured in his daylight reverie and those visions he couldn’t help but indulge as his hard cock ached during the long and lonely night, his unfulfilled fantasies coming to vivid, sensate life to create an insatiable ideal, a truly rapacious woman whose passions would rival and ultimately overshadow his own, whose hunger and cock lust tore at her slight body as the clock struck his hour of the wolf, compelling her to wildly caress the naked gleam of her skin, to clutch at her pert breasts, to tease open her lips and sink two fingers into her sodden cunt so deep she cried out like an anguished animal in the dark.

Now as she stands before him, her back pressed hard into the office wall, her aroused nipples spot lit in the afternoon sun in a way that leaves him craving to take each into his mouth and kiss and lick and suckle until she finds herself prematurely on pleasure’s edge, he wants and needs everything, every single desire rushing through his mind, plucking at his ravenous body, he wants and needs everything and nothing more than to slide himself selfishly into her clutching velvet depths, to fuck her hard and fast against the cold stucco with her legs wrapped tight around his waist until she screams his name, to cover her entire naked body in kisses light and playful, forceful and bruising, to make love to her with a sensuousness that will curve her supple form into an ecstatic arc, that will leave her breathlessly shivering for more, to have her come hotly over of his naked cock, to scorch his glans with her lust, to stain the suiting as a reminder of her presence in the here and now, he wants and needs nothing more than to relinquish all control, to damn caution and consequence.

And so he does just that.

With his throbbing shaft in hand, he slowly closes the space between them, each step surrendering him to the trouble completely.

HNT: Spectre


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, to have him, to have him in her bed, between her lips, in her cunt bright, greedy, glistening.

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

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



Her lips purr the word with an ease that sends a violent ripple through her slight body, the shudder registering in his imposing, cowering form, in the thighs clenched tight along her torso, in the powerful hands loosely wound around the base of her slender neck, in the thick straining flesh pressed firmly into her softening mound.

Daddy. Daddy.

The phrase now spills forth straight into his expectant mouth, swallowed up as a breathy hymn, as a whispered mantra, her clear eyes widening and moistening with each syllable, her cunt quickly following suit, flowering and glowing despite the shock, glistening and flowing from the relief, the release, from the sheer purity of this abjection.

Please, Daddy. Please.

Her murmurs turned pleas ring throughout the quiet room as he weaves his fingers through the tangle of auburn curls, sliding his eager shaft along the cleft of her brightness, his hips gliding, grinding, mesmerizing her gaze, his hips gliding, grinding, her fever rising up through her skin, his hips gliding, grinding, possessing her with his will.

Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck my little cunt.

His own arousal surges, ferocious and untamed, with the words he has also longed and craved to hear, with the words that unconsciously kick her legs open wide, with the words that send his mouth to feed brutishly from her cream, with the words that have him urgently plunging his cock into her depths, with the words that compel him to fuck and to pound her, with the words that incite him to seize and to mark her, to fuck and to pound her, to consume and to blind her, to fuck and to pound her, to fill and to take her, to fuck and to pound her, to desire and to see her, to fuck and to pound her, to know and to love her, to fuck and to pound her, to know and to love his sweet, beautiful little girl.


She knew in an instant she wanted them both. She knew in mind, in body, in slick throbbing 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, the sounds of desire, the flooding desire from her cunt 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 velvet clamping around his thick, throbbing hardness as her clit brushes against his abdomen 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, dark 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.

At Last

Back against the wall, the newly shed trousers and boxers at his feet, he unbuttons his shirt, moving his hands down his navel to the assertive swell below. Stroking his painfully hard cock slowly, deliberately, he takes in the view, their initial urgency now momentarily stilled. She sits on the edge of the bed as instructed. Covered in the sheerest of stockings, her slim legs are spread wide, her small heaving breasts clad in the black lace of his choosing, her plump glistening cunt openly expectant and hungry.

Looping his forefinger and thumb, he continues the familiar gesture of self-pleasure. Her rouge-smeared lips moisten and part releasing a low whimper as the movement of his hand increases. Unable to tear his eyes from the body he has longed to touch, he is struck by the force of her undisguised and unashamed lust, by the sheer magnetism of her willingness to submit. To him. His breath quickens, pulse races at this very thought, at this very reality as she begins fingering herself on his command. She is his. For now, she is his. She is his beautiful dirty girl, her digits now slippery with her nectar as they thrust in and out of her tight pussy. She is his dirty little plaything, her moans morphing into half-formed phrases pleading for more, pleading for his cock. She is his little fucktoy, begging to be eaten and taken and fucked by him until she screams. She is his. In word and deed.

Intoxicated by the palpable current running between them, he finally makes his way to her, knees and hands faintly trembling, the fevered arousal breaking out in a fine mist on his large muscular frame. At long last he is there in front of her, his jutting cock a whisper from her mouth, fingers weaving into the unruly curls he loves, her hands brushing along his thighs and moving back to cup his buttocks. At long last she is here in front of him, desperately wanting and desiring, possessing him in her own way as she licks her lips and slides her hot mouth around the thick hard shiny shaft she will eagerly devour for hours to come.


Standing there, I see him gradually being overtaken by it. I can see it, feel it, crawling through his flesh, rising up to his skin. I can smell it coming off his body.

Suddenly against me, he tries to explain. This is what he has become, he whispers closely, fingertips grazing my neck. This is what he has become against his will, against the reasoning part of his mind. There is nothing but the hunger, the desire, the need.

It is a need, he says gently leaning me into the wall with his overwhelming frame. It is a need and not a want or a wish or a whim that might be pushed down or away. It cannot, will not, be replaced or displaced.

It will not leave him, it will not leave him be. The need transforms, changes, alters beyond all recognition, his mouth murmurs, the tempting weight of his body pressed firmly into mine. As evidentiary proof he places my hand on his rapidly beating chest, carefully guiding it down his stomach to the growing swell below. Pulsing through the fabric prison, he is, at once, hunter and prey, willing victim and rebellious target, give and take.

And how he wants to give and take, he tells me, thumb tracing over my moist and parted lips. Give and take, take and give, now easing my willing legs apart with his own. Take, take, take, his tongue exploring me, consuming me. Give, give, give, grinding his hips slowly, rhythmically.

I need to feel, he breathes hoarsely, my small breasts engulfed by inquisitive hands. Running his generous hardness along my aching sex, he shows me the need to feel the flesh and heat of another.

Softness and wetness urge him on as his hands coil round my creamy thighs to cup a plump and eager mons. My softness, my wetness are his needs. I oblige on both counts as his fingers lightly dance along the sheen and gracefully work their way in.

I need to feel and smell and taste you with everything I am. Breathing hard, our pleasure winding, building, I set him free. Fingers circle his swollen glistening head before my hand works his throbbing length. Urgent teeth rip through foil, his rigid cock swiftly encased in a shiny rubber sheath.

As we stand there against the wall, pressed into each other, needing more, needing it all, I finally break. Now breathing, spoken, embodied, it overpowers me. It reaches out of me, for me. For him. I need you, I need you, I need you inside me, it makes me beg, plead, moan.

Hungrily, I slide my juices along his erect shaft placing him at my slick entry. Greedily, he feeds his thickness into my tight wet cunt as we groan simultaneously.

But before we begin, before we begin moving, thrusting, slapping, fucking, moaning, gasping, grunting, screaming, before we ravenously paw at each other’s flesh forcing in more, more, more, before I demand he fucks me harder, harder, fuck me harder, before we can barely hold ourselves back waiting to hear the sweet cries of come for me, come for me, come all over me, come inside me, before we call out to one another when we finally break, before the voracious beginning and the sated end, we stand perfectly silent and still.

We stand joined together against the wall clutching, throbbing, vibrating, seeing each other, seeing into each other, breathing in one another, breathing as one, skin on skin, skin becoming skin. We stand joined together in a primal, awakening rush.

We stand merged together finally understanding the force of this need. And at this moment it is the only thing that truly matters.