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…)

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…)

(click)

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

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…)

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…)

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…)

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…)

She stretches out languorously, foot reaching for the curtain, flooding the bed with soft autumnal daylight. While her body continues to hum from the morning’s decadent play, she soaks up the gentle morning warmth increasingly aware of the renewed intensity rising up inside her.

Requiring more, desiring more, needing to feel the weight of his body bearing down upon her once again, his silky hardness penetrating her heat, she slides her leg back down and across the bed. Her glistening cunt now spot lit in the glow, she patiently awaits his return.

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

This is a first. Of sorts.

He has seen this lingerie and dress before, but never in the flesh, never up close on my bed in the light of day.

Desiring eyes momentarily drive my nervousness away as I lie on my side, the fabric bunching around my thighs, his hand travelling along my legs, taking in the texture of the denim, the silkiness of the lace, the soft swell of my breast.

Smiling hungrily, he reaches back, producing the camera, small and light, beginning once again with the very form that brought us together.

“Don’t be shy,” he tells me. “Show yourself.”

But words seem to fail me. There are merely two circling my mind.

Be gentle…

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

I am any woman. I am every woman. I am the here and now. I am breath and flesh and heat and skin, curves, softness, pulsating wetness. I am the body he needs to feel again.

I am any woman. I am every woman. I am the vessel he desires. I am craving, I am want. I am alive, I am connected, universal and unique.

I am any woman. I am every woman. I am momentary, temporary, I am forever and a day. I am complexity, simplicity, sensual and animal.

I am any woman. I am every woman. I am my own woman. I am free.