In your darkness
I see the light

In your light
True, pure desire

In your desire
The home for which I long

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

In the hours and days and weeks that slide imperceptibly away, in the grip of his fire, in the face of his presence, in the space of his absence, in the past tense of his desire, she realises with an almost painful clarity that this is no longer a game. She realises that he is unlike any other, that he is the man of flesh and blood and word and passion, the man ideal, the man flawed that she has always longed to meet. He is the man, he is that man, the one who inspires thoughts profound and profane, who speaks to her erotic and carnal longings, who pierces a place deep inside her she can barely acknowledge, let alone articulate.

She knows this now; knows it her bones, in her cunt and her heart and her soul.

She knows this just as she knows she will soon be forgotten, replaced, leaving the barest whisper of a trace. She knows this just as she knows she will never be that woman for him, he will never want her as she wants him, he will never want in the inquisitive, complex and complete ways that overtake her as the sun shines bright, that taunt her in the darkness, in her dreaming even as she prays to forget, that sweep over her petite form as she splays her legs wide, as she grinds her hips, her palm into her throbbing sex, as she nudges the flimsy cotton aside and spreads her bright lips to circle the nub of her purest pleasure, as she pushes in one digit, then two, then three, as she fingers, as she fucks with animal abandon, with feminine sensuality, her moans, her raged breath bringing him back to life once again, her moans, her murmurs placing him right before her eyes, by her side, her moans, her murmurs, her call to him flooding her ears with his voice, her mouth with his kiss, her senses with his skin and weight and burning need, her moans, her murmurs, her call, her cry binding, enslaving, plunging her headlong into the abyss shadowed and blinding.

As the sheen on her bare, shivering body glistens in the low, winter light, she knows this; she knows all of this. And how she wishes instead for ignorance’s bliss.

With each utterance, with each exhaled breath and lingering look, with each touch aching, light, caress bruising, possessing, with each brush of your lips, each languid, searching kiss, with every inch of your body pressed into my nakedness, with every plunge, every thrust, every stroke of your thick aroused flesh, with every whisper, every groan, every pulse, every beat of the muscle in your broad, heaving chest, you draw me in, you hold me tight, you drown me in your danger, you seduce me anew.

It takes all of her strength not to reach out to him.

It takes every ounce of her self-control not to arch up to meet the hand adorned by the crisp, white cuff and platinum link, not to give her body over to his touch familiar and new, possessing and sweet. It takes all of her restraint, all of her will not to give in to the urge to trail her slender fingers over the smoothness of the gleaming leather, to run her hands up along the warmth radiating through the charcoal wool, to map the muscular calves, the tensing thighs, to tease and stroke then devour the throbbing hardness nestled between his legs, to splay herself, open herself, reveal her fiery brightness to the flesh that perfects her. It takes everything she has, everything she is not to instinctively surrender to the passions, the impulses, the carnality this man inspires with little effort and action.

It takes everything, all things, this desire for him. It takes, it strips, it breaks, it pieces her together again.

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

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
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

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…)

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 perfect honeyed kiss, his mouth, his lips, his tongue yearning, craving, aching, reaching for the woman, for the flood, for her uniquely, addictive glisten.

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…)

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.