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…)

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.

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 precipice.

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…)

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.

(click)

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

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.

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…)

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.

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.

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…)