Before she finally takes her leave from him, she reaches into his trousers, delicately scoops a large creamy drop of his newly released passion and carefully shines her pink, upturned mouth.

And as she strolls home with the autumnal sun warming her spent and marked body, she slowly and deliberately licks the peaks of her lips savouring every last trace of his delicious gloss.

The rules of the game are absolute.

Discard your inhibition.
Cast your boundaries aside.
Immerse yourself in pleasure’s infinite variety.
Embrace your carnal hunger.
Dive into your insatiable greed.
Take what you want.
Give what I need.

Are you ready?
It’s time to begin.

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

Each glimpse of him is a breathless revelation. Each view an assault on her raw inarticulate passion. Each moment he is before her, she can not resist the lure of his perfection. She can not help but drink him in, sink into him, submerge herself completely in him.

And wonder.

About his touch, his scent, the softness of his lips. The strength of his arms, the flavour of his skin, the view of his nakedness walking toward her. The familiar yet distinct way her body will open, surrender and bruise as he savagely fucks her from behind with his diamond-hard shaft.

When my own darkness descends, when I can no longer make sense of my place in the world, I find comfort in the shadows of others. In the words that speak of love and loss and passion and pain. In the words that light up the screen and ink the page. In the words that tear me apart and put me back together.

He takes her by surprise, so much so she needs to steady herself against the wall, the warm, newly showered body now shivering as it meets the chill of the stucco.

From below, his large commanding hands explore the arch of her back and the thin band of black satin across her hips before cupping, possessing then spreading the blushing cheeks to burrow face, nose, lips, tongue into her softness, kissing, licking, slurping, seeking out her juicy essence, gorging on the plump pinkness, savouring the shocks of pleasure progressively weakening her knees.

Rising to his feet, impatience finally breaking over his sweaty naked flesh, he spins her round to face him. For a brief moment, eyes roam and absorb the damp tousle plastering her neck, the rosy nipples beckoning for attention, the arms stretching out wide, at once bracing and inviting. But as the throb in his groin snaps back his attention, he lifts her slight body, breathlessly nudges the soaked g-string aside and in one mouth-watering thrust impales her with his thick, pulsating cock as his greedy mouth swallows the sweet moans of affirmation.

I wanted it all.

The possibility, the promise, the risk.
The pleasure, the pain, the complexity.
The body of strength, of weakness, of beauty exotic.
The sweet laughter, the scars, the luminous soul.
The fucking, the sex, the making of love.
The cuts, the bruises, the soothing hereafter.
The light-hearted banter, the debates deep and raging.
The words, the silence, the sound of him coming.
The man, the master, the lover, the whore.
The wordsmith, the artist, the poet.

I wanted it all.
I want it all still.

But it can no longer be.

And so the want is left achingly wanting.
Until it fades out of mind, out of body, out of sight.

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.

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

Stand over me, lean over me, tall, commanding and strong
Your body ready for the pleasures here awaiting

Look at me, gaze at me, your eyes sweeping over me
Caressing curves with passion from afar

See me, see into me, map the surface, chart the depths
As no man has ever dared or ever done

Feel me, touch me, stroke the body bathing in the glow
The body reaching out for you and you alone

Hold me, commune with me, merge your rapture and your pain
Be unafraid to bare, unmask, expose

Drive into me, sink into me, drown me in your flood
Plunge into a moment brief that lingers on

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…)

The hour of their call meant she was somewhere between sleep and consciousness, defences low, mouth spilling forth the uncensored thoughts and sensations of body and mind.

In the warm rumpled bed with the phone cradled next to her ear, she revealed herself to him in the way she only could when immersed in the midnight dark as his voice and laughter and the intimate details of his life wove their way into her very core.

But now she worries she has bared too much, too much of herself, her insecurities, too much of the desire he ignites in her and the attachment she is beginning to feel after so short a time.

And so her stomach churns and head vertiginously spins as she wakes quietly weeping, fearful of the vulnerable openness he has inspired, fearful he no longer cares for the view from here.