All I have to give, all I have to offer is this woman here before you, this fair, imperfect surface, these uniquely feminine depths, this mind sharp and hungry and inquiring, this gaze blue, this skin soft, this body supple, this body become electric with your briefest grazing touch, this body yearning to explore possibilities infinite and endless, the sensual, the carnal, the craved, the unimagined, the woman to your man, this body longing to worship, to venerate, to know you, this body on its knees whispering the benediction so deserved, these lips kissing, tasting, feasting, these fingers charting, mapping, rejoicing, this cunt giving, taking, fucking, at one with your thick hard perfecting flesh, this heart beating, beating, beating, beating passion, love, desire, beating night, beating day, beating crazed against your chest, these arms wound tight, these arms wound right, wound with freedom and belonging, wound with flesh and blood, with fire, with the need to live this short, sweet life in the present, in this now.

The winds they howl; screaming, crying, lashing the cold, hard rain against the glass, uprooting earth and flowers and trees, destroying the material world once so solid beneath my feet.

The winds they howl; wailing, moaning, breathing life into this torment, this longing that tears mercilessly at this woman wanton, that whispers cruelly into the long, deep dead of night, that caresses me with the sweet gruffness of his voice, the sound of my name on his lips, the weight of his body bearing down, his thick hard beguiling flesh, the hands possessing me tight, the touch, the kiss, the fire setting me free.

The winds they howl; groaning, yelling, words of dissonance, of resonance, remainders, reminders of the feelings that make perfect yet little sense, that flood my mind with its complexity, that knot my stomach, that seize my heart, that capture my skin and flesh and cunt and soul, racing, pulsing, pounding with its simplicity, that have me crazed and yearning, that have me wanting him, wanting us, needing you in every way, in every way I have imagined, in every way this passion has yet to conceive.

The winds they howl; the winds they howl. My love for you, the winds they howl.

This can’t be tamed.

This passion, this need, this desire coursing oily hot through my veins, this sensuality softly rising up, prickling my skin with its gleaming, scented sheen, this carnality tearing at my flesh and blood and bones through the dark hours and the light, this woman staring back at me in the silvery reflective glass.

This can’t be tamed. I can’t be tamed. And I’m unsure I even want to try.

Passion … Crazed
Soul … Divided
Flesh … Riven
Woman … Undone

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

If you only knew what I’d give right now to have you hold me, to have you want to hold me, to hold me tight, to hold me close, to hold me like you’ll never let me go, to hold me until day becomes our velvet night, to hold me until the first rays of the morning light, to hold me until our heat turns into fire, our fire into ash, this ash into earth and flesh and blood and sweat and come, to hold me until our breath and kiss and delirious passion become one.

Forever
I will be
The moth
To your flame

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

It’s almost late; it’s almost ten, the quiet of the night finally setting in. And the only thing I want right now is you in my bed.

On this night, I need its softness, your hardness, its crisp clean whiteness, your naked body spread out before me on the pristine purity I long to soil with our sweat, our slick, our come. On this night, I want to take you slowly, sensually, my impatience this once contained as I kiss you lightly, deeply, my lips and tongue tasting, devouring, my nose inhaling, drowning in your scent, my gaze tracing, my hands mapping, these fingers brushing, possessing, my cunt enveloping, acquiescing, my hips gliding, riding, your cock, your heat caressing, overtaking, our passion climbing, cresting, your deep voice groaning, your deep voice calling, your hot seed splashing, my fiery glisten coating, our spent bodies curling, entwining, our spent bodies even then ever yearning, my senses committing, memorising your power, your desire, your flesh, my senses drinking, drifting, falling, dreaming of the body magnetic, of the man by my side whose sweet, mellifluous breath leaves me in a daze.

Taste me
Drink us in
Turn our world upside and down

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

I can’t be measured. I can’t be measured with you. Not with you.

I try, I do try, but I fail miserably, each and every time. In the face of you, my carnality, my sensuality rises up, forcing its way through my skin, tearing at my flesh, dizzying my mind, shredding the seams of my impatience, my rationality, my experience of time. In the face of you and your body and your passions and your words, I am aflame.

In the end, it is this flame, this fire, my fury, my fervour that has burnt us right up for the very last time. And in its wake there is nothing but the need to guard and shield and hide this flesh, this heart, this vulnerability away, to paper over the fissure of desire you cruelly and tenderly tore open wide, to find my way through the tears and this pain to the love and the lust and the home of man I hunger and crave.

With you
I want everything

With you
I want it all

With you
I want as never before

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