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…)

After more than a week, my body continues to lag half a day behind craving the cold and the sleet and grey clouds hanging low and the 76 to Waterloo, my daily view of St Paul’s and the long meandering walks from Ludgate to Fleet to the Strand and the sea of dashing men with that certain sparkle in their eye, the hustle and bustle and crowds overflowing and Penn and Picasso and Matisse, cinnamon porridge and builder’s tea and the Turkish pastry shop up the road brimming with the goodies I love.

And strong arms firmly pressing a warm body against me.

In the low, fading light, he reaches out to her, hands making contact with soft warm skin, fingers trailing so delicately her body unconsciously reaches out for more of his touch. Blazing blue eyes sweep and record every detail, every curve, every freckle and dimple and arc of her slight form.

He lays her out exploring her womanly terrain as if new found territory. Hand hovering over her increasingly hot expanse, it makes contact along her neck, collarbone and the path between her breasts as he holds her down with a gentle strength.

Mouth, lips, tongue on the surface now, he breathes in her scent, sweet yet rich he whispers, moving down to her moist, enveloping flower as he handles her with such sensual care she begins to shake at the foreignness of the sensation.

Her longing rises up to meet him, giving her over, surrendering her agency, as she marvels at his ability to read, to perceive, to know exactly what she needs and when, to recognise the fluid nature of her desire and crave its multiplicity.

Legs hooked over the sides unashamedly spreading and displaying her in full, pert breasts rising and falling with each sharp, excited breath, she counts down the seconds to the moment of his invasion.

With the sound of his feet making their way across the hard-wood floor, her cunt thumps its raging pulse through the fine pink mesh, releasing pool after pool of her sweet nectar into the fabric and down her thighs.

Before her at last, he wastes little time, sliding down his zip to free the angry purple cock in need of this merging. Pushing the g-string to one side, he nudges his glistening head into her plump lips, hands possessing, hips driving, hard shaft plunging deep, deep, deeper into the searing velvety wetness as her back involuntarily arches and their low guttural moan reverberates around the cavernous room.

My stomach leaps in that familiar, excited way as you walk towards me. Your tall, lean body next to me, against me in moments, your soft, sweet lips, your needy, assertive tongue, urgently seeking me out, dipping in for your last taste, our last taste.

Sitting languorously together in our favourite cosy corner, legs tangled, your arms wound around my waist, hands tickling the bare skin peeking from between my shirt and jeans, mine along the broad expanse of your shoulders intermittently caressing your head and nape, we are uncaring of the others surrounding us. Fondling, caressing, touching, in full view once more, our faces a whisper away as our mouths upturn in small smiles, the two of us looking into one another, seeing, appreciating, desiring, memorizing.

Relaxed in each other’s company, talking, laughing, touching, hands seeking out skin and flesh, it is also a strangely intimate meeting for two people who have spent such a short time together. We talk around the subjects that bind us – love and loss and words and writing and sex and fucking and our need for more. More of each other, more time to explore these lustful bodies and the way they seem to fit so perfectly together with each meeting.

But we have had enough talk. You lean into me, kissing me lightly, sensually at first, your lips grazing and brushing and somehow tracing my own soft pink peaks with the slightest touch. Into your mouth I sigh then moan, a barely audible response to the witnesses around us yet just enough to tell you exactly what I want and need. Deep and hard now, your lips and tongue overwhelmingly greedy as they fuck my mouth, your hand slides up my top to my breast and nipple, massaging, circling, tweaking, mine moving down from your chest to your lap to stroke the pulsating bulge I love so well. As we lose ourselves in the moment, my body responsive to your every touch, I am reminded of that day, our naked intertwined bodies, your mouth devouring my cunt, your cock hard and slick with precum dancing across my tongue, the sight of you sliding in and out of me, your fingers in my curls, mine digging into your back, bodies slapping, smacking, squelching, our synchronous orgasm loud and hard, surprising and delighting us both.

With that picture running through my mind, screaming across my body, we part. It is again time to go our separate ways. Coats, scarves, layer after layer, we recompose ourselves for the cold outside. Kissing and hugging, we are acutely aware of the time ticking by and the commitments we need to honour. But we part only to be drawn together again, kissing, kissing, kissing, hands roaming, bodies clinging.

One last gentle kiss and we break for the final time. You walk away and as I look back you do the same. With a wink and smile you turn the corner and are gone, out of sight, out of touch. Even though you are no longer here, even though we have now said our goodbyes, as always you linger, the scent of you on my clothes, the taste of you on my lips, the trace of your touch seared onto my flesh.

And oh how that makes me smile.

He has been haunting my dreams. This man in my dreams is the man of dreams, of my dreams.

I know his eyes, his mouth, his hair. I know that soft spot on his neck. I know his scent, his laugh, his kiss. I know his intimate caress.

Somehow I also know his name, even though we have never met.

I know him in moments and flashes and through my vivid dream-fuelled senses. I know him only in fragments. When I try to piece him together he is elusive, fading, disappearing, defying recollection.

But in dreams, in dreams, he comes together again for me, with me. He comes together and strokes my cheek and reads my words and loves me as no other man has ever dared.

His mouth. His mouth. How it makes me pulse and ache. For him. For more. I pulse and ache and thump, thump, thump while he takes charge and flips me over onto my back and spreads my legs across the white expanse on which we play.

Kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, his hands stroke my almost naked body, beginning at my neck, tracing my collarbone, taking in the swell of my breasts, fondling my hard rosy nipples, possessing my waist, moving across my tummy and hips and thighs and calves, ending with a gentle foot caress. At long last his mouth joins in, kissing, licking, sucking, roaming hungry gestures marking me with his seemingly insatiable lust as my body quakes and shivers in response.

Impatience now rules his moves as he finally slips the cream and black satin g-string from me, my hips and bottom rising up, meeting his smiling face as the silky fabric and his fingertips brush my fair skin. Once past my feet he holds them to his face, inhaling deeply, absorbing my scent at a remove, extending the moment we have both yearned for over many a night and day.

Head sinking down, he takes his time to look at me, to memorize, to truly see the curve of my mound, the neat strip of fuzz, each pink plump fold, my flowing slit now glistening in the low light. And after what seems like an age his lips meet mine, kissing my cunt as if it were my mouth, lips possessing and consuming, his tongue slowly slithering out, moving across the hood of my clit oh so deliberately, making tiny circles around and around and around, my juices now pouring out of me, his tongue now darting and flicking as he pushes his big thick thumb into my pussy, twirling and fingering, replaced urgently by two others crooked towards him, sliding, probing, in and out, in and out, in and out, my pussy splashing and squelching, his moans and groans as he sates his own hunger withdrawing his fingers and drinking me in, his other hand stretching out to find my right breast, my one hand on the very same hand, the other stroking his head and pushing him in further, deeper as my legs open wide, wider, wider still threatening to tear me apart, whimpers and moans and animal groans, my begging and pleading for more, for more, right there, yes, there, oh baby don’t stop, don’t stop, my body unconsciously convulsing, my back arching with each new flick and lick of his tongue, with each kiss and suck of his mouth, with each wave of pleasure that courses through my slight body and releases the warm creamy flood.

The months characterised by my submission and acquiesce flew out the window once he was there before me. This flesh and blood man, skin soft, body hard, whose clean, sweet yet masculine scent left me swooning, would be mine for the taking. My own personal plaything, my fucktoy, my lover. Mine, all mine. For one day at least.

Having shed his coat in a heap on the floor, he stood in the entrance, watching and waiting silently, the short sharp breaths and straining bulge in his trousers betraying his arousal. I stepped forward, a little coyly, teasingly, pushing him firmly into the wall, pressing my hips into his erection, his hands supporting the small of my back as I leaned back, my hands caressing strong forearms, hips grinding ever so lightly, relishing the sight, delighting in the moment.

The tease didn’t last long, my impatience finally crashing over me in a wave as my mouth found his. Much like our very public encounter the previous day, we became fevered and hungry and insatiable in a matter of minutes, lips and tongues lashing, devouring, tasting, kissing, kissing, kissing, deeper and deeper, harder and harder, his hands travelling from my back to my arse and back up to my breasts, my own making their way from his neck, along his shoulders to his chest.

Breathlessly I broke away, one hand on his chest as if keeping him at bay, my eyes locked securely on his. I moved in again for a more sensual kiss before I began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it oh so slowly and deliberately from his trousers, fingers trailing through the gorgeously thick hair on his chest, my lips on that very silky spot on his neck, covering the long, lean line in deep tongue kisses that allowed me to absorb his very essence as I moved down, down, down his torso stopping once I was on my knees in front of him.

It was just as I had imagined, just as I had fantasized all those long nights alone in my own bed far, far away, touching and fingering myself at the thought of his rock-hard ready cock. My hand, still a little cold, reached out to him, rubbing and stroking him through the wool fabric of his pin-striped trousers just as it had done the day before. I leaned in, pressing my cheek to his now throbbing erection, running my face along the ridge, kissing him deeply, my hand cupping his balls, feeling him quiver at my touch as my other hand snaked around his arse and his wound through my curls.

I kept teasing, teasing, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, my hands trailing along his thighs and calves and back up to his raging hardness, rubbing, rubbing, kissing, kissing, kissing, until it was too much for either of us to bear. As I looked up at him and began to slowly unbuckle his belt, sliding it through each of the loops, his smiling eyes had transformed into a disbelieving yet hungry gaze. Flicking the buttons open and easing down the zip, my hand a thin layer away from his achingly hot flesh, I leaned in again to take in his scent as I eased him out of the boxers.

I was mesmerised, in fact I always am, at the sight of a hard throbbing cock. The sheer deliciousness of his thick shaft, angry purple head, shiny with precum, bobbing in front of me, is difficult to explain. Words often do it no justice at all. Licking my lipstick smudged lips, I kissed his tip, lightly licking at the sheen before opening my eager mouth wide to accept his big hard gift.

And what a gift it was. My mouth, my lips, my tongue, couldn’t get enough, as I licked and flicked at his head, my hand joining in and stroking his length, his cock moving in and out, in and out, my mouth fucking his cock, his cock fucking my mouth, my unconscious moans, his rapid, excited breaths, my hands forcing in more, more, more fiery flesh as I gripped his behind, stroking, stroking his thick shaft as I moved down to take his balls in my mouth, gently licking, squeezing and massaging them with my lips, my mouth back on his cock, tasting his juices, oh baby you taste so good, stroking, stroking, stroking with my delicate fingers as our eyes momentarily met, my lips once again wrapped around him, you are so fucking beautiful, look at you, look at you, licking, flicking, swirling my tongue on his head and then down his thumping shaft, his knees beginning to buckle, the familiar twitch forming in his stomach as I threw off my top and leaned back to feel the first jets of searing hot creamy come splash onto my breasts, stream after stream after stream, my hands massaging in his newly expressed passion, his hands joining mine, my mouth back on his cock to lick him clean.

His sticky hands held out to me, he lifted me to my feet and kissed me deeply, tasting himself on my lips, tasting the sweet release of his desire just as we had talked about in our many exchanges. Breaking away I walked into the bathroom, stripped off my skirt and stood in front of the mirror in the lace topped stockings and satin g-string of his choosing. Soaping myself up at the sink, my rosy nipples hard and erect from the shock of the warm water and the events of moments before, he came up behind me, his large strong hands taking over, make circles on my chest, fingers tracing my breasts, pinching my nipples, hands rinsing me clean then patting me dry with the fluffy white towel. Still standing by the sink, our reflection beamed back at us while I reached back, hooking my arm over his neck and accepting the long, deep sensual kiss he offered up once again as his hands moved along the soft fabric of my knickers to cup my eager and very wet cunt.

And as I took his hand and led him to the bed, I knew from the impatient and hungry look on his face our afternoon of pleasure was only just getting started.

My boots clacked down the stairs to the almost deserted seating area. Just as I turned the corner there he was − standing, waiting, eyes sharp and bright with lust. For me. Breathless from the cold wind outside and the gaze that somehow bore through my many layers to the naked flesh beneath, I tried to control the impulse to run the few short paces into his strong arms.

Within moments I was enveloped, his kiss hard, eager and overwhelmingly passionate, my gloved hands around his nape, his arms wound around my waist, our bodies desperately fusing together as our tongues and lips searched and devoured. At last I broke away, stripping off as many socially acceptable layers I could while his eyes swept along to take in the skin-tight jeans and snug charcoal top he had so very nicely demanded I wear.

Comfortably seated on the sofa, our backs to the only two other people in the room, we tried our hand at conversation as we drank from the steaming mugs before us. We tried to talk of anything other than the current coursing between us, the sheer magnetic pull that led my body to his and his back to mine. Needless to say we failed, in such a deliciously miserable way. As soon as he swung his body towards me, his one leg tucked under the other creating a cosy little me-sized nook, I was his. Leaning in, his hands just short of lifting me onto his lap, we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed, hands feverishly roaming, exploring, mapping soft skin, fiery flesh, the light stubble on his face leaving traces on my fair skin, my lips and tongue on his neck working their way along its strong line, breathing in his sweet yet manly scent, my fingers finding the gorgeous hair on his chest through the tiny gaps between the shirt buttons, my delicate hand rubbing his thigh, my fingers finding the straining bulge in his trousers, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing his rock-hard cock, feeling his heat and a slight dampness, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, feeling him pulse and throb under me, his hands, oh his hands, still a little cold, finding their way under my top to my breasts, caressing, feeling, massaging on the surface and then inside my bra, fondling, playing, pinching my nipples, trailing over my tummy, down to the waistband of my jeans, caressing my denim covered pussy as he whispered into my mouth how he would fuck me the following day, how he wanted to lick and eat me until I screamed, how he would lift me up and impale me on his achingly hard cock while he played with my clit and I would come clutching and clenching and splashing and flooding over and over and over again.

It was more than I could take, more than I could stand. A minute more and I would have lost all control right then and there in full view. Again I moved away, reluctantly, while at the same time a little surprised at the force of our mutual need. Our bodies now side by side, the conversation a blend of the prosaic and the salacious covering the weather and the cold and the heat we were feeling and relationships and lust and writing and words and how very much we needed one another at that very moment as he hooked my legs over his and we plunged once more into each other and his hand travelled along my thighs and between my legs and tried to manoeuvre its way beyond the waistband as the other found my breasts yet again and I whimpered and moaned softly into his ear the various ways his dirty little girl needed to be taken by him.

Time, however, was not on our side, and we finally needed to part for the day. We stood, locked together, me on tip-toes with hands once more around his nape, him bending slightly, hands around my arse and thick erection pressed teasingly into my belly, the two of us still desperate for more as I took his hand and slid it down the front of my jeans to my achingly hot wet pussy. Gasping into each other, his two fingers inside my dripping cunt, we kissed and kissed and kissed our goodbye until the next time we would meet.

Tousled hair framing her down-turned face, rosy nipples erect, stockinged thighs pressed coquettishly together, legs long and lean accentuated by vertiginous stilettos, the gems on the tiny g-string sparkling in the low light. One arm hooked high on the wardrobe door, the other gently caressing her hip, she waits for the detached glass eye to capture her pose.

It is a poor substitute, this mechanical silver box, staring, gazing but never truly seeing the desire rising up from deep within and prickling her skin. Orange light blinking, body momentarily frozen, she wonders if he will sense just how she aches for his presence, yearns for the sensation of his fingers trailing over her burning naked flesh, his large hand cupping her moist flower, his strong masculine body overwhelming her from behind, drawing her into his own incendiary lust.

On this steamy, airless night it is her only means to him, to his eyes, to his body hungry and needy. And on this night all she has is this feeling, this intensity, this moment, frozen in time, alone in her room.