Wrap yourself
In cotton crisp
In feathers fine
In woman wanting, warm and willing

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

In the end, it is her very own hand that betrays her: it is the vein rippling her ordinarily fair, silken surface; it is the blood, slick and fiery, coursing with a maddening need; it is the slight tremor of the slender digits curved in aching readiness to caress the skin crying out for his flesh, screaming out for release; it is her perpetually desiring body that offers her up, proving to him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she is his present, she is his past, she is his seductively sweet and carnal hereafter.

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

The hat?
It stays put.
But every other thread is negotiable.

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

Let me be
The pink
The state of your purest pleasure

Let me be
The one
The temptress in your mirror

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

His gaze. His gaze. His gaze.

It transforms light into shadow, shadow into dark molten desire. It compels her to offer up her flesh for sacrifice, for worship, for debasement. It strips her bare, destroys her inhibitions, shreds every last vestige of her naked shame. It whispers, it speaks, it screams at her, to her, with a recognition that possesses the wanton terrain. It lures her to him time and again, tempting the woman, enticing the lover, binding the whore, caressing the erotic longings on her very surface, grasping the carnality buried deep within.

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

Tell me
Show me
The way to relinquish, to resist you
The way to stop the lingering need to press your body close

Tell me
Show me
The way to deny the ache, the maddening yearning
The way to refuse my flesh as it calls you with each new dawn

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

You craze
You burn
Transform me

You melt
You forge
Create me

With white heat
With platinum fire
With a piece of your blinding sun

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

Although her demeanour calm and the slide of the snug denim measured, her breath quickens, heart races, her sex beats its slick, steady pulse at the thought of his powerful hand stroking the aroused flesh, at the thought of his voyeuristic gaze drinking in her near nakedness from across the thinly curtained way.

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

Come to me
Come here to me
Hear my whispers
Heed my pleas

Come to me
Come here to me
Melt into this velvet fire
This hungering need

Come to me
Come here to me
Lose yourself in woman
In desire darkly divine

Come to me
Come here to me
Come make me yours
Come make yours mine

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

She waits. He lingers.
The blinding sun a spot on the indulgent midday pleasure.

She waits. He lingers.
Her body poised for the exotic, for the voyeuristic gaze.

She waits. He lingers.
His eyes languidly mapping skin and curves, taut lines of diaphanous ebony.

She waits. He lingers.
The air thick, the walls pulsing with the desire coursing their veins.

She waits. He lingers.
Her quickening breath, her liquid glisten betraying urgent fleshly passions.

She waits. He lingers.
His lust now rumbling, his hardness straining for freedom and capture willing.

She waits. He lingers.
A sly smile curving her lips full and soft and eager.

She waits. He lingers.
A groan of impatient gliding metal sounding in the quiet.

She waits. He lingers.
Her whispered pleas edging him ever closer.

She waits. He lingers.
His shattered stasis a pawn in their teasing game.

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