Tug
At the strings
Of the flesh
Of the soul
Of the heart

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

The low dusk light
This winter’s day
They call to have you near

To have you here
In my arms
By my side

To have your flesh
Caress my warmth
Against my rapid beat

To have my lover
Meet the fire of my longing
Merge with sensual moment complete

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

Once the darkness descends, once the moonlight beams through, once the sapphire glow of the night engulfs the room, the shadows, the spectres, they come for her. They come for her desiring flesh, for her skin fair and blushing, for the body ever reaching for his alluringly forbidden touch. They come to feed on its fire, its need, to coax its secrets chaste and corrupt. They come, winding in and around her, pressing hard and tight against her, pinning down their woman, seductress, their lover. They come mapping her, marking her with certainty, with obscurity, their trace a cruel reminder of her longing for him, to have him, to have him in her bed, between her lips, in her cunt bright, greedy, glistening.

They come, they come, alone and together, they come.

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