On velvet plush
This kitty cat
Mewls and purrs
Prowls and slinks and wriggles
Trailing behind
The thin black line
For you to trace and kiss
And follow

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

It takes all of her strength not to reach out to him.

It takes every ounce of her self-control not to arch up to meet the hand adorned by the crisp, white cuff and platinum link, not to give her body over to his touch familiar and new, possessing and sweet. It takes all of her restraint, all of her will not to give in to the urge to trail her slender fingers over the smoothness of the gleaming leather, to run her hands up along the warmth radiating through the charcoal wool, to map the muscular calves, the tensing thighs, to tease and stroke then devour the throbbing hardness nestled between his legs, to splay herself, open herself, reveal her fiery brightness to the flesh that perfects her. It takes everything she has, everything she is not to instinctively surrender to the passions, the impulses, the carnality this man inspires with little effort and action.

It takes everything, all things, this desire for him. It takes, it strips, it breaks, it pieces her together again.

(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…)

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…)

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…)

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…)

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…)

Tonight
I care little for the future
Tonight
It is not your forever I desire
Tonight
I hunger only for your present
To melt
Into your flesh
To stoke
The flames of your fire

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

She walks into his touch, his kiss
Needing the scalding burn, the heat
Uncaring of the scars
The marks upon her skin
Longing only to feel the spin
The delirious desiring force
Longing only to feel the union
Reducing flesh to earth, to ash, to dust
Longing only to feel the strength
The man against her woman
Longing only to feel, to feel, to feel

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