Category: Autoportrait

Summer’s Love Child

I have always been more than simply woman.

I am – and forever will be – a creature born in the last throes, at the close of days, weeks, months of blistering fire and overwhelming heat.

I am summer’s love child.

With the flavour of the sun in my flesh, with the dawn and dusk indelibly etched on my skin, with its wanton passion, its sensual caress in the curve of my hip, in the breath between my lips, with its sultry nights and lustful promises deep in my bones, flowing through my veins.

Imaginings

Imagine.

Imagine taking a chance – risking it all – on a woman like me.

A woman whose desire for you burns through the years, reduces thousands of miles to inches with the sultry utterance of your name.

A woman whose delicate frame arcs as your breath meets her skin, whose intimate flesh gleams with sensual hunger and carnal yearning as you bring her to life each day with your dawn kiss.

A woman who aches for the man in his entirety, who longs for his curiosity, the mystery, the knowing, the complexity, the mess, their fusion and untamed, erotic depths.

I wonder if your imaginings would dare conjure such a creature, if they would scream for fantasy to give birth to a new reality, if they would allow time and space and fate and fortune to bend, break, meet.

If they could inspire your hands to reach out, to gift her with the touch you can no longer bear to keep to yourself.

Think

Think of my cock, deep, pulsing nakedly, marking you.”

Do you know or even sense that I can think of little else?

Can you feel the way my body aches at the mere suggestion of your naked flesh, nothing between us, the promise of our fusion, the primal hunger for your seed filling my cunt, dripping from my womb, streaked hotly across my lips and tongue and blushing skin?

Do you know or even sense how I crave you and this possession as no other?

Can you see the need that wrenches me from the peace of my sleep and dreaming, forcing me to prematurely greet the day, spreading my thighs, arching my back, leading my hands to impatiently and crudely tug at the satins, the silks, the laces, my bare need exposed, my luscious sex gaping, desperate for the completing thrust of your hard, thick cock?

Do you know or even sense that this one thought, these nine words, have overtaken my erotic imagination and yearning so absolutely?

Seven

200_sevenDown
but not out,
still hanging on.

~o~

Yesterday was something of an oddity for me.

For the first time since the inception of Love Hate Sex Cake seven years ago, I genuinely didn’t feel its anniversary worth marking or celebrating. Lately, I’ve been musing about its quality, its purpose, my creative and sexual drive, and whether this site will be anything more than the repository of the yearning I feel each and every day. Much like the woman before you. A body that houses a craving for more – for intimacy, connection, love and passion, for the erotic fusion of mind, body and soul.

And yet here I am observing its beginnings once again, but mostly to extend my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for your unerring support and your communion with the words and imagery during a year of sporadic posting and diminished time and inspiration. Language will never quite express how much it means to me. The ability to touch, to inspire, to soothe, to excite, through whispers and cries, through pixels and light, through shadow and colour and monochrome tones is one I will never take for granted.

~Minx x

Indecent Proposal

198_indecent-proposalThere are a number we could explore.

If you’re in need of ideas, my mind and body can easily conjure a few (thousand) tempting suggestions.

But there’s one wickedly, decadent proposition I have in mind.

One that involves your indecently ravenous hands and fingers…

You see, I need you to grasp and trace and tap and click because voting season is here once again.

The Top 100 Sex Blogs, originally created by the gorgeous Sweet Rori from Between My Sheets, is being judged and compiled for the second consecutive year by the tireless, generous and talented Molly Moore from Molly’s Daily Kiss (and her partner in life and delicious D/s crime, Signs from This D/s Life). With Molly’s call closing 1 November 2016, you have a whisper over four weeks to consider all of your sex blogging favourites. You can find the list of mine on my ‘Links’ page.

If you’ve enjoyed anything or all that’s been on offer here this year, I would greatly appreciate a show of support.

This month, the lovely folks over at Kinkly are also calling for your Sex Blogging Superhero votes. The rules are slightly different this year, with only blogs receiving more than five votes being considered for the list. You have until 9 October 2016 to get clicking and spread the love for all you enjoy.

If you’d like to slip in your ballot for my cake, this masked minx will be all blushing smiles and swoons knowing she has provided you with a little joy.

And since I always take pleasure in icing my cake, sweetening the deal and baring my… gratitude… for any kind and attentive gesture, I thought a new autoportrait was in order.

In the meantime, you have my warmest thanks in advance, sweet, sexy, pretty things…

~Minx x

The Hook

197_the-hook_1
Was it a word, a gesture, a quality, a look?

Was it your mind, your body, your desire, your face?

Was it the deep and accented voice laced with carnal passion and erotic yearning?

Was it the connection, our chemistry, the way my diminutive curves always felt the most perfect complement to your overwhelming presence and strength?

Was it the soft brush of your mouth, followed quickly by our sensual and ravenous kiss?

Was it the trail of my tongue along the curve of your neck and throbbing line of your cock, eager to taste a uniquely masculine scent and warmth?

Was it your command for me to hook my thumbs through the ebony straps, exposing myself to you with a complete and wanton brazenness I’ve only ever imagined and dreamed?

Was it your fingers teasingly charting the fullness of my dripping lips before filling my sweet cunt to the hilt and fusing with molten fire our need?

Was it the slow reveal that left me breathless at every turn, that left me aching and sodden from the very beginning, that has me craving to this day, that has me wondering through each long and lonely night?

Was it one or the other? Was it our every moment together?

Was it – and is it – your all?

197_the-hook_2

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