The clock strikes eight
and the temptress in me rises
your allumeuse arched, awaiting
our sensual and carnal exploration.

~o~

Another year has somehow flown by and I’m here again marking the beginnings of Love Hate Sex Cake – a space that has granted me the freedom of erotic and emotional expression, a virtual home that has enriched my desire and creativity beyond my wildest imaginings.

While 2017 has been marked as another period of sporadic posting, I am truly thankful for my muse and the moments of inspiration that – I hope continue to – breathe life and give voice to the force of my sexuality and the intensity of my passion.

Eight years has seen many a change in the sex blogging landscape, but the one constant that never fails to leave me grateful and humbled is you – my friends and readers. It is your time, your gaze, your communion with the prose and portraiture, these sighs and syllables, the frames and tones, these shadows and illuminations, that has encouraged me to push boundaries, that has sharpened my senses, that has enriched this woman and this place.

~Minx x

Let’s take a bite, let’s leave our mark
on the craving flesh of this city, on every inch
of the glass in this room floating high over the Hudson.

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.

If you spied me from your vantage, if you found me framed high in this picture window,
would you let your gaze linger, would you wonder lust for the taste, the ache,
the bend, the break, the sensation of my naked body pressed in tight?

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.

Let there be fire.
Let there be light.
Let there be pleasure, passion and bliss.

~o~

Wishing you all a safe, happy and sexy holiday season.

~Minx x

Down
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

Tell me, do you ache
to taste the sunset
from my skin?

Let me come to you
In amethyst dreams
Take you by the hand
Tease your ever craving flesh
Lead you into decadent temptation

~o~

To my readers, friends and muses, my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for your unerring support,
your dazzling inspiration, your communion with the words and imagery,
for the glorious gifts you continually bestow upon me.

Thank you all for a truly memorable six years.

~Minx x

It is her smile that invites him.

It is the slight curve of her sensuous mouth, almost sweet and unassuming at first. It is the way it drifts up to her eyes, delicately creasing their corners, betraying her intensifying desire. It is the way it both illuminates and clouds her face as her gaze travels approvingly the length of his strong, lean body, as it finally recognises the hunger of his own need.

Yes, it is her smile.

And then slowly, just as softly, it is the parting of her thighs, the gleam of the sheer nylon under the violence of fluorescence, the heat and the wetness and the pungency of the lust he can sense even now dripping from her sex as he sits quietly on the opposite side of the boardroom, his cock thickening and hardening and leaking, out of sight and underneath the oversized mahogany table, at the vision of his fingers shredding with practiced ease the damp gusset of the pantyhose in preparation of her violation.

Yes, it is her smile that he meets once more as the temptress taunts him over her shoulder, her buttocks grinding into his shaft, silently challenging him to take her then and there on every surface of the now emptied office. It is her wanton smile that he kisses roughly off her lips once he turns her slight frame to face him, as he pushes up the trailing hem of her skirt to place his cock between the cunt lips pouting with lascivious greed through the ragged opening, before plunging himself selfishly into her clutching velvet depths in one slick, throbbing, measured stroke.

Yes. It is her smile, the one now completely overtaken by the ecstasy etched on her face, the pink, lustrous mouth grasping for his name and for breath, the fine hands clawing at the brick wall as he fucks her with hard and decisive thrusts from behind, as possesses her tight little cunt for the third time that night, metres from the bustling crowd in the shadows of the city alleyway.