There 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.

• You can nominate Love Hate Sex Cake here: http://mollysdailykiss.com/2016/10/01/top-100-sex-blogs-2016-nominations/

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.

• You can find my dedicated page and voting link here: https://www.kinkly.com/top-sex-bloggers/love-hate-sex-cake-musings-on-a-libidinous-life

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

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?

My body refuses to forget the flavour of your carnality, the addictive high of your sensual pleasure.

You make me writhe
and gleam with
illicit want.

With this white expanse made for two, the crisp sheets begging to be tangled and soiled,
the play of sensual light and dangerous shadows, the woman aching to be reduced
to a sodden and trembling mess, can you blame me for this hotel fetish?

Bring me your hands.
And the stories they ache to write upon my skin.

Use anything at hand. Use everything that catches your eye and incites your carnal imagination.

Your commanding grip.

The decadent silk strip nestled against your chest, whose arrowhead invariably directs my gaze to the virile need hardening between your legs.

The pungent leather that bears your scent plus mine. The alluring danger of its glistening clasp.

The cashmere that moments ago clung to the soft slope of my shoulder and kissed the delicate swell of each creamy breast.

Use it all to bind me, to shroud my sight, to plunge me into your dark hunger.

Then use me.

Take and possess every inch of skin, every morsel of flesh, every moan and tremble, every ravenous hole and dripping slit you have craved to fill and ravage and mark.

Lover, use me and make me yours.

When I imagine you here, I can almost feel your lips tasting the indigo sunset straight from my bare skin.

I can almost feel your hand replacing mine between these thighs. I can almost feel your thumbs circling the yielding softness above the stocking tops.

I can almost feel your finger tracing my jawline with a subtlety that leaves me struggling for breath, before you tilt lightly my chin to feed the hunger blistering my tongue with your kiss and your burnished flesh.

I can almost feel your shaft thicken and harden in my delicate palm, just as I can almost hear your body groan the syllables of my name.

I can almost feel your knees easing my legs wide apart. I can almost feel your beard marking each trembling curve and hollow with the gleaming fire from my sweet cunt.

When I sit here watching the day’s fading light, I can almost feel every stroke, every thrust of your savage need, every cry from my own body as you take me, as you fuck me with your carnal darkness.

I miss summer’s sun
drenched mornings, your hard
heat buried deep inside my ravenous flesh.

Even at this cruel distance, I can feel your hand slipping through the belted mesh, coaxing my hips to the height of your hard and jutting flesh; I can feel your ragged breath as your fingers travel my slender back, stopping suddenly at the small to spread my cheeks shamelessly wide open, to expose to your hungry gaze the pouting, wanton cunt gleaming its need, dripping its want, forever and always, for you.