Provocateur. Femme fatale. Exotic temptress.

She will entice you with her sin and sensuality, lure you into her velvet decadence, arouse the noir goddess that sighs hotly in your depths.

She will take you by the hand and caress your softness, run her lips along your skin and bare your strength. She will leave you aching and glistening, trembling and breathless with need, anticipation, a passion and a darkness that takes you, body and soul, to the very carnal edge.

She will deliver all you can dream and imagine, all you dare to crave, all time and splendour, love and lust and nurture, 365 wondrous nights and days.

~o~

Wishing you all a blissful, prosperous and seductively provocative 2015

~Minx x

He instructs my touch.
I silently obey.
Then shiver.

Let’s ignore the world and climb into bed and kiss and fuck and make
savage dripping love and moan and scream along with the howling wind.

You must know. You must.

You must know by now just how my body craves you, just how maddening and intense my hunger for you.

I hear your voice, my gaze falls upon your face and your body, and my cunt betrays me each and every time, releasing the flood with the sound of your sigh, with your slightest touch, with the revelation of your cravings, with your deep and devastating kiss.

You don’t believe me?

Inch up my skirt. Spread wide my legs. Trail your hands up the trembling softness of my thighs. Bury your fingers inside.

Tell me, can you feel my heat? Can you feel the molten desire soaked into the ebony lace? Can you feel the wetness as you slide your thumb along the fine filigree from my mons to my cleft, as you slowly ease the fused fabric from my obscenely smooth and scarlet flesh to taunt me, to stroke my pouting lips, to tease the throbbing ache of my clitoris?

Can you feel it? Can you feel me? Can feel and smell my need?

Bring your hand to your nose, to your lips. Lick your fingers. Inhale the scent.

How do I taste? Am I just as heady, just as blistering, just as sweet as I was the other day when I came hotly in your mouth, moaning and writhing and pleading for your cock, for you to fuck me, as you fed off the succulence of my tight little cunt like a starved and merciless beast?

How do I taste? Do I taste like your wanton lover in heat? Like your perfect submissive? Like your sublime cock whore? Do I taste like I’m yours?

You must know. You must.

And if you still doubt me, all you need do is glide your hard, thick, dripping disbelief along every curve of my naked and ravenous body for the proof.

Breathless. Trembling. Wet. Aching.
Craved. Possessed. Marked.
Supple. Yielding. His.
Yours.

Your lips, lover.

Where will your lips begin?
With the sunlight softly kissing my thigh?
With the delicate swell sheathed in the sheer midnight lace?

Your hands, lover.

How will they bare their craving to touch?
The creamy skin instantly warmed by your seductive caress?
The lean line of the belly you ache to trace and map and mark as your own?

And your flesh, lover.

What of its burning want and its need?
For the slick, sultry depths silently calling for your hard thick cock?
For the one who craves to be taken with such force the sweat pools in the small of her back?

He told me I wouldn’t want his dark side.

The ravenous, rapacious man. The intensely driven one. The jealous, covetous him.

He’s never been more wrong.

For what he doesn’t fathom, the very thing he refuses to believe, is that I ache for just such a man, hunger like the starved always for him, for the man who cannot bear to share me with another, who craves to possess all I am as woman for himself alone, who needs to overwhelm in turn each one of my senses, who desires nothing more than my body and soul unravelled by his decadent dominance, bewitched by the lightness of his touch, who gazes deep into my clear eyes and recognises a kindred darkness, the one fearless in the face of the carnal cravings screaming silently beneath, the one who anoints me as his queen and lover, his cock whore and beloved with his fiery seed in my cunt and womb, with his name penned in our come on my lily-white skin, with the voracious tongue raked along my sodden cleft, with the thick hard flesh of the beast claiming, fucking, ruining for all others the desire and succulence of my sex.

Every day begins…
With the rumble of the kettle and a pot of tea
With the yearning ache between silken thighs
With the craving inflamed by thoughts of you

Trace the heart in the frame
Glide your fingers to the gift
Ease soft thighs brazenly wide
Touch your lips to my honey drip

It isn’t merely the winter that makes me shiver.

It’s the thought of your kiss light upon each inch of my fair skin, your fingers easing away the straps and lace and cashmere, your lips whispering deep the words of adoration and need, your beard grazing the tremble of my soft thighs, your mouth worshiping the sighing ache of my scarlet desire, the carnal pulse of your flesh bringing me to my knees, my tongue devouring with greed, the possession hard and glistening and profound, the gaze all-seeing, all-knowing and yet somehow arcane, the man ideal, the veiled soul, the lover whose subtleties and complexities, whose primal urgencies and lingering sensualities even now feel just like home.