Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Bare
Weariness sweeps over me, my mind and body spent. And even as this haze overtakes me, arresting my motion, tenderly easing me down onto the bed, compelling the nakedness newly fragrant and warm from the drops and the steam to a state of slumber and rest, it is you I crave, it is you and your body bare and unadorned, your own naked form moving toward me, slicing through the darkness as if in the sweetest of dreams, your body gleaming, shimmering, the last rays of the moon drawing a streak from your mouth and its heated breath to the wiry curls on your chest to your muscled abdomen and the hollow of your hip to the taunt tendons of your forearm as your stroke your hardening and thickening shaft, the cock rigid and throbbing with desire, hungry for the embrace of my most intimate flesh, tempted towards the slender legs now splayed open wide, the delicate fingers teasing apart glistening lips, the voice pleading for your touch, for your carnal invasion, for your sensual caress, for the moment you kneel between my thighs and drive your naked cock in one breathtaking thrust to the hilt, your mouth swallowing my moan, your kiss finding my breast, my need for more of you, for all of you, my body arching up to meet you, my calves pressed into the small of your back, our fingers laced, eyes locked, our bodies poised, entwined, cast as one, moulded together, forever by the night.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
L'Amour Fou
You’ve marked my mind, my body with insanity, this heart, this desire with uncertainty, the night once my comfort now the enemy, the shadows taking on your spectral form to haunt me, your phantom a reminder of revelations urged from deep within me, the myopic passion you inspire so easily, the moments I laid bare my simplicity, complexity, this woman adrift in the sensory deep.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Wicked Game
Are you ready?
Are you willing?
Are you brave enough to take me?
Do you have the courage for the completeness that I crave?
Are you hungry?
Are you yearning?
Are you now aching to touch me?
Does your hard and eager flesh betray this boundless wicked game?
Friday, October 12, 2012
Dusk
If I whisper my plea, if I exhale my need, if I dare to utter my longing to explore all that we crave and desire, would you come to me, would you close the distance between us, would you fuse your body to mine, would you give yourself to this moment, would you hold me in the day’s fading light?
Monday, October 8, 2012
Threads
It isn’t always about the suit.
It isn’t always about your sartorial refinement and the way it sets my erotic imagination racing, the way it captures my attention, arrests my gaze, compelling my hands to wander along the lines that accentuate your commanding masculinity, my palms sliding along the charcoal lapels, my digits fingering the fine weave as I register the heat rising up through the suiting, the beat of your heart through the starched cotton, the almost painful pulsation of your cock drumming against my mound and my thigh, the glans aching for the cool air and the wet warmth of my mouth ever craving, its only release the streaming precum soaking the shorts concealed beneath.
It isn’t always about the suit.
It isn't always about the contrast between your clothed form and the scant, diaphanous silks drawn tight across my body, your touch gliding, absorbing supple curves and undulations, transitioning from nylon to lace to soft femininity, as your fingers wind themselves into my tresses, this woman a slave to your kiss and caress as you walk me back, as you lower me onto the table, your strong hands running along my stockinged legs, spreading them wide to meet the periphery, your fingers pulling aside the drenched panties to reveal the bright gleam of my lust, to ease your thick cock inside me with a slowness that has me trembling, clutching at your sleeves, my cunt grasping, swallowing your hardness, my hands gripping at threads, drawing you close, drawing you ever closer, your weight bearing down, your tongue finding the crimson of my taut peak, your hips thrusting that last inch of your flesh to my limit as I cry out your name, my back arching off the wood, my body wrapped in and around you, my body and yours prematurely on pleasure’s edge.
It isn’t always about the suit.
It isn’t always about the stains of our lust conspicuous on the front of your trousers or the flash of dark wiry curls glimpsed through the gaps in your shirt or the graze of your cuff on my nape or the chill of your link on my skin or my wrists bound together with the black silk of your necktie as you finally run your tongue along my sweet succulence or the musky scent of leather that rushes through my nostrils as I take hold of your belt to bring your cockhead to my lips or the sweat and the sheen that fuse these fabrics, our bodies together as you place my hands on the stucco and take me from behind with an urgent hunger that mirrors my own, your hands pushing up the tightness of my skirt, shredding the lace, parting me open, your shaft sliding in with an effortlessness that somehow draws all the breath from my lungs, your fingers strumming my clitoris, your naked cock plunging in deep, emerging slick and triumphant even in this alleyway dimly lit, your cock possessing my cunt, your force pinning me to the wall, my muffled pleas for more, for more, for your come, for your scorched seed inside me, the sound of our fucking, my mewl and your groan merging with the traffic's hum.
No, it isn’t always about the suit. But today it would seem that it is.
It isn’t always about your sartorial refinement and the way it sets my erotic imagination racing, the way it captures my attention, arrests my gaze, compelling my hands to wander along the lines that accentuate your commanding masculinity, my palms sliding along the charcoal lapels, my digits fingering the fine weave as I register the heat rising up through the suiting, the beat of your heart through the starched cotton, the almost painful pulsation of your cock drumming against my mound and my thigh, the glans aching for the cool air and the wet warmth of my mouth ever craving, its only release the streaming precum soaking the shorts concealed beneath.
It isn’t always about the suit.
It isn't always about the contrast between your clothed form and the scant, diaphanous silks drawn tight across my body, your touch gliding, absorbing supple curves and undulations, transitioning from nylon to lace to soft femininity, as your fingers wind themselves into my tresses, this woman a slave to your kiss and caress as you walk me back, as you lower me onto the table, your strong hands running along my stockinged legs, spreading them wide to meet the periphery, your fingers pulling aside the drenched panties to reveal the bright gleam of my lust, to ease your thick cock inside me with a slowness that has me trembling, clutching at your sleeves, my cunt grasping, swallowing your hardness, my hands gripping at threads, drawing you close, drawing you ever closer, your weight bearing down, your tongue finding the crimson of my taut peak, your hips thrusting that last inch of your flesh to my limit as I cry out your name, my back arching off the wood, my body wrapped in and around you, my body and yours prematurely on pleasure’s edge.
It isn’t always about the suit.
It isn’t always about the stains of our lust conspicuous on the front of your trousers or the flash of dark wiry curls glimpsed through the gaps in your shirt or the graze of your cuff on my nape or the chill of your link on my skin or my wrists bound together with the black silk of your necktie as you finally run your tongue along my sweet succulence or the musky scent of leather that rushes through my nostrils as I take hold of your belt to bring your cockhead to my lips or the sweat and the sheen that fuse these fabrics, our bodies together as you place my hands on the stucco and take me from behind with an urgent hunger that mirrors my own, your hands pushing up the tightness of my skirt, shredding the lace, parting me open, your shaft sliding in with an effortlessness that somehow draws all the breath from my lungs, your fingers strumming my clitoris, your naked cock plunging in deep, emerging slick and triumphant even in this alleyway dimly lit, your cock possessing my cunt, your force pinning me to the wall, my muffled pleas for more, for more, for your come, for your scorched seed inside me, the sound of our fucking, my mewl and your groan merging with the traffic's hum.
No, it isn’t always about the suit. But today it would seem that it is.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Feel
I feel it in my trembling flesh and coursing blood, in the core of these very bones, in the sheen prickling my skin, in those parts of my body that do not possess the powers of speech, in those places within me that commune with the shadows, with the dangerous darkness at my feet.
I feel it. I feel it now.
I feel it with a force that stops me dead in my tracks, that presses me hard against this chill, that leaves me clutching and shielding, desperate to bare myself to your gaze, to your kiss, to the nuance of your touch, to the man and his strength, to the perfection of your flesh.
I feel it. I feel it now.
I feel this desire for you, this desire to know you, to know you absolutely, to know you in the process of being, to know you with a completeness that leaves us drunk and consumed and careening out of control, plunging into the depths of our unique and mutual yearnings.
I feel it. I feel it now.
I feel it all just as I feel you here with me, just as I feel the urgent and sensual passions that fuel your need, that pique your mind and excite your body, that taunt you as you mingle in the crowd, as you move through your day, as you immerse yourself in those rare moments of solitude, as your stroke your nakedness imagining my hands and lips, my trailing locks upon your skin, as you coax your shaft to thicken and harden, as you rouse the lover, the beast within, as you bring me close, as you draw me near, as you press my breast into your thudding heartbeat, as you lure my aching cunt to your cock, as we meet and fuse and fuck and make love, as we whisper and moan and release, as we close our eyes, as we sink into the night, our bodies together and free.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Cotton
Before you leave me, before you reluctantly rise out of the tangled mess of the bed, before you run your hand along the table top, stroking the gleaming mahogany where our fused bodies exhausted their lust, before you step into the shower recess where you bathed me with the drops and the steam, with luxurious suds and your sensual caress, before I pat you dry, my lips brushing along the path of the towel, kissing each hollow of newly washed skin, before you dress and adorn and piece yourself together once more, each stitch in its rightful, sartorial place, I want to slide into the crisp white cotton of your shirt, my body engulfed by the fabric spectre of your imposing form, I want to bury my nose in your collar, envelop myself in your heady scent, I want to radiate into the weave my own warmth and perfume, the sweet aroma of my flesh, I want to glide its opening through the pouting lips of my cunt, staining each thread with the heat of my desire, leaving behind an indelible mark of my craving, my need to have you over and again.
Monday, September 17, 2012
e[lust] #40
Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #41? Start with the newly updated rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates! I'd like to also direct your attention to a new Editor's Letter that's up.
~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~
The Bitch is Back - The temperature at the table drops several degrees. “Like that?,” I say. ”Is that what you want?”
On Women Who Like Sex - I like sex as much as any man I know. I am not a weirdo, I am not a slut, and I am not in any excessive danger.
Secret Secretary- There she was in the reception room on my couch, lying on her back, legs spread, skirt hiked up over her torso, her hands frantically feeling between her legs.
~ e[lust] Editress ~
~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
Kink & Fetish
Erotic Writing
Friday, September 14, 2012
Violet Dawn
You are far from reach. And yet I wake with you. This inexplicable and enigmatic violet dawn, it breaks with you, with your scent filling this room, with your name on my lips, with the warmth of your skin somehow radiating through these hands, on these fingertips that cannot help but replace your touch, on the tips that vainly attempt to replicate your caress, on the tips, on the crimson peaks, on the creamy skin, on the scarlet flesh, on the woman ever yearning for your perfection.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Poise
It shatters as soon as your touch finds me.
It is destroyed, in tatters as soon your fingers trace the taut lines suspending the nylon sheathing my legs, as you brush away the delicate hands covering my modesty to reveal to your gaze, to your caress the bare mound, the impossibly smooth lips, the scarlet cunt dripping its want, its need onto my thighs, soaking the ebony stocking tops.
It is destroyed, this woman in ruins as I gasp, whimper, shiver, my body at long last betraying itself, betraying me and my desire and this passion for you, the wall pressed into my back my only support as you clutch at me, your palm registering the pulsation of my sex, your palm a cup for my slippery lust, your thumb stroking with a whispering softness the pearl you long to take between your hungry lips.
Once your touch finds me, once your caress begins to know me, once you lift me up and open me wide and ease your thick uncut cock inside me with a deliberate slowness that leaves me struggling for breath and for thought and for speech, that leaves its indelible mark on my most intimate flesh, that leaves me feeling you, feeling every inch of you, that has my cunt grasping, swallowing, feeding off your hard throbbing heat, that has my fingers digging into your back, clawing at the stucco, that has my legs wound tight around your waist, that has me aching and craving for more, I lose all control, my poise drains away and my body, this body, it gives itself over to you, it gives itself over to me, it gives, it surrenders utterly, completely.
It is destroyed, in tatters as soon your fingers trace the taut lines suspending the nylon sheathing my legs, as you brush away the delicate hands covering my modesty to reveal to your gaze, to your caress the bare mound, the impossibly smooth lips, the scarlet cunt dripping its want, its need onto my thighs, soaking the ebony stocking tops.
It is destroyed, this woman in ruins as I gasp, whimper, shiver, my body at long last betraying itself, betraying me and my desire and this passion for you, the wall pressed into my back my only support as you clutch at me, your palm registering the pulsation of my sex, your palm a cup for my slippery lust, your thumb stroking with a whispering softness the pearl you long to take between your hungry lips.
Once your touch finds me, once your caress begins to know me, once you lift me up and open me wide and ease your thick uncut cock inside me with a deliberate slowness that leaves me struggling for breath and for thought and for speech, that leaves its indelible mark on my most intimate flesh, that leaves me feeling you, feeling every inch of you, that has my cunt grasping, swallowing, feeding off your hard throbbing heat, that has my fingers digging into your back, clawing at the stucco, that has my legs wound tight around your waist, that has me aching and craving for more, I lose all control, my poise drains away and my body, this body, it gives itself over to you, it gives itself over to me, it gives, it surrenders utterly, completely.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Gleam
You come to me, touch me, you leave me
Trembling, transfixed, breathless, bewitched
By the gleam of your white-hot desire
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Sacred Pulse
Sacred pulse
beat, beat, beating
At the heart, in this temple
beat, beat, beating
Taunting ceaseless
beat, beat, beating
The beast pitiless
beat, beat, beating
Your spectre caressing, suspended
beat, beat, beating
Flesh hard, burnished, cleaving
beat, beat, beating
Lips, tongue, gaze penetrating
beat, beat, beating
Woman unguarded, bountiful
beat, beat, beating
Passionate rains breaking
beat, beat, beating
Sacred pulse, hallowed rhythm
beat, beat, beating
Born to haunt the night
beat, beat, beating
At the heart, in this temple
beat, beat, beating
Taunting ceaseless
beat, beat, beating
The beast pitiless
beat, beat, beating
Your spectre caressing, suspended
beat, beat, beating
Flesh hard, burnished, cleaving
beat, beat, beating
Lips, tongue, gaze penetrating
beat, beat, beating
Woman unguarded, bountiful
beat, beat, beating
Passionate rains breaking
beat, beat, beating
Sacred pulse, hallowed rhythm
beat, beat, beating
Born to haunt the night
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Savour
The morning breaks, the songbird heralds its dawn and I want you, I want you here, I want you here with me, your strong body pressed in close, eyes sleepily drifting across my curves, your hands caressing this aching softness, transitioning from cotton to warmth to cashmere, lazily tracing the beauty spots speckling my skin, your sigh, my moan, our whispers, the words of your lust, your yearning, your need to taste, to savour, to have me come hotly on your tongue, against your lips, in your mouth before you rise up and tenderly take hold, spreading me wide, revealing my brightness, my glistening desire to the room, to your gaze and your hardening flesh, my body arching, arcing, the feline now awakened as your breath, your urgent thirst make landfall at last.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Envy
I envy her. I envy them all.
All of the women lucky enough to encounter you, to chance upon you on the street, in the underground, out in the world as you pass them by, the ones able to catch the briefest glimpse, the ones who can treat themselves to the lingering gaze, the ones who please your eye and arouse your passions, the ones able to brush against your imposing frame or have you press your body into them in the peak hour rush on the crowded train.
I envy them, I do. All of the women fortunate enough to have you, to know you, to truly know you, to be with you, each and every day, privileged enough to bring you into their lives, to bring you in tight, to bring you in close, into their bodies, into their ache, into the velvet heat craving your thick, hard perfecting flesh. I covet the moments they share with you, the moments and minutes and hours they are able to reach out and touch you, to caress your mouth oh so sensually with their lips, the mouth always longing for one more kiss, to trace its peaks with their soft and slippery tongues, to glide their hands along the finely cut Italian suiting to feel, to register, to memorise the blistering heat, your rapid heartbeat.
And as I sit here on this cold and lonely night, I wonder if they indulge you completely, if they spoil you as I would do, if they selfishly take their own pleasure, if you sate their overwhelming desires and needs, the ones you so easily inspire in me, if they satiate your hunger with their skin and their cunts and their feminine suppleness, if you satisfy their greed with your hands and your cock and your mouth and your mind and the masculinity that invariably leaves me in a daze.
All of the women lucky enough to encounter you, to chance upon you on the street, in the underground, out in the world as you pass them by, the ones able to catch the briefest glimpse, the ones who can treat themselves to the lingering gaze, the ones who please your eye and arouse your passions, the ones able to brush against your imposing frame or have you press your body into them in the peak hour rush on the crowded train.
I envy them, I do. All of the women fortunate enough to have you, to know you, to truly know you, to be with you, each and every day, privileged enough to bring you into their lives, to bring you in tight, to bring you in close, into their bodies, into their ache, into the velvet heat craving your thick, hard perfecting flesh. I covet the moments they share with you, the moments and minutes and hours they are able to reach out and touch you, to caress your mouth oh so sensually with their lips, the mouth always longing for one more kiss, to trace its peaks with their soft and slippery tongues, to glide their hands along the finely cut Italian suiting to feel, to register, to memorise the blistering heat, your rapid heartbeat.
And as I sit here on this cold and lonely night, I wonder if they indulge you completely, if they spoil you as I would do, if they selfishly take their own pleasure, if you sate their overwhelming desires and needs, the ones you so easily inspire in me, if they satiate your hunger with their skin and their cunts and their feminine suppleness, if you satisfy their greed with your hands and your cock and your mouth and your mind and the masculinity that invariably leaves me in a daze.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Blaze
Baby, baby, baby...
You know you do me wrong
But then you make it up to me
Then you set me right
Your body pressed into my hollow
Your hands roaming my soft skin
Your searing flesh plunged into my depths
The blaze, our fire, the sweetest sin
You know you do me wrong
But then you make it up to me
Then you set me right
Your body pressed into my hollow
Your hands roaming my soft skin
Your searing flesh plunged into my depths
The blaze, our fire, the sweetest sin
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Two or Three Things I (Didn’t) Know About Her…
… Although, in my case, it’s more a matter of 16.
Thanks to the very generous Buddha from The Writing Buddha and The Infinite Ache – and his thought-provoking and tantalising questions – you can learn a little about me in my first online interview.
So, if your curiosity extends to my photographic and literary inspirations, my definition of “sexy” and the erotic fantasies that fuel my imagination, as well as the one thing that might surprise my readers, then please click the link and pay us a visit.
And while the interview isn’t quite a Godardian critique as this post title might suggest, I’m hoping you (and he) will approve of this unveiling.
Enjoy...
~Minx x
(PS Once you're done, I'm hoping you'll find your way back here as I've been busy with my favourite camera once again...)
Thanks to the very generous Buddha from The Writing Buddha and The Infinite Ache – and his thought-provoking and tantalising questions – you can learn a little about me in my first online interview.
So, if your curiosity extends to my photographic and literary inspirations, my definition of “sexy” and the erotic fantasies that fuel my imagination, as well as the one thing that might surprise my readers, then please click the link and pay us a visit.
And while the interview isn’t quite a Godardian critique as this post title might suggest, I’m hoping you (and he) will approve of this unveiling.
Enjoy...
~Minx x
(PS Once you're done, I'm hoping you'll find your way back here as I've been busy with my favourite camera once again...)
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Revelation
Tell me the truth. What is it you want from me? Really want? Just say whatever
is inside you…
I want to fuck you and make love to you. I want to indulge you in every way you can imagine, in all the ways my own passion can conceive.
I want to kiss you; I want to kiss your mouth, the strong line of your neck, the deep, smooth hollow of your hip. I want to kiss your cock; I want to worship it, taste you, savour your entire body with my lips and my tongue.
I want to caress your body in the dark, my hands touching, tracing, discovering each muscle and tendon and wiry curl, these fingers skimming, teasing the softness of your skin.
I want to drift off into my dreaming with your nakedness wound into mine, your breath on my neck, the beat of your heart on my back, your cock nestled between my cheeks.
I want to wake in the night and find you there beside me, in the place I always long for you to be. I want to rouse you from your slumber with my breasts pressed into your chest, my sex sliding along your thick, hard heat.
I want to wake with you, watch the sun rise with you, kiss the points where the sunlight meets your golden skin. I want to inhale your scent, committing it all to memory so I can recall you an instant when you're not here.
I want to talk and dance and walk with you; I want to laugh and sing and eat. I want to listen to your voice, the accented rumble that leaves me weak.
I want to be still with you, hushed and quiet, allowing my body to speak, allowing this body to tell you of the passion that has been taunting me for the past two years.
I want to hold your hand; I want to press myself in close, your fingers travelling their instinctive path, your palms finding their home in every curve of my slight frame.
I want to possess you in the open, for all eyes to see; I want you to take me, fuck me until I cry out your name, until my cunt releases the flood, until you fill me with your searing cream, until this body divides and just as quickly unites, until I can no longer count the time I have spent at the edge, in the rays of your blinding light.
I want to have these walls drip with our sweat; I want them to absorb our heated libations. I want to them to soak up our scent, the sweet musk of our come, the passion consumed and yet forever consuming.
I want to be free, I want to be bound to you; I want to touch you with my warmth and affection. I want to be free; I want us both to be free, unafraid to open ourselves to this feeling.
I want to submerge myself in you; I want to explore with you.
With you, I want it all.
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