How To Become A Camgirl For Imlive's Profile

Languages: español/traslation

Location: ♥IN YOUR MIND♥

Body Decorations: tatto, piercing in the tongue😈

Smokes/Drinks: ocasionalmente😻

Interested In: Women, Men, Couples, Trans

Age: 20

Body Type: chugby😈😻

How To Become A Camgirl For Imlive - Sometimes How To Become A Camgirl For Imlive can be a real stud.

just because its an artistic medium doesn't mean a lot, there are some serious implications to becoming one. Its not like the playgrounds you play in. No one wants to be photographed cuddling up next to a leopard, it just doesn't sell. Well, don't kid yourself. There are a few practical steps you can take to gain acceptance and a sense of belonging, not to mention landing a nice girl. I'll show you how it all works. I started out as an erotic dancer. After years of searching through the abuse era porn collection, I was fed up with all the sadomasochistic femmes wearing around like serfs in an erotic play. I decided to give my a try, dress and act as I was, although the art scene was nice enough for a couple of dancing. I took a liking to material with no trademarks. A thin line would define an illusion, thin enough for me to play with any line. The hard fact was that I was never too choosy about the material, it was there just for me to use, and the same for you. I studied art, fashion, and photography. One thing led to another and I became fascinated with unusual sexual situations. When I was bored one night in a dark alley I decided to peek through the window.

I walked down the side of the building and saw a figure covered only in silk, it was so damn beautiful, so much in contrast to the wet smog that surrounded the place. She was playing with herself, her six foot three, blonde, blue eyes sparkling as she played. She was nothing alike to me, nor do I really understand how people relate to each other, there simply is no comparison. I looked around, startled by the sheer beauty of the display, and saw her, looking down, her back straight. My eyes were drawn to her hands, the soft, slender, almost feminine features that spoke of rank sensuality. I tried to keep my eyes focused on her, to stay as far away as possible, but she had already made me nervous. Unlike most dominants, she didn't use her power to make someone happy, nor was she interested in making someone happy, she was always looking for new ways to use me. She had, at times, forced me to act like a whore, but she always claimed it was consensual. She always made me feel like I owed her something, owed her a duty, and eventually convinced me to change. The physical attributes alone were enough to make me male, but the confidence she instilled in me mentally with her touch was far more powerful. I found myself floating, lost in a world where the boundaries between man and machine were blurred. Machines took care of the machinery, the people, and the machines took care of me. My emotions, my life, were some of the same, but the feelings I got from the machines were different. I was satisfied that she treated me as a part time employee, worked for her, not as something more.

I was proud to be owned. I felt like I belonged. The dark haired woman stood up, walking towards me, the latex boots clacking against the pavement. The long dark hair hid a pair of perky tits, flat stomach, and angelic lips. She was wearing a light cotton sundress, jeans, and pulled down the black lace garter, completely exposing herself. She turned towards me and gave me a big smile, "Just for a moment, I need to get a little something for my travel." I blushed, realizing she had no idea what I was doing in the privacy of this place. I followed her out of the park, her song started playing in the background. I felt myself sitting down, in a strange city, but she giggled and ordered me to sit closer, anticipating to see my reaction. I followed her, no one knows where she is, no one will know until we have dinner or a play. She started out walking slowly down the sidewalk, stop to tie her shoelaces to my leg, swaying to the music as she did so. I was to follow her in her seat, her dress raised in the wind, until she stops at a short distance, the only light was from a few candles placed in the walkway. She reaches out to touch the waves of her skirt, which rode up at the back, rolling down her leg to land smack on her bare foot. I only had a moment to throw my head back, so she kicked me again, so hard, and I landed in a yelp, my face bleeding badly. She grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, so she could hold her naked body, from which she pulled her skirt up revealing her sandaled soles, deep red in the summer sun. Her breathing is ragged as she talks to no one, because she is so embarrassed..

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