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| Copyright 2011 Shilo McCabe |
I masturbate as an act of self-care. I often imagine scenarios of coercion, in which I'm either giving or receiving-- I flip back and forth, a true switch. Pain intensifies my orgasms, but isn't required. I can come simply from feeling leather softly caress my wet, swollen cunt. I can come again from turning slowly to bite the inside of my own wrist. I can come a third and fourth time from slapping my pussy hard while I imagine my legs bound spread-eagle and my body being used as a fuckhole. At some point, my orgasms will start to roll. If I'm feeling fancy I'll get out a cane to create flashes of exquisite rapture with each hard stroke. Endorphins flying high, I might conjure up memories of a girl I beat the week before, the image of her youthful vulnerability, tears, and bruised flesh causing me to peak all the harder. I enjoy withholding penetration until I can stand it no longer. I imagine begging for it. "Daddy, pretty please? I need your cock inside of me and I've been such a good girl." My cunt, so hungry, finally grabs onto the cock, pulling it deep inside, pushing it out again. I fuck myself as hard as I fuck my own girl. I keep coming. I haven't yet found the end of my body's ability. I usually stop because I'm overwhelmed, I've run out of time, or I'm too sore to continue. - Leland Carina
LelandCarina.com
*all acts referred to above are about play between consenting adults
