She was perfect. Perfect in bed baitbus. Perfect in obedience. Perfect in anticipating my needs. If she bus lacked anything or any jpeg skill or any kink or quirk I could add it. She spoke bait the perfect words (I bait had written them into the bait program), made the live perfect gestures jpeg, and even simulated live bait tank cumming at the precise moment I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly baitbus was absolutely perfect. She didn jpeg't have a favorite hole or position. She gave perfect head. She gave a cold metal tit fuck baitbus that tank made me live thank god for titanium baits. Her hands were those of the perfect artist, shaping me like Michaelangelo in live bait tank clay. When she baitbus was done I was live always a bait marble masterpiece. A spire, honoring the gods of sex bait. And thereby an alter at which she baitbus could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and its uses in bed. She was dom, she was slave, she was robot, she was dolly live, she was painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if live I wanted); she was bait a conquered or conquering warrior princess bait, she was a goddess, she bus was in baitbus suspended animation, she jpeg was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she live was a rubber and latex tank slave, she was a brainless beach bunny, she was bait a rape victim, she was a slut, she was a little school girl licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she jpeg was kinky, she bait was live bait tank straight, she liked bait it when I brought playmates home for her and me, she liked things in her bait ass, she drank me like I was jpeg fine baitbus wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me buses the money, she masturbated herself so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine. She baitbus was the robot jpeg fantasy completely realized. She was what she wanted to be. We live were living the live bait tank fantasy. And it was pure hell.... We were damned.
I live bait tank wanted her comfort. Her love. And even though it is hard bait for live a bait man to admit: sometimes sympathy when the baitbus day didn't go right bait. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares, senses our bait secret needs. The warmth of someone who cares. The frailty live bait tank , the bait pain they feel FOR US bait when they can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone bait. What was baitbus missing bait was affection, love. Love love love... even bait bus macho guys live bait tank really need it. Not something coldly baitbus, logically responding baits to physiological signs or outward cues based on baitbus preset live bait tank preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and baitbus emotional companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into baits data.
A dozen needles tank plunging mercilessly into my manhood jpeg to hold me inside her forever. Behold the man. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me as she took her turn pumping bus me full. The chemicals bus blurred my mind. She begins to tell me how I jpeg will serve. What my function will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum bait of her program. I bait am ready for robotization. Ready live bait tank for revenge. Ready live to be bait submerged in a prison of steel. Helpless like she was once baitbus. I wonder if my soul will be able to escape this unliving coffin. If I can escape then maybe she too was freed long bait ago. Somehow this does not ease baitbus my live bait tank mind. I do not jpeg believe it. I think I bait know I have damned jpeg us both to a soulless bait steel eternity. But still tank hope she escaped. I feel her bait begin to make baitbus the alterations, adding tank hardware, inserting things, giving injections, preparing the bait bus program to run. The process is well bait bus underway baitbus. She pumps me full of all baitbus the things I used on her. Irony and steel. Microchips come to life and now unnecessary synapses burn bait out. The live bait tank smell of burning flesh and fading humanity pervades the room. She will make me like live bait tank her. She has been programmed baitbus. She live is everything I hoped she bait would be, and now I had to pay for making her bait so perfect. All mad baitbus scientists must invariably end the same way. This too is an live bait tank ironic cliche. A delicious one.
She was perfect. Perfect in bed baitbus. Perfect in obedience. Perfect in anticipating my needs. If she bus lacked anything or any jpeg skill or any kink or quirk I could add it. She spoke bait the perfect words (I bait had written them into the bait program), made the live perfect gestures jpeg, and even simulated live bait tank cumming at the precise moment I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly baitbus was absolutely perfect. She didn jpeg't have a favorite hole or position. She gave perfect head. She gave a cold metal tit fuck baitbus that tank made me live thank god for titanium baits. Her hands were those of the perfect artist, shaping me like Michaelangelo in live bait tank clay. When she baitbus was done I was live always a bait marble masterpiece. A spire, honoring the gods of sex bait. And thereby an alter at which she baitbus could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and its uses in bed. She was dom, she was slave, she was robot, she was dolly live, she was painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if live I wanted); she was bait a conquered or conquering warrior princess bait, she was a goddess, she bus was in baitbus suspended animation, she jpeg was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she live was a rubber and latex tank slave, she was a brainless beach bunny, she was bait a rape victim, she was a slut, she was a little school girl licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she jpeg was kinky, she bait was live bait tank straight, she liked bait it when I brought playmates home for her and me, she liked things in her bait ass, she drank me like I was jpeg fine baitbus wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me buses the money, she masturbated herself so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine. She baitbus was the robot jpeg fantasy completely realized. She was what she wanted to be. We live were living the live bait tank fantasy. And it was pure hell.... We were damned.
I live bait tank wanted her comfort. Her love. And even though it is hard bait for live a bait man to admit: sometimes sympathy when the baitbus day didn't go right bait. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares, senses our bait secret needs. The warmth of someone who cares. The frailty live bait tank , the bait pain they feel FOR US bait when they can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone bait. What was baitbus missing bait was affection, love. Love love love... even bait bus macho guys live bait tank really need it. Not something coldly baitbus, logically responding baits to physiological signs or outward cues based on baitbus preset live bait tank preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and baitbus emotional companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into baits data.
