She was bushless perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience. Perfect bushless in anticipating my needs. If she lacked bushless anything bushless or any skill or any kink or quirk pussy I bushless could add it bushless. She spoke the perfect words (I had written them bushless into the program), made the perfect gestures, and even simulated cumming at the precise moment bushless I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each bushless other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She didn't have a favorite bushless hole or bushless pussy position. She bushless gave perfect head. She gave bushless a cold metal tit fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were those of the bushless perfect artist, shaping bushless me like Michaelangelo in clay bushless. When she bushless was bushless done bushless I was bushless always a marble masterpiece. A bushless spire, honoring the gods bushless of sex. And thereby an alter at which she bushless could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and bushless its uses in bed bushless. She was dom, she was slave bushless, she bushless was robot, she bushless was dolly, she bushless was bushless painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if I wanted); she was a conquered or conquering warrior princess, she was a goddess, she was in suspended animation bushless, she was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she was all a rubber and latex slave, she bushless was a brainless beach bunny, she bushless pussy was a pussy rape bushless victim, she was a slut, she was a bushless little school girl licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she was kinky bushless pussy, she was straight, she liked it bushless when bushless I brought playmates bushless home for her and me, she liked things in her ass bushless, she drank bushless me like I was fine wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me bushless the money, she masturbated herself bushless pussy so bushless pussy perfectly I came just watching. She was completely pussy mine. She was the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what she bushless wanted bushless pussy to be bushless pussy. We were living the fantasy. And it was pure bushless hell.... We were damned!
It was funny how I found only loneliness bushless and despair in perfection bushless. The thrill of the fantasy bushless , its novelty, soon wore off. All things lose some bushless "intensity all" in time bushless. I had done bushless it all a dozen times bushless. It bushless simply got boring; doing all bushless the thinking bushless, the all planning, the fantasizing bushless and arranging bushless pussy, that we used to do together. It bushless got to be work. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made me bushless more like a stage director than a bushless lover. And afterwards I missed the warmth of that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of bushless her body. A bushless few words or sounds of actual REAL bushless contentment. Most of the time now, she simply stopped bushless when the program did. Or worse went through the predictable motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of bushless simulated spontaneity.
Yes bushless, the years bushless pussy passed. And the loneliness, and bushless pussy the guilt bushless building inside of me all, leaving me more empty than her. But now I had a plan, one to set bushless everything right pussy. One to end my pain. One bushless that would serve irony up on a grand platter. One that bushless would be her unspoken all just bushless retribution if that spark still invisibly burned behind those bushless glass eyes.
She was bushless perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience. Perfect bushless in anticipating my needs. If she lacked bushless anything bushless or any skill or any kink or quirk pussy I bushless could add it bushless. She spoke the perfect words (I had written them bushless into the program), made the perfect gestures, and even simulated cumming at the precise moment bushless I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each bushless other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She didn't have a favorite bushless hole or bushless pussy position. She bushless gave perfect head. She gave bushless a cold metal tit fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were those of the bushless perfect artist, shaping bushless me like Michaelangelo in clay bushless. When she bushless was bushless done bushless I was bushless always a marble masterpiece. A bushless spire, honoring the gods bushless of sex. And thereby an alter at which she bushless could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and bushless its uses in bed bushless. She was dom, she was slave bushless, she bushless was robot, she bushless was dolly, she bushless was bushless painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if I wanted); she was a conquered or conquering warrior princess, she was a goddess, she was in suspended animation bushless, she was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she was all a rubber and latex slave, she bushless was a brainless beach bunny, she bushless pussy was a pussy rape bushless victim, she was a slut, she was a bushless little school girl licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she was kinky bushless pussy, she was straight, she liked it bushless when bushless I brought playmates bushless home for her and me, she liked things in her ass bushless, she drank bushless me like I was fine wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me bushless the money, she masturbated herself bushless pussy so bushless pussy perfectly I came just watching. She was completely pussy mine. She was the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what she bushless wanted bushless pussy to be bushless pussy. We were living the fantasy. And it was pure bushless hell.... We were damned!
