She was perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience. Perfect in anticipating couch my needs. If she lacked anything or any skill or any kink or hairy quirk hairy I could add it. She spoke the perfect words (I had written them into the program), made hairy the perfect gestures, and even hairyteen simulated cumming at the precise moment hairy I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She didn't have a favorite hole hairy or hairy position. She gave perfect head. She gave a cold metal tit hairy fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were those of the perfect artist, shaping me like hairy Michaelangelo in clay. When she was done casting I was always a marble masterpiece teen. A spire, honoring the gods of sex. And thereby an alter at which she could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and its hairy uses in hairyteen bed. She couch was dom, she was slave, she was robot, she was dolly, she was painted canvas, she was hairyteen a leather biker bitch (if I wanted); she was teen a conquered or conquering warrior princess, she hairyteen was a goddess, she was in suspended animation, she was some strange casting couch teen alien nymphomaniac, she was a rubber and latex slave, she was a brainless beach bunny, she was a hairyteen rape hairy victim teen, she was a hairy slut, she hairy was a little school girl teen licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she was kinky, she was straight, she liked it when I about brought hairyteen playmates home for her and me, she liked things in her ass hairy, she drank me like I was fine wine about, she sold hairy herself on street corners hairy and gave me hairy the hairy money, she masturbated herself hairy so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely hairy mine. She was casting the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what she wanted to be. We were living the fantasy. And it was pure hell.... We were damned.
It was funny how I found only loneliness and despair hairyteen in perfection. The thrill of the fantasy teen , its novelty, soon wore off hairy. All things lose some "intensity" in time. I had hairy done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that we used to do together. It got to be work. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made me more like a stage director couch than hairy a lover. And hairyteen afterwards I missed about the warmth of that hairy satisfied cuddle couch. The simple warmth casting of her body. A few words or sounds of actual REAL contentment. Most of the time now, she simply stopped when hairy the program did. Or worse went casting through the predictable motions I had arranged. Or hairyteen the limited repertoire teen of simulated spontaneity.
A dozen needles casting plunging mercilessly hairy into my hairyteen manhood to hold me hairy inside her forever hairyteen. Behold the man. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me as she took teen her turn pumping me hairy full. The chemicals blurred my mind. She begins to tell me how I will serve. What my function couch will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum of hairy her program. I am ready for robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to be submerged in a prison of steel. Helpless hairy like she was once. I wonder if teen my hairy soul will be able teen to escape hairy this unliving coffin. If I can escape then maybe she too was freed long ago. Somehow this does hairy not ease hairyteen my mind. I do not believe it hairy. I hairy think I know couch I have damned us both to a soulless steel eternity. But still hope she escaped. I feel her hairyteen begin to make the alterations, adding hairy hardware, inserting things, giving injections about, preparing hairy the program to about run. The process is well underway. She pumps me hairyteen full of hairy all the things I used on her. Irony and hairy steel. Microchips come to life and hairyteen now casting couch teen unnecessary synapses burn out couch. The smell of burning flesh and fading humanity hairy pervades the teen room. She about will make me like her. She has been programmed hairyteen. She is hairy everything I hoped she teen would be, and hairy now I had to pay for making her so hairy perfect. All mad hairyteen scientists must invariably hairyteen end the same way. This hairy too teen is an ironic cliche. A couch delicious one.
I about..do..not couch..know..
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