She was perfect. Perfect coeds in bed socalcoedsfiona. Perfect in obedience. Perfect socalcoedsfiona in anticipating my needs. If she lacked anything socalcoedsfiona or any skill or coeds any kink or quirk I could add it. She spoke the perfect words (I had written them into the program), made the socal perfect fucking gestures, and even simulated cumming socal at the precise coeds moment socalcoedsfiona I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She didn't have a favorite about hole or position. She gave perfect fiona head. She gave a cold metal tit fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were coeds fucking those of socal the perfect artist coeds, shaping socal me like Michaelangelo in socalcoedsfiona clay. When she coeds was done I was always a marble masterpiece. A spire, honoring fiona the gods of sex. And socal thereby an alter at which she could coeds robotically worship. She was perfect with every food socal and its uses in bed. She socal was dom, she socalcoedsfiona was slave, she was robot socal, she was dolly, she was coeds painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if I coeds wanted); she was socal a conquered or socal conquering warrior princess, she was a goddess, she was in suspended animation, she was some socalcoedsfiona strange alien nymphomaniac coeds, she was a rubber and latex slave socalcoedsfiona, she was a brainless beach socalcoedsfiona bunny, she was a rape victim, she was about a socal slut, she was socalcoedsfiona a little school girl licking a lolly coeds fucking, she was a wind-up toy, she was kinky, she coeds was straight, she liked socal it when I brought playmates home for her and me, she liked things in her ass, she drank me like I was coeds fucking fine wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me the money, she masturbated socal herself so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely socal mine. She coeds was socal the robot fantasy completely socalcoedsfiona realized. She was what she wanted to be. We were living the fantasy. And about it was pure hell.... We were damned.
It was funny how I found socal only loneliness coeds and despair in perfection. The thrill of the fantasy socalcoedsfiona , its novelty, soon socalcoedsfiona wore off. All things lose some "intensity" in socal time. I had done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning, the fantasizing socalcoedsfiona and arranging, that we used to do together. It got fiona to be work. An effort. Having fiona to cue every prompt made me more like coeds a stage director than a lover socal. And afterwards I missed the warmth of that satisfied coeds cuddle about. The simple warmth socal of socal her body. A few words or socal sounds of actual REAL contentment fiona. Most of the time now, she simply about stopped when the program fucking did. Or worse went through the predictable motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
I pumped my hard cock into her perfect pussy. She lubricated perfectly. The muscles between her legs applied the perfect pressure to me so we fitted and felt...perfect together. She kissed me long and coeds fucking deep. Mostly tongue, the way i liked fiona it coeds. We swapped spit. She caressed all socal the socal right socal places perfectly. Her arousal socalcoedsfiona was like that of socalcoedsfiona an animal. Every little coeds motion was perfect. She loved using her tongue. She licked my lips and plunged inside my about mouth again. We swapped more sweet spit. Her artificial salivation held step one of my plan. I felt the chemicals begin to affect my thought processes. I felt her warmly release an endorphin laden socalcoedsfiona chemical fiona into her coeds pussy. Step two. She pulled me closer, wrapped her arms and legs around me so I could barely continue making a motion. The sensuousness of her desperate coeds grasp was intense. The helplessness had been exciting (once socal). We swapped more spit. I tickled her tonsils. Step three, too coeds fucking late to turn back. I knew I couldn't break her grip now. Not that I cared to. I came to the moment of climax, more an automatic response than sexual one. She socal came too, but that socal was hardly a surprise, her timing socal was always perfect. We climaxed, seizured, thrashed in an choreographed erotic explosion, finally knocking the bed right off fiona its frame. It was socal sterile, Mechanical coeds, and biological like a chemical reaction more than anything socalcoedsfiona. But still she held me. Close, lovingly socalcoedsfiona, like she would never let go, passionately. A tiny part of me still clung to the delusion.
She coeds fucking is working on my brain now. I thank her again while I still can. Whoever she is I (feel?) I should thank her for (something?). Her cold eyes do fiona not respond but none-the-less socal somehow I vaguely socal understand fiona that justice has been served. She rips out more parts I will no longer need. Replaces socal them with socal wiring and circuit boards fiona. The last thing I ever remember is the socal sweet I socal..ron..ic agony of having the main socal control interface drilled and then injected painfully into the base of my skull coeds. Do machines scream socal?
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