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