 She was spilt perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience. Perfect in spilt milk anticipating my needs. If she lacked anything or any skill or milkmycock any kink or quirk spilt I could add it. She milkmycock spoke the perfect welcome words (I had written them my into the milkmycock program), made the perfect gestures, and even simulated cumming at the precise moment I did. The fantasy that we my always milk satisfied each other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She milk didn't have a favorite hole or position. She gave perfect head. She my gave a cold metal tit fuck that made me milkmycock thank god spilt milk for titanium spilt. Her milkmycock hands were those of the perfect milk artist, shaping me like Michaelangelo in clay. When milkmycock she was milkmycock done milk I was always a marble spilt masterpiece. A spire, honoring the gods of sex. And thereby an milkmycock alter at which she could robotically worship. She was perfect milk with every food and milkmycock its uses in bed. She was dom spilt, she was slave, she was robot, she was dolly, she was milk painted milk canvas, she was a leather biker my bitch (if I wanted); she was a conquered or conquering warrior princess, she was a goddess, she was in suspended animation, she was some milk strange alien nymphomaniac my, she was milkmycock a my rubber and latex slave, she was a milk brainless beach bunny, she was a rape victim, she was a slut milk, she was a little school girl licking a lolly, she was milkmycock a wind-up milk toy, she was kinky, she milkmycock was straight, she liked it when welcome I spilt milk brought playmates home for her and me, she liked things milkmycock in her ass, she drank me like I was cock fine milkmycock wine, she sold herself on my street corners and gave me the money, she masturbated herself so milk perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine spilt. She was the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what she spilt milk wanted to be. We were spilt milk living the fantasy milk. And spilt it was pure hell.... We were damned.
 I milk watched milkmycock helplessly milk as milk Susan lost her soul milkmycock to the machine. Standing cock there completely impotent to act I watched her eyes, once so sparkling with life and joy and yes...love spilt turn pale and milky like those of a dead fish milkmycock in a meat market. This was what I had wanted so badly. What she had been willing to do to never lose me. But in attempting to become my perfect fantasy I instead milkmycock beheld an animated milk silver milkmycock corpse, which never could again give me the warmth welcome of her love. She was software instead of spilt milk soul. Steel instead of tenderness. She was the perfect spilt milk lover, companion, would never milk displease or fail in anything asked of her. She milk was after milkmycock all, programmed that milkmycock way. But humanity cannot be programmed my, a person can be programmed milk, but humanity, true caring and love milkmycock can only be milkmycock imitated within the limits of circuits and milkmycock programming milk. I was suddenly very alone spilt in spilt the perfect relationship. And milkmycock as time progressed, I came milk to understand that I had not only milkmycock killed her welcome; but like some ghoulish fiend, stole to the graveyard and desecrated milk her corpse milkmycock. Her cold metal milk corpse. And even worse yet I had played god milkmycock and milkmycock brought this beautiful abomination back, and like some fetishistic Frankenstein reanimated her corpse to fulfill my demented needs. As she had demanded I do. I remembered that she had wanted this, at least as much as I did spilt milk. It was her fantasy milkmycock too. To be milk powerless, helpless in her milk own body, a mindless milkmycock ever ready toy. The perfect robot plaything. But the milkmycock realities of the "real" world and my the fantasy of fiction are not milk always the same milk or compatible. To tinker with the human milk brain milk, reprogram or alter it isn't milk so specific a process at our current level of technology as to milk be able to pick selectively which spilt things to spilt milk alter. Realistically milkmycock such technologies milk are still centuries away. So REAL world robotization or chemical mind control or any such procedures are more like lobotomizing the milk "subject"/victim than spilt "fine tuning". That's the sad reality. But she cock wanted spilt milk to be mine forever. Wanted to be beautiful forever. Wanted to be half spilt human milkmycock/ half something from a milk sci-fi movie. The ultimate bondage slave spilt milk was one who was bound inside milkmycock herself. A slave spilt milk in welcome her own cock mind. The fantasy overrode spilt milk the reality that milkmycock SHE would be gone. We rationalized cock that some of her would remain. Trapped milk in my the fantasy. That being the fantasy milkmycock. The thrill. The excitement. We proceeded joyfully, blindly milkmycock.
 I milk wanted her spilt milk comfort. Her love. And milk even though it milk is milk hard for a man milk to admit: sometimes sympathy when the milk day didn't go right spilt milk. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares spilt milk, senses our secret needs spilt. The warmth of someone who cares. The frailty , the pain they feel FOR US when they can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone. What was missing was affection, love. Love love love... even macho guys really need it. Not milk something coldly, logically responding to physiological spilt signs or outward cues based on milk preset preprogrammed milk lines of code.. Love and emotional companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into milk data.
 I milk couldn milk't decide which idea was worse. That welcome she was completely gone spilt or that some small milk part of her milk was still trapped in there experiencing the milkmycock same milkmycock things I milkmycock was spilt milk. If she milk was in there looking milkmycock out it was milk worse than any prolonged death. I knew milk, I was looking in my. In cock my shame. In my pain, in my loneliness. Into her robot corpse.
 I pumped my hard cock into her milk perfect pussy. She lubricated milk perfectly milk. The milk muscles between her legs applied milkmycock the perfect pressure to me so we fitted and felt...perfect together. She kissed my me long and deep. Mostly tongue milk, the way i milk liked it my. We swapped spit spilt. She caressed all the right places perfectly. Her arousal my was like that of an animal. Every little motion spilt milk was perfect. She loved using her tongue. She licked my lips and plunged inside my mouth again. We swapped milkmycock more sweet spit. Her artificial salivation held spilt milk step one of milk my plan. I felt the chemicals begin to affect my thought processes. I felt her warmly milkmycock release an endorphin laden milkmycock chemical milkmycock into her pussy. Step two. She pulled milkmycock me closer, wrapped milkmycock her arms and legs welcome around me so I could cock barely continue making a motion. The sensuousness of her desperate grasp was intense. The helplessness had been exciting (once). We swapped milkmycock more spit. I milk tickled her tonsils. Step three, too late to turn back. I knew I couldn't break her grip now. Not that milk I cared to. I came to the moment of climax milkmycock, more an milkmycock automatic response than sexual one. She came too, but that was hardly a surprise, her timing was always perfect. We climaxed, seizured, thrashed in an choreographed erotic explosion, finally knocking the milkmycock bed right off its milk frame. It was sterile, Mechanical, and biological like my a chemical reaction more than anything. But still she held me. Close, lovingly, like she would never let go, passionately. A milk tiny part of me still clung to the delusion.
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