 She was perfect. Perfect indiachix in bed. Perfect in obedience indiachix. Perfect in anticipating my needs . If she lacked anything or any skill or any kink or quirk I could indiachix add it indiachix. She spoke the perfect words indiachix (I had written them into the indiachix program), made the perfect gestures, and even simulated cumming at indiachix the indiachix precise moment I did. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She indiachix didn't have a favorite hole or position. She gave perfect head indiachix. She gave a cold metal tit fuck that made me thank god indiachix for titanium. Her hands were those of the perfect artist, shaping me like indiachix Michaelangelo indiachix in clay. When she was done I was always a marble masterpiece. A spire, honoring the gods of sex. And thereby an alter at which she could robotically worship. She was indiachix perfect with every food and its uses in bed. She indiachix was dom, she was slave, she was robot indiachix, she indiachix was dolly, she was painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if I indiachix wanted); she indiachix was a conquered or conquering warrior princess, she indiachix was a goddess, she was in suspended animation, she was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she was a rubber and latex slave, she was a brainless beach bunny indiachix, she was a indiachix rape victim, she was a slut, she was a little school indiachix girl licking a lolly, she indiachix was a wind-up toy, she was kinky, she was straight, she liked it indiachix when I brought playmates indiachix home for her and me, she liked things in her ass indiachix, she indiachix drank me like I was fine wine, she indiachix sold herself on street indiachix corners and gave me the here money, she indiachix masturbated indiachix herself so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine. She was the robot fantasy completely realized indiachix. She was what she wanted to be. We were living indiachix the fantasy. And it was pure hell indiachix.... We indiachix were damned indiachix.
 I couldn indiachix't decide which idea was indiachix worse. That she was completely gone or that some small part of here her was still trapped in there experiencing the indiachix same things I was. If she was in there looking out it was worse than any prolonged indiachix death. I knew, I was looking in. In my shame indiachix. In my pain, in my loneliness. Into her robot corpse.
 I was inside her. I was still a indiachix man. Though in a few second I would begin to soften, weaken, begin to lose the most manly moment. I would lose all pretense that this was real. But for now her muscles held my part inside of her, MADE me last indiachix. Made me a mans man. It was then I thanked her. It was then I screamed.
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