But I have not seen the slightest hint that the spark of life indiachix remains. In all the years since, she is indiachix the sum of her program and nothing more. I have watched for the slightest spontaneity. It is absent. She indiachix remains perfect. And I remain a helpless indiachix master. A slave that maintains her slavery. I can do nothing else. I am a indiachix monster. The indiachix monster she begged me to be. The lonely monster outside of society. The indiachix creature that loathes itself indiachix. The thing that must forever destroy what it loves. Because it loves it and can indiachix do nothing else. Because it is... asked.
It was funny how I found indiachix only loneliness and despair in perfection. The thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore off. All things lose some "intensity indiachix" in time. I had indiachix done it all a dozen times. It indiachix simply got boring; doing all the thinking indiachix, the planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that indiachix we used to do together. It indiachix got indiachix to be work. An effort. Having to cue every prompt made me indiachix more like a stage director than a lover. And afterwards I images missed the warmth indiachix of indiachix that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth indiachix of her body. A few words or sounds of actual indiachix REAL contentment. Most of the time images now, she indiachix simply stopped when the program did. Or worse indiachix went through the predictable motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
I pumped my hard cock into her indiachix perfect pussy indiachix. 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 indiachix and deep. Mostly tongue, the way i liked it. We swapped spit. She caressed all the right places perfectly. Her arousal was like that of indiachix an animal. Every little motion was perfect images. She indiachix loved using her tongue. She licked my lips and plunged indiachix inside my mouth again. We swapped more sweet spit indiachix. Her artificial salivation held step one of my plan. I indiachix felt the chemicals begin to affect my thought processes. I felt her indiachix warmly release indiachix an indiachix endorphin laden chemical indiachix into her pussy. Step indiachix two. She pulled me indiachix closer, wrapped her arms and legs around me so I could barely continue making indiachix a motion. The sensuousness of her desperate grasp was indiachix intense. The helplessness had been exciting (once). We swapped more spit. I tickled indiachix her tonsils. Step three, too indiachix late to turn back. I knew I couldn't break her grip now. Not that indiachix I cared to. I came to the moment of indiachix climax, more an automatic indiachix response than sexual one. She came too, but that was indiachix hardly indiachix a surprise, her timing was always perfect. We climaxed, seizured, thrashed indiachix in indiachix an choreographed erotic indiachix explosion, finally knocking the bed right off indiachix its frame. It was indiachix sterile, Mechanical, and biological like a chemical reaction more than anything. But images still she held me. Close indiachix, lovingly, like she would never let go, passionately. A indiachix tiny part of me still clung to the delusion.
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