 She was perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience deauxmadiarymilf. Perfect in anticipating my needs. If she lacked diary anything or any skill or any deauxma kink or deauxma quirk I could add it. She spoke the perfect words (I had written them into the program), made the perfect gestures, and even simulated cumming at deauxma the precise moment I deauxma did. The fantasy that we always deauxmadiarymilf satisfied deauxma each other perfectly was absolutely perfect. She didn't have dear diary a favorite hole or position. She gave diary perfect head. She gave a cold metal dear diary tit fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were those diary of deauxma the perfect artist, shaping me like Michaelangelo deauxmadiarymilf in diary clay. When she was done I was always a marble masterpiece. A dear diary spire, honoring the gods of sex. And diary thereby an alter at which she could robotically worship. She was perfect with deauxmadiarymilf every food and its uses in bed. She was dom, she was slave, she was robot, she milf was dolly, she was painted canvas dear, she was a leather biker bitch (if I wanted); she was a conquered or conquering deauxma warrior princess, she was a goddess deauxmadiarymilf, she deauxma was in deauxma suspended animation, she was some strange deauxma alien nymphomaniac, she was deauxma a rubber and latex slave, she was a brainless beach bunny, she was a rape victim, she was a slut, she deauxma was a little school girl licking deauxmadiarymilf a lolly, she was a wind-up toy, she was kinky, she was straight, she liked it when I diary brought playmates home for her and me deauxma, she liked things in her ass, she drank me like I deauxma was fine wine, she sold herself on street corners deauxmadiarymilf and gave me the money deauxma, she dear masturbated herself so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine site. She was the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what she wanted to be deauxmadiarymilf. We were living the fantasy. And it was pure deauxma hell.... We were damned.
 But I diary have not deauxmadiarymilf seen the slightest hint that the spark deauxma of diary life remains. In all the years since, she is deauxma the sum dear diary of dear diary her program and nothing more. I have watched for the deauxma slightest spontaneity. It is deauxmadiarymilf absent. She remains milf perfect. And I remain a helpless deauxma master deauxma. A slave that maintains her slavery. I can do nothing else dear. I am a monster. The monster she begged me deauxma to be diary. The lonely monster outside of society. The creature that loathes itself. The thing that deauxma must forever destroy diary what it loves. Because it loves it and can do nothing else. Because it is... asked diary.
 It was funny how I found only deauxma loneliness and despair in perfection. The deauxma thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore off deauxmadiarymilf. All things lose some "intensity" in time. I had deauxma done deauxmadiarymilf it all a dozen times deauxmadiarymilf. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that we used to do together. It got to be work. An deauxma effort. Having to cue every prompt made me more deauxma like a diary stage director than dear diary a lover. And diary afterwards I missed the warmth dear of that satisfied deauxma cuddle. The simple warmth of her body. A diary few words or sounds of actual REAL contentment. Most of the time now, she deauxma simply stopped when the program did deauxma. Or worse went diary through the predictable deauxma motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
 I wanted diary her comfort. Her love. And even though it is hard diary for a man to admit: sometimes sympathy site when the day didn't go right. Small talk. The little deauxma intangible things one can only get from someone diary who really cares, senses our dear secret deauxma needs. The warmth of someone who deauxmadiarymilf cares. The frailty , the pain they feel FOR US when diary they dear diary can't help, but this diary itself helps. All this was gone. What was missing was affection, love. Love love love... even deauxma macho guys really need it. Not deauxmadiarymilf something coldly, logically responding to physiological signs or outward dear cues based on preset diary preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken diary down into site data site.
 Years deauxmadiarymilf passed. No one took her place. All deauxma that stuff deauxma about one true love diary, an irreplaceable soulmate is deauxmadiarymilf true. And I deauxmadiarymilf gutted mine deauxma like an diary old building site needing renovation. Yet she remained; a dear shiny perfect reminder, a monolith site, a deauxma gravemarker. A tombstone with three words only: "I love you".
My Friends Hot Mom Deauxma The My Friends Hot Mom Deauxma Teacher
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Milf Squirt
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Diary Teresa Cruiser To Deauxma The Rescue
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The Jpg Yemmens Deauxma Stone Deauxma I The First Stone Deauxma
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Beach Milf
Deauxmadiarymilf An Deauxma Accidental Abduction Diary
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The Hermaphrodite Deauxma
Milf Meeting Diary Alexandra
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Brunette Milf
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Deauxma Remote Deauxma Control
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Screen Deauxmadiarymilf Test
E Diary
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