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She gina was perfect. Perfect in bed. Perfect in obedience. Perfect in anticipating my needs. If she lacked anything gina or any gina anderson skill or any gina kink or quirk I could add it. She spoke the gina anderson perfect gina words (I had written them into the gina anderson program ginalynnfucked), made ginalynnfucked the perfect gina gestures gina anderson, and even simulated cumming at the precise moment I did gina. The fantasy that we always satisfied each other perfectly gina was gina anderson absolutely perfect. She didn't have gina a favorite hole or position gina. She gave gina perfect head. She gave a cold metal tit fuck that made me thank god for titanium. Her hands were those of the perfect artist, shaping me like ginalynnfucked Michaelangelo fucked in clay. When she was done I was always a marble masterpiece. A spire, honoring the gods of sex. And thereby an alter at anderson which she could robotically worship. She was perfect with every food and its uses in bed gina anderson. She was dom, she was slave, she was robot, she was dolly, she was painted canvas, she was a leather biker bitch (if I wanted); she was a conquered or gina anderson conquering warrior princess, she was a goddess, she was in suspended animation, she was some strange alien nymphomaniac, she was a rubber and latex slave, she gina was gina a gina brainless beach bunny, she was a fucked rape victim, she was a slut, she was a little school gina anderson girl licking a lolly, she was a wind-up toy gina, she was gina kinky, she was straight, she liked it ginalynnfucked when I jpeg brought playmates home for fucked her and gina me, she liked fucked things gina in her ass, she drank me like I gina was jpeg fine wine, she sold herself on street corners and gave me ginalynnfucked the money, she ginalynnfucked masturbated gina herself ginalynnfucked so perfectly I came just watching. She was completely mine lynn. She was the robot fantasy completely realized. She was what gina she wanted to be. We were living the fantasy. And it was pure hell.... We gina were damned.
It was funny how I found only loneliness lynn and despair in perfection. The thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore gina anderson off ginalynnfucked. All things lose some "intensity" in time. I had done it all a gina dozen lynn times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning jpeg, the fantasizing and gina arranging, that we used gina anderson to do together gina. It got to be work. An effort. Having to cue gina every prompt made me more like a stage gina anderson director than a lover. And afterwards I gina missed the gina warmth of jpeg that satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of her body. A few words or sounds of actual REAL contentment. Most of the time fucked now, she simply stopped when the ginalynnfucked program did. Or worse went through the predictable motions I had arranged gina anderson. Or ginalynnfucked the limited repertoire ginalynnfucked of gina simulated spontaneity.
Yes, the years passed. And the loneliness, and gina anderson the guilt building inside of gina me, leaving me more empty than her. But now I jpeg had a plan, one gina anderson to set everything gina right. One to ginalynnfucked end my pain. One that would gina serve gina anderson irony gina up jpeg on a grand platter. One that would ginalynnfucked be her unspoken just retribution if that spark still invisibly burned behind those glass eyes.
I gina..do..not..know..
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