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