It was funny how I found only loneliness and despair in perfection. The thrill girl of the fantasy , its novelty, soon wore off. All things lesbiangirl lose some "intensity" in time. I had done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking lesbiangirl, the lesbian planning, the fantasizing and arranging, that lesbian we used to do together. It got to be work lesbiangirl. An effort. Having to cue every girl prompt made me girl more like a stage director than a lesbian lover. And afterwards I missed the warmth of that lesbian satisfied cuddle. The simple warmth of her lesbian body. A few words or sounds of lesbiangirl actual REAL contentment. Most of the time now lesbian, she pics simply stopped lesbiangirl when the program did. Or worse went through the predictable girl motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
Years passed. No one took her place. All that stuff about lesbian one true love, an irreplaceable soulmate is true. And I gutted mine like an lesbiangirl old building needing renovation. Yet she lesbiangirl remained; a shiny perfect reminder, a monolith, a lesbian gravemarker. A tombstone with three lesbian words only: "I love lesbiangirl you".
A dozen needles plunging mercilessly into my manhood to hold me lesbian inside her forever. Behold the man. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into lesbiangirl me as she took her turn pumping lesbiangirl me lesbian full. The chemicals blurred lesbian my mind. She girl begins to lesbiangirl tell me how I girl will serve. What my function will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum of girl her program. I am ready for robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to be submerged in a lesbiangirl prison of steel. Helpless like she was once. I girl wonder if my soul will be able to escape this unliving coffin. If lesbiangirl I can escape then maybe she lesbian too was freed long ago. Somehow this lesbian does not lesbian ease my mind. I do not believe lesbiangirl it. I think I lesbian know I have damned lesbian us both to a soulless steel eternity. But still lesbian hope she escaped. I girl feel her begin to make the alterations , adding hardware, inserting things, giving injections, preparing the program to run lesbiangirl. The process is well underway lesbian. She pumps me full of all the things I used on her. Irony and steel. Microchips come to life and now unnecessary synapses burn out. The lesbian smell of burning flesh and fading humanity pervades the room. She lesbian will make me like her. She has been programmed. She is everything I hoped she would be, and now I had to pay for making her so perfect. All mad scientists lesbiangirl must invariably end the same way. This too is an ironic cliche. A delicious one.
She is working lesbiangirl on my brain now. I lesbian thank her pics again while I still can pics. Whoever she is I (feel?) I should thank her for (something?). Her cold eyes do not respond but none lesbian-the lesbian-less somehow I lesbian vaguely understand that justice has been served. She rips out more girl parts I will no longer need. Replaces them lesbian with lesbian wiring and circuit lesbiangirl boards. The last thing I ever remember is the sweet I girl..ron girl..ic agony of having the main girl control interface drilled lesbian and girl then injected painfully into girl the base lesbian of my skull. Do lesbian machines scream lesbian?
I..do..not..know..
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