But I have 1 not seen the slightest hint that 1on1housewifefree the spark of life remains 1on1housewifefree. In all on the years since, she is the sum of her program and 1 nothing more. I have 1on1housewifefree watched on for the 1on1housewifefree slightest 1 spontaneity. It is absent. She remains free perfect. And 1 I remain a helpless master. A slave that maintains her slavery. I can 1 do nothing 1 else. I am a monster 1. The monster she begged me to be. The lonely monster outside of society. The creature that on loathes itself. The thing that must forever destroy what on it loves. Because it loves it and can do nothing else. Because it is... asked.
It 1 was funny how I found only loneliness and 1on1housewifefree despair 1 in perfection. The 1 thrill of the fantasy , its novelty, soon on wore off. All things lose some "intensity" in time. I had 1 done it all a dozen times. It simply got boring; doing all the thinking, the planning 1on1housewifefree, the fantasizing 1on1housewifefree and arranging, that we used to do free together. It got 1 to be work. An effort. Having to cue 1 every prompt on made me more like a 1 stage director than a free lover. And afterwards I missed 1on1housewifefree the warmth of that satisfied cuddle. The simple 1 warmth of her body. A few words or 1 sounds 1 of actual REAL contentment. Most of 1on1housewifefree the time now, she simply stopped when the program did. Or worse went through join the 1on1housewifefree predictable motions I had arranged. Or the limited repertoire of simulated spontaneity.
I couldn't decide which 1on1housewifefree idea was worse. That she was completely gone join or that some small part of her was still trapped in 1 there experiencing the same things I 1on1housewifefree was. If she 1 was in there looking out it was worse than on any prolonged death. I knew, I was looking join in. In my 1on1housewifefree shame. In my pain, in my free loneliness. Into her robot corpse.
A on dozen needles plunging mercilessly into 1 my manhood to hold me inside her 1 forever. Behold the man. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me as she took on her turn pumping me full. The chemicals blurred my mind. She begins to tell me how I will serve 1. What my join function will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum of her program. I am ready for robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to 1on1housewifefree be submerged in a prison of on steel. Helpless 1 like on she was once. I wonder if my soul will be able to escape this unliving coffin. If I 1 can escape then maybe she too was freed 1 long ago 1. Somehow this does not ease my mind. I do not 1 believe it. I 1 think I know I on have damned us both to a soulless steel eternity. But still hope she escaped. I feel her begin to make the join alterations, adding hardware, inserting things, giving injections, preparing the program to run. The process is well underway. She pumps me full of all 1 the on things I used on her. Irony and steel. Microchips come to life and now unnecessary synapses burn out. The join smell of burning flesh and fading humanity 1on1housewifefree pervades the room. She will make me like her. She has been programmed. She 1on1housewifefree is everything I 1 hoped 1on1housewifefree she would 1 be, and now I had to pay for making her so perfect. All mad scientists free must invariably end 1on1housewifefree the same way. This too is an ironic cliche. A delicious one.
She is working on my brain now. I thank her again 1 while I still can. Whoever she is I (feel?) I should thank her for (something ?). Her 1 cold eyes do not 1 respond but none -the-less somehow I vaguely understand that justice has been served. She rips out more parts 1on1housewifefree I will no longer need. Replaces them with wiring and circuit boards on. The last on thing I ever remember is the sweet I..ron..ic agony of having the main control interface drilled and then injected painfully into the base of my skull. Do machines scream?
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