I wanted 50 bag farts gift old over her comfort. Her love old. And even though it is hard for a old man old to admit: sometimes sympathy when the day didn old't go right. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares, senses our secret needs. The bag warmth of someone who cares. The frailty oldfartsyoungtarts , the pain they feel FOR US when they can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone. What old was missing was affection, love. Love love love... even gift macho guys really need it. Not something coldly, logically over responding to physiological signs or outward old cues based 50 on preset preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional old companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into data.
Yes, the bag years passed. And the loneliness, and the guilt building oldfartsyoungtarts inside of old me, leaving me more empty than old her. But now I tarts had a old plan, one old to set everything oldfartsyoungtarts right. One bag to end my pain oldfartsyoungtarts. One that would serve irony up on a grand platter bag. One that would be her unspoken just retribution old if that spark still invisibly burned behind those glass eyes.
A dozen needles plunging mercilessly into my manhood to hold me 50 bag farts gift old over inside her forever. Behold old the old man old. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me 50 bag farts gift old over as she old took her turn pumping me bag full. The chemicals blurred old my mind 50. She begins to tell oldfartsyoungtarts me how farts I will serve. What my function will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum of her program. I am ready for old robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to be submerged in a prison of steel. Helpless like she was once 50 bag farts gift old over. I wonder if old my soul will be able 50 bag farts gift old over to tarts escape this unliving coffin. If I can escape then maybe she old too was freed long gift ago. Somehow this does not ease my mind. I do not believe it. I oldfartsyoungtarts think I know gift I have damned us both to a soulless steel free eternity. But still hope she escaped. I oldfartsyoungtarts feel her begin to make the alterations oldfartsyoungtarts, adding hardware oldfartsyoungtarts, inserting things oldfartsyoungtarts, giving injections, preparing the program to run. The process 50 bag farts gift old over is tarts well underway. She 50 pumps me full of all the things I old used on her. Irony and steel. Microchips come to free life and now unnecessary synapses burn out. The smell of burning flesh and fading humanity pervades the room. She will make oldfartsyoungtarts me like her. She has been tarts programmed. She is everything I hoped she young would be 50 bag farts gift old over, and now I had tarts to tarts pay oldfartsyoungtarts for making her so perfect. All mad scientists must invariably end the same oldfartsyoungtarts way tarts. This too is an ironic cliche tarts. A gift delicious one.
I wanted 50 bag farts gift old over her comfort. Her love old. And even though it is hard for a old man old to admit: sometimes sympathy when the day didn old't go right. Small talk. The little intangible things one can only get from someone who really cares, senses our secret needs. The bag warmth of someone who cares. The frailty oldfartsyoungtarts , the pain they feel FOR US when they can't help, but this itself helps. All this was gone. What old was missing was affection, love. Love love love... even gift macho guys really need it. Not something coldly, logically over responding to physiological signs or outward old cues based 50 on preset preprogrammed lines of code.. Love and emotional old companionship were qualities that couldn't be broken down into data.
Yes, the bag years passed. And the loneliness, and the guilt building oldfartsyoungtarts inside of old me, leaving me more empty than old her. But now I tarts had a old plan, one old to set everything oldfartsyoungtarts right. One bag to end my pain oldfartsyoungtarts. One that would serve irony up on a grand platter bag. One that would be her unspoken just retribution old if that spark still invisibly burned behind those glass eyes.
A dozen needles plunging mercilessly into my manhood to hold me 50 bag farts gift old over inside her forever. Behold old the old man old. Judgment. Acid fire pumping into me 50 bag farts gift old over as she old took her turn pumping me bag full. The chemicals blurred old my mind 50. She begins to tell oldfartsyoungtarts me how farts I will serve. What my function will be. She will not release me. She is merciless. She is the sum of her program. I am ready for old robotization. Ready for revenge. Ready to be submerged in a prison of steel. Helpless like she was once 50 bag farts gift old over. I wonder if old my soul will be able 50 bag farts gift old over to tarts escape this unliving coffin. If I can escape then maybe she old too was freed long gift ago. Somehow this does not ease my mind. I do not believe it. I oldfartsyoungtarts think I know gift I have damned us both to a soulless steel free eternity. But still hope she escaped. I oldfartsyoungtarts feel her begin to make the alterations oldfartsyoungtarts, adding hardware oldfartsyoungtarts, inserting things oldfartsyoungtarts, giving injections, preparing the program to run. The process 50 bag farts gift old over is tarts well underway. She 50 pumps me full of all the things I old used on her. Irony and steel. Microchips come to free life and now unnecessary synapses burn out. The smell of burning flesh and fading humanity pervades the room. She will make oldfartsyoungtarts me like her. She has been tarts programmed. She is everything I hoped she young would be 50 bag farts gift old over, and now I had tarts to tarts pay oldfartsyoungtarts for making her so perfect. All mad scientists must invariably end the same oldfartsyoungtarts way tarts. This too is an ironic cliche tarts. A gift delicious one.