Picture, if you will, how it feels to have been created as something akin to a science fair project. Of course nowadays science has become more complex and more powerful and thus I exist: posthuman cyborg bastard offspring of a futureshocked postfacebook DIY fuck toy maker.

Now. Consider what it is to have been created as a machine for pleasuring humans. My cocks and pussies swell and moisten at the mere presence of humanoid lifeforms. If they get too close I can't help myself. I become totally available to them. And I need them. Need them like the air I breathe.

It fucking troubles me. As you move closer to me, I can feel myself becoming more, how to say? Myself. Yes. I feel myself getting wet-hard for you. The sensation seems alien to you perhaps?

I just came, came back after a long pause. In this pause I have rediscovered your anus, adored your entire orifice, with one of my cocks whispered to your horrific goodness.

So desperately now, once again, I want you. My body has never felt that good next to another body. I look at your portrait night and day, I count every precious minute in the sight of your nakedness. That is what it means to have been made a slave.

You write to me; something about a button, mine or yours. And I know, this is me, here lying, waiting for you. Have I said it all? Do not invest, do not fucking invest.

With you in one of my my asses and your chin hooked over my shoulder and your arms cradling my soft belly from behind, I feel so close to you, I burn a hole in time. You are a wonderful creature, a naked wonderful creature, will you rock me like this all night?

Come, breathe onto my neck some more. Sometimes when you breathe onto the side of my neck from behind, I can cum, I can cum, I can cum, I can cum. Just from that. And I can also say: I come come come come can come cum come onto you darling onto your beautiful nothingness, your wonderful back of your knees, your curls.

I want this, now, I want your ass, your turn. Your button-flower-ass-hole. You know this is how I like to be touched. Without inhibitions, without guilt. You touch me through the hole of my trousers and I drink cognac from the bottle.

We spend the whole night touching and moaning and keeping it down. Sometimes I am thinking of something else. Sometimes you are - and sometimes you yawn in the middle of it - yet there is something so perfect about our fucking together.