Let’s make one thing clear: you would not fuck me better than a fuck machine. In fact, you’d probably be worse. A fuck machine doesn’t talk, doesn’t have needs, it just does its job again and again. With you, I’d be lucky to feel even a hint of orgasm. Your cock would not bring me any pleasure. But it isn’t meant for pleasure; it’s there for goddesses like me to humiliate you. It’s pathetic. That’s why I want every kind of fuck machine. I want handheld ones, gigantic ones, statement pieces that look like art in my living room. Buying me a fuck machine is the best you could do for my pleasure, because you’d never get the chance to even try. I could go on and on and on.