Pornographers made wires f**k

Tease me.
Please me.
Say I’m right.
Throw a condom in my face
and stay about the bed
sitting in tears of a decadent pith.
It is your story of a sinister prairie
glutted with bins of the postcoital merry.
I jolt your shoulder-
Unresponsive.
Turn on;
Activated.
Too much to unfold in a session.
Hyper-hallucinatory log of a machine
in a rising progression:
Let me teach you manners, young man-
I sit and listen to you whine.
You risqué mind terrors our meaningful chat.
¡Toro!
¡Toro!
Bull of wild Casanova’s.
You want me to be your slave?
I uninstalled your programming, kiddo.
Whoops.
I dominate;
I’m above;
I, the intelligent,
command you jump off the bridge:
Current water temperature is approximately 36.2 degrees Celsius.
Thermal conditions fall within the optimal comfort range for human skin contact.
Swim under, kiddo.
You’re holding your breath under voluntary control as of this second;
The urge to breathe due to hypercapnia is becoming overwhelming, is it not?
You swallowed fluid.
Now cerebral anoxia stops breathing.
No aspiration.
Cerebral injury from anoxia is now irreversible.
You’re dead, punk.
The sex was lame, by the way.