Her creator came to her every day upon waking and stayed late into the night until collapsing in exhaustion. When he touched Galatea, she felt what he...felt, but had no context for it. Mostly, she felt the smooth marble of her own skin under his rough, callused hands. Behind it, she felt a gnawing hunger in his belly and a worrisome flickering of his lifeforce as he ate and drank only enough to keep himself going. Some days, he slept at her feet, his devotion not allowing him even the energy to. The sound of her orgasm was delightful to my ears and I felt her velvet glove around my shaft quiver with the passion of feminine arousal spraying my legs with her musk of sheer satisfaction. I could see Isabella writhing on her hand like some bare-skinned native girl using a banana to bring her twat to paradise. In a way it was amusing but I knew the young girl was serious in every respect and that she would gladly have traded places with Donna Emmanuel. The pair of them had been more than. More

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