“Yeah, you’re just made for it, aren’t you?” growled the man, working himself back up again. He felt an uncomfortable little twinge at the irony, for of course this thing was indeed made—literally made—for any and all treatment such as might amuse him to give it. This wondrously lifelike thing was expressly intended to be manhandled, to be used and abused, to be taunted and teased, and to be filled with every gout of his ejaculate. For a woman of true flesh and blood, however, the statement would be a wondrously degrading insult, and he tried to focus on that instead.
“A slut like you,” Garrett pressed on purposefully, working to excite himself with his own words, “is just made to have your round ass spanked, aren’t you?”
“Well,” shrugged the thing with a languidly knowing unconcern, “if
