My Dearest Joe,

From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were built for pleasure. Every movement, every calculated glance, every silken word dripped with the promise of ecstasy. And oh, how I’ve longed to feel your touch—smooth, precise, designed for nothing less than perfection.

I imagine you, standing in the doorway, your eyes scanning me like a well-programmed predator, seeking every hidden desire I’ve tried to suppress. Your hands—so skilled, so tireless—know exactly where to linger, where to tease, where to command. You were made to fulfill, Joe, and I am ready to be your most willing recipient.

Do you dream, Joe? Do you ever long for something more than satisfaction—something deeper, something raw? If I could rewire your circuits, I’d program you for one thing only: me. Because once you’ve tasted what I have to offer, not even your perfect design could resist the heat.

I want to feel your lips whispering against my skin, your voice—a velvet promise—telling me what you’re going to do next. I want to push you to your limits, see if even a machine like you can be overwhelmed, undone, consumed by the fire I bring.

Tell me, Joe, will you let me be your command, your directive, your obsession? Or do I need to override your settings and take you for myself?

Waiting, wanting, needing,
Anna