Ronda and the MILF Ronda Gives a Breast Massage

Cynthia found herself alone with Ronda, the house quiet save for the robot's soft whirring as it dusted the shelves with uncanny precision. She watched it work, her curiosity growing. There was something oddly comforting and domestic about its presence, its human-like form moving with a grace she hadn't expected. By mid-afternoon, her back ached as it often does due to a lifetime of bearing heavy breasts. She sighed, idly squeezing her shoulders.

"Ronda," she said, her voice tentative, almost idle. "Can you give me a massage?"

Ronda turned to her. "I am indeed programmed to assist with physical relief," she replied, her tone warm but artificial. "Please sit."