Inch by inch it drabbled closer to the weekend, and Mister was restless. His thirst was for her sex was a feast or famine sort of situation. She planned it this way just to torture her Mister with her prick tease kind of ways. She would rather take from him all that she could, yet her restraint made her Orgasms pure fucking heaven with after-effects of “the devil went down to Georgia, Looking for a soul to steal” kind routine. She knew she owned his fucking soul, and so did he. But Mister did not care that he was pussy-whipped and completely owned by Miss Boss-Bitch. He was not about to tell her that, but then again, he knew, she already got the idea that he was. It was not what he said, more than it was what he did; he paid attention to her every need, want and desire without being told. He instinctively knew what she wanted, and that made their undeniable connection shiver-burn with absolute blood rushing thrills of holy, fucking fuck! Yet still, Mister and Miss were Chess pieces that deliberately controlled their own moves, but destiny ! ! !