Inch by inch it drabbled closer to the weekend, and Mister was restless. His thirst for intimacy with her is real. Their friendship was a feast or famine sort of situation. She planned it this way just to prick-torture her man named Mister. She diabolically planned out the when’s and wheres, whereas he just came along for the ride. Whenever she planned it to occur, his Miss would always take from him all that she can have. Miss’s restraint made her Orgasmic releases pure fucking heaven with hours of after-effects of from what goes down. They both felt is was a “devil went down to Georgia, Looking for a soul to steal” kind routine that kept them strongly bonded.
She knew she owned his fucking soul, and so did he, and Mister did not care that he was pussy-whipped and completely owned by his Boss-Bitch. He was not about to tell her that, but then again, he knew, she knew. 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! Yet still, Mister and Miss are Chess pieces that deliberately control each other’s give and take ! ! !
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