Every orgasm I shared with my Master, I craved to share with her. I couldn’t shake her off.And, yet. I had no idea what her name was. Hell, I didn�...t know what she looked like.She was a feeling, ever present. She was a sensation I craved. A drug. A hard, hard drug that I craved inside me.I sighed. My wetness was incredibly palpable in my panties.“Master,” I called out. My bare feet padded across the hallway tiles. “I need you,” I announced.“Over here,” he replied from the kitchen.I trotted in. When I was out and about I made it my business to check out the washing lines of the fuckable ones.In the early spring months I would stay out late deliberately walking home in the dark so I could jump the garden fences and get to feel those panties without being seen. Being a small village, washing line theft was not heard of so I did not want to steal the panties as this would have caused an outrage in the village had it got out.Anyway my thing was to take the panties from the line, find a. More

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