Blair Rewards you

“What have you done? You filthy animal.”

Blair’s words cut through your haze. You hadn’t heard her enter. Is she a dream? No. She’s there. Standing over you. Looking like a goddess, in her sports top and lycra shorts. Even in disgust she’s beautiful. Blue eyes blazing. Nose crinkled at the smell.

She’s tentative in releasing you from your bonds, avoiding the bed. She unlocks the chains from the bed rather than you from the chains.

“Release yourself,” she tells you. “I’ll have to get you a colostomy bag for next time.”

Next time? No, don’t worry about that. With arms free you can pull the cuffs away. Massage your wrists and ankles. Sit up. The sheets stick to your skin; you have to peel yourself away. Every movement is stiff and awkward and accompanied with a groan.

“Come on, you need to get this sorted out.”

Blair chides you off the bed. She throws your duvet and pillows into a corner. You pull the sheets off, trying to avoid the worst damp patches on it. Then you work on the mattress protector. It is an extra absorbent one, designed for those who regularly have accidents in bed. None of your urine has soaked through into the mattress. Fantastic.

You take the mattress protector to the main bathroom, the one you barely use, and chuck it into the bath. You take the sheets and carry them downstairs, and throw them into the washing machine, then turn it on.

Back in the bedroom you find a naked Blair. God, she’s beautiful.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can have your reward.”

She ushers you into the bathroom and into the shower. There she uses the shower gel and a towel to wash your back, while handing you squirts to wash your groin. She’s thorough. And only when she declares you clean does she allow you to touch her naked body. God, her tits have been calling to you from the moment you both stepped under the cascade of water. Each time you’d tried to reach them, she’d slapped your hands away. No longer. Now you can grasp them, feel their weight. Now you can knead them, feel how your fingers sink into the wet flesh, feel how hard her nipples have become.

She turns off the shower. She looks into your eyes. “Your reward is you get to decide how you take this.” Her fingers run over her slit. “Any way you want. This morning it’s all yours. Just tell me when you’re close. No shooting it inside me. today”

How you want it, is her pressed against the glass of the shower, her ass thrust out behind her, her knees slightly bent to give you access. Access you’re quick to claim. You thrust up into her. Lying a night in your dried piss is worth it for this reward. Her hot, wet pussy clamped down on your tumescent shaft. Her pussy, her body, yours momentarily to control. The slap of your groin against her padded ass a wonderful drumbeat. Her moans of acceptance the main tune.

When her hands start to beat against the glass you know you’ve hit a tender spot inside her. You don’t let up. You drive yourself on, through aching limbs, through swimming head, until her orgasm hits. She shrieks. She hammers the glass until you fear it’ll shatter. Around your cock her pussy spasms. You pull out, releasing her juices to the world.

Then you spin her round. Now her back is against the glass of the shower. You lift one leg. You thrust your cock back where it belongs, inside her. Her moans, momentarily silenced as you left her, start off again. You send your face diving into her tits, sucking on the flesh of her breasts, your tongue darting out to flick her nipples. Her second orgasm is quicker to summon than her first. She clings to you when it happens. She screeches into your ear, almost deafening you.

“I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum,” you shout in her own.

She’s quick, but uncoordinated. She pulls herself off you, staggers out of the shower, reaches for a pot on the side. You’d noticed it there but hadn’t had time to examine it. She must have put it there earlier. She unscrews it. Then holds the pot as she reaches out for your cock. It’s filled with a thick, white cream. No, the pot says yoghurt. It’s filled with yoghurt.

Her handjob technique is fast and furious, and your balls already close to boiling have no chance. You release with a grunt and groan. She catches each spurt in the yoghurt, pumping you until you’re dry. Squeezing the last drop into the pot, where your cum sits on top, a less opaque white gel compared to the fully white yoghurt. She steps away, picks up a spoon, and stirs your cum into the yoghurt.

You look at her confused. “This is my breakfast for this week,” she informs you. “So that every breakfast I’ll taste you.” She finishes stirring and places the spoon in her mouth. “Delicious. I’ll definitely enjoy breakfasts this week.” Then she finds the lid and screws it back on.

Then she pushes you back into the shower, switches it on, and you both clean yourselves. Only then do you grab a towel, dry yourselves and get dressed.

“This was a fun weekend. Shame we can’t repeat it for while. I’d stay here all day, but Giggsy needs my attention.”

She kisses you and then leaves you, exhausted, satisfied, exhilarated, completely lost.