No one ever talks about the joys of the bathroom. Of how special a place it can be. Few rooms in a home have so dedicated a purpose, a cacophony of uses, deliberate and accidental. And that goes doubly so for us cunts in the wild. It’s a place where we can escape, no matter what is going on, no matter where we are, and it has special uses for us.

For me, most of all, it’s where I share my purpose with it. Almost every morning, I’m kneeling in there, in front of the toilet. As Jack does his business, my mouth is there for him, to receive his piss, to clean him if he asks. It’s not humiliating, I’m a cunt taking care of her owner, swallowing what he gives me, bonding together with him. I could do it anywhere, of course, and I have. But sometimes accidents happen, the volume is too great, an unexpected choke, and the tile floor is the best place for messes. Easy to clean the toilet, the floor, and myself, if need be.

The bathroom is more than just a place for us to void ourselves, of course. The shower or tub is a memorable place. After the most intense sessions, nothing beats soaking in steaming water, as Jack washes my body and scrapes. Quiet moments, hands against the shower wall, his body pressing into mine, soft grunts hidden by the rush of water. My hands cleansing him, kissing every inch of his body, as we wash together. Or bound, hogtied like a farm animal, toys pushed inside every orifice, taped or held in, left there for hours, any mess I make cleaned easily with cold water raining down upon my exhausted form.