She Soils Her Slave Before Her Shower

Miss Kirsch owns the white bathtub the moment she steps into it. Her slave is already laid out beneath her, latex hood tight, mouth open, the only part of him she needs. Black lace and a leather cap stay on while she decides he gets soiled before she ever turns the water on. He has agreed to be her toilet for this session, and she treats that agreement as settled.

The squat is low and unhurried. Her bare feet brace on the tub edge, her weight stays where she puts it, and his hooded face sits exactly under her. She talks to him the way she talks to something useful. Open. Stay. Stroke. The mess leaves her and becomes his, landing in his mouth, across the shiny mask, and over his chest until the clean tile around them looks wrong. He keeps his hand moving because she has allowed it, filthy and obedient in the same breath.

A glove goes on only so she can be precise. She gathers what she has given him and works it back over the latex, over his lips, down his torso, until slave and bathtub match. Nothing about it is rushed. She leans into the tile with the hood in her lap and finishes by hand, pressing, spreading, keeping his mouth available. He is far dirtier than she was. That is the point. She can shower clean whenever she likes. He stays marked, used, and exactly where she left him.