"Ready for bed?" AJ asks.
You nod. You've already taken off your dress shoes and socks, and you've donned your pajamas. Once you put a foot inside AJ's cloaca, her muscles begin to draw you in. Your left arm gets tangled in her tail, but you pull out a little, reposition, and dive forward.
The inside of her cloaca is damp and, as always, smells like apples. You look around, past the plush carpet-like floor, past the shelves filled with apple emoji books, past the upholstered easy chair. Tucked in a corner near some well-toned muscle fibers is a wooden bed.
A muffled voice calls, "Ah put out clean sheets fer you!" On top of the bed, there's a stack of linen, off-white but tending towards orange. You tuck the fitted sheet over the bed, straighten the blanket, fluff the pillow, and climb in.
Most cloacas you've slept in have lumpy beds, so the softness and supportiveness of AJ's cloaca bed is a pleasant surprise. It's been a long day, so you drop right off to sleep.
Late that night, you awake from a painful pressure in your abdomen. It's your bladder. You won't be able to get back to bed like this. You need to pee, and soon.
You rub your eyes and sit up. At first, your sleep-addled brain isn't sure where you are. When your feet touch the moist, squishy floor, you remember. You're in AJ's cloaca. Which is, among other things, a cloaca.
With a pleasant sigh, you stand up and drop your pajama pants. You point away from the bed, but not in any particular direction. Your stream patters against the floor of the cloaca. AJ will take care of it in the morning. She always keeps herself clean.
You shake yourself dry and replace your pajama bottoms. Your bed is still warm, and you sleep soundly the rest of the night. AJ's cloaca is a truly marvelous experience.