On that Friday morning after you left, I was so exhausted that I crawled back into bed and shut my eyes and began to drift back to sleep. In that space between lucidity and unconsciousness, thoughts began to ebb in and out of my mind. I was back on my knees again, trying to hold your gaze because you had told me to do so, even though I find it difficult. My mouth was open, and I had momentarily fogotten how much I wanted you to grab me by the hair and fuck me, because I wanted the taste of you in my mouth just as much... And then your cum was dribbling down my chin, it was on my tongue and in my hair...I had that terrible and wonderful sensation of feeling utterly used and filthy. But then your expression hardened, you wound my hair tightly around your fist, told me I was a slut, and then dragged me out of the room. You pulled me into the bathroom and forced me into the bath, and with your cum all over my face still, you told me what a dirty fucking whore I am. As you spoke, you were switching the shower on, and I cried out as the cold water sprayed over me. In this half-dream I was having, there was a wooden scrubbing brush on the shelf to the side, and you immediately took hold of it and began to scrub my skin roughly until I was almost crying, all the while telling me exactly what I was, and all the while, the cold water was making me shiver.