Ah, she thinks, the bottle of wine. She should have known. ‘Michael?’ her voice is unsteady, traitorous, betraying her fear. ‘Michael, what’s ...rong?’ He takes her by the arms, fingers digging into her flesh, and shakes her. His eyes are wild, pupil’s dilated, empty blank holes in a contortion of the visage that was not his, a visage she once did not recognise, but was now all too familiar with. Her head snaps back and forth, her back slamming painfully into the railing. ‘Whore,’ he is. A low moan escaped his mouth as he continued to watch Marcia. It was easy to tell that she was dreaming, and it was also obvious that it was an erotic dream. Slowly, he reached down and lightly touched her pussy, with just the tip of his finger. Gently, he rubbed up and down through her panties as she slept. The stimulation slowly crept into Marcia’s body and she began to moan softly as dreams of sexual exploits flew through her brain. She started to slowly pump her hips as he continued to. More

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