I’m floating again. Half in, half out. The dream is pure filth—Marcus’s huge c**k stretching me, his hand choking me, his voice calling me his cumdump.
It’s not a dream.
I’m on my back in his bed, legs shoved wide open, completely limp. My nightie is gone. My body is covered in sweat and marks. And he’s f*****g me again—slow, lazy, deep strokes while I lie there unconscious.
“Such a perfect little sleepwalking slut,” he murmurs, voice thick with lust. He pinches my n*****s hard, then leans down to suck one into his mouth, biting just enough to make my unconscious body twitch.
I can feel everything. The thick drag of his c**k pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in with a wet squelch. The way my p***y lips grip him. The constant trickle of c*m leaking out every time he pus
