She gritted her teeth and raised up her courage and forced her neck down to see the obscenity her eyes would not move to encompass within sight.

Finally the object of desire came into her heated view. When she saw it she heard the blasting burst of an army of trumpets.

Lightning's two-foot-long cock lay throbbing on his upturned belly. It was a magnificent cock.

It shocked her to the quick at the mere sight of it. Now that her gaze was fastened upon it she had to touch it.

But every time she groped for it the cock would escape her grasp. She became frantic and lunged at it with both hands.

But she could not touch it. It was a dream. You cannot touch dreams. The sense of touch must be enacted in the real world.

She woke up. She was hanging off the side of her big bed. Her satin sheets had been kicked off during her reverie.

She was covered in sweat. The yearning desire for Lightning's massive cock pulsed through her now, even while awake.

But her consciousness would not let her believe that she desired it so. She wiped her forehead of its perspiration.

She walked around the room trying to regain her former perspective on things that the dream had just usurped.

She convinced herself that it was only a dream and had nothing to do with the real world. It was just a dream.

Melanie was a bright girl. Her talent and grace had as much to do with her sense of beauty as did her voluptuous body.

Deep in her heart she knew that the dream was an expression of something she wanted very much in the real world.

But the love of an animal, especially one with a sexually spicing allure to it, was not something one breathed to another living soul.

And if one did not confess her aims to the outer world by communicating with a living soul the only outlet left was her dreams.

As smart as she was, her conscience would not let the image of love for her Lightning become a goal that she would actively seek.