Chapter 1

Saturday, October 12th, 2013, 9:01 p.m.

Ding-dong! Sara scrambled to the front door and wrenched it open. Her best friend Jake stood outside, bags in hand.

“Dude, come on! Get in here!” Sara said hurriedly. “It’s already on!” She grabbed his free hand, yanked him inside, slammed the door shut and practically dragged him into the living room, almost detaching his arm in the process.

It was one of their regular TV nights together. At least once or twice a week, Sara Kelton and Jake Davis met up to spend some quality time with each other, and with the tube. They alternated who would have whom come over: Sara to Jake’s place one time, Jake to Sara’s the next, and so forth—in this case Jake to Sara’s. Their ritual was the host(ess) would make dinner, and the guest would provide the snacks. Hence, Jake toting the chips, corn nuts and cheese curls.

In the middle of the floor was their sacred blanket. For years they’d simulated having an indoor picnic, neither of them caring much for a visit from hungry bib-clad ants. They kicked off their shoes and sat—or lay—on this massive, plaid red and white tablecloth-looking blanket, remote never more than three or four feet away. The blanket was an absolute must. Besides making things comfier and reducing rug stains, it held a great deal of sentimental value. Besties since childhood and now both at 27, they’d been picnicking on this blanket for close to two decades, the tradition having started at Sara’s old parents’ house. It was also here they engaged in other kiddish activities, such as pillow fights and tickle scuffles—which they occasionally still did as adults. The blanket was getting faded, worn, food-tainted and frayed around the edges, but that only endeared it more to them.

Sometimes they’d have something expressly planned for their viewing pleasure—like this evening—and others they’d just channel-surf. They watched everything: movies, sitcoms, sitdrams, reality shows, news, music videos, documentaries, nature/pet shows, game shows, talk shows, talent shows, often just whatever happened to randomly be on. And semi-usually, after a healthy amount of television and not-so-healthy amount of food, they would both—if only for a short time—fall asleep on their blanket, more often than not using each other for pillows.

Tonight was a special event, to which Sara’d obviously looked very forward. A live concert was being broadcast, performed by her favorite ever pop singer, Velette Voxe, who was on tour promoting her latest album. It was indeed just getting underway as Jake rang the bell. Sara’d already laid out supper—sandwiches and chicken nuggets—by the time he got there.

“You’re late, bro!” Sara assessed, as they plopped themselves down. “What took you so long?”

“Well, excuse the heck outta me very much,” chuckled Jake. “They were doing some kind of event at the church. Some kinda ... I dunno, bake sale or something.”

“A bake sale? At 9:00 at night?”

“Well, I mean, that’s what it looked like. Could’ve been a Saturday night dinner service for all I know. Anyway, yeah, lotta folks on their way there who, let’s face it, aren’t exactly our age, and ... well, you know how fast a lot of ‘em drive.” He ripped open a bag. “Should’ve left earlier, I guess, huh?”

“Ah, yeah,” nodded Sara. “When does it become a rule that your age and how fast you drive can’t add up to more than a hundred?”

They piped down as Velette pranced out on stage. Illuminated by the spotlight, her entrance triggered a deafening collective scream from the first few dozen rows in the amphitheater where she was performing. She shouted an energetic, “GOOD EVENING! HOW THE HELL ARE YA?!!” into the mic. Her band, already on stage, launched into the first number: a hit single called “Can’t You Tell” from the new album. The audience responded with natural enthusiasm and sang along.

Sara worshiped, idolized and was in utter love with Velette. She knew all her songs backwards and forwards—even demos, outtakes and rare recordings that didn’t appear on her records. Velette wrote a lot of songs, and while she was an incredibly talented songstress, only the best material available made it onto the albums. Though she let her fans hear some of her better demos, placing them on singles. And some songs Sara and other fans liked best were only demos and no more. Sara was such a dedicated fanatic, she timed her bites around the music so she could sing along as well.

“Damn, what I’d give to feel those lips on me,” Sara gushed during the current song’s instrumental break.

“She is a hottie a’right,” agreed Jake. “Don’t mind if I do myself.”

“Hey. Hands off, buddy; she’s mine,” grinned Sara. “You already have a girl. Besides, Velette’s gay.”

Velette was Sara’s hero, on a number of levels. It was Velette who made Sara realize her own sexuality. Her teen years were incredibly confusing. But once Sara hit her 20s and Velette Voxe the pop scene, there was no longer any question in the girl’s mind. Velette reminded her of some of the other great Sapphic singers she knew. She had Amy Ray’s hair, Emily Saliers’ voice, Eva Dahlgren’s cheekbones and Melissa Etheridge’s charisma. And Sara fell for her, drop-dead, head over heels over head. The way she masterfully strummed that lucky, lucky guitar, belting those poetic lyrics, in that angelic, super-smoky-hot voice. Sara was unspeakably jealous of that microphone—though probably more envious of the guitar, actually, as it got to go with Velette everywhere and be played by her every night. And she wasn’t just in fan-love with Velette’s work as an artist. Any sane red-blooded chick-chaser could fantasize about her, if nothing else. Sara kept a picture of her on the headboard of her bed, and kissed it every single night without fail. She then normally stroked her fingertips over it and gazed longingly, unable to erase the dream of having Velette Voxe, the queen of her heart in her bed ... in her arms ... in her mouth ... A little voice in her mind whom she hated would repeatedly tell her, “Knock it off; you’re being silly. Come on, she’s a star. She must have thousands of chicks—and dudes—who’d die just to kiss her feet! Forget about her! Move on!”

“I don’t want to move on,” she’d tell the voice. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I like torturing myself wanting her so bad?”

If she had one wish—other than inhaling Velette’s tongue, and ravaging every inch of her idol’s body with every inch of her own—she couldn’t describe how much she’d love to hear Velette sing her the old Starship song, “Sara.” If anybody could deliver it more beautifully than Mickey, it’d be Velette. But, she’d hardly ever seen or heard Velette do a song that wasn’t her own. And even if she did covers, there were millions upon millions of songs in existence, thousands of new ones created every day. Her chances of having that wish granted were one in a ... well, there wasn’t a number high enough. And that many digits was depressing. She had a better chance of winning the lottery, twice, and being struck by lightning, twice, on the way to cash in the ticket.

As for Jake, he’d been dating and getting pretty serious with a blonde Danish woman named Hanna, a few years older than he and Sara, and also very stunning. In fact, the first time Jake showed Sara her picture, she whistled. She joked to him, “Y’know, dude, if I didn’t love you so much, I might just have to steal her from you.” They both liked their women just a bit older, and Hanna was relatively close to Velette’s age. Jake joked back, “If she didn’t love being straight so much, I might just have to let’cha.”

The girlfriend-stealing part was indeed the two of them just kidding with each other, but the love part wasn’t. Their friendship had only solidified more and more in the last fifteen to twenty years. Like most best buddies, they had fights sometimes, but nothing big enough to overcome their mutual fondness. In fact, seven years ago, when Sara discovered she was a lesbian—albeit one of the more daunting things she’d done in her life—her pal Jake was the first person she came out to. She’d been doing some mental (and actual) nail-biting speculating at his reaction. But as soon as she announced, “Jake ... I’m gay,” he automatically hugged her, and told her he loved her just because she was his friend, no matter what. She felt a warm smile lift her face.

“So you don’t think that’s ... y’know, whatever?” she shyly asked.

Jake’s precise answer to this question was, “Oh! Babe, are you kidding? Trust me, the appeal of a hot girl’s not lost on me!”

She laughed. She couldn’t believe she’d been worried in the first place. She was so elated so wanted to cry. Oh, how could I ever doubt Jake? she thought. How could I wonder if he wouldn’t still love me? Jake had since held the proud distinction of being her “lesbro.” One of the best things about their friendship was that both being gynephilic, they had very similar taste in women. So being out either together or alone, they could both keep an eye out to possibly find a cute girl for Sara.

As October progressed, however, it was Jake who found himself with something to be apprehensive about. Sara’s birthday was coming in a few weeks, on November 19th. And he was running out of options for something really nice to get her. Realistically, he knew she didn’t “expect” anything, as usually just hanging together proved sufficient. And taking her out to eat, or to a movie would be a lovely gift in and of itself. It was just that ... well, he didn’t know how she did it, but somehow, year after year, Sara always managed to find something to get Jake for his birthday he never would’ve thought of, but ending up loving. He wanted to be able to return the favor. And he’d made good numerous times in the past. He just really wanted to be able to paint that unduplicable joyful expression on her face. Even though deep down, they both knew the only way he could disappoint her was by completely forgetting. And clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

Birthdays were a big thing with Jake, as was gift-giving in general. He was picky and exacting with himself when it came to finding gifts, and when he dug up something that finally satisfied him, it was a rewarding feeling. All of which was why it was exasperating—not to a lethal extent or anything, just annoying—when he gave a gift and was “thanked” with the standard recipient expression. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” Almost as if rejecting the present. He understood they were being polite and non-presumptuous. But though he never would ... he wanted to say, “Well, y’know what, actually, I did. See, this is what’s typically called a birthday (or Christmas), and we’ve got something known as a tradition...” Sometimes when the givee expressed this sentiment, he amused himself with the idea of shrugging, “Okay,” and yanking it back out of their hands. Though he would never do that either.

As many times as he reminded himself Sara’d hardly be heartbroken if he couldn’t find a monumental blockbuster gift ... this thought was followed every single time by, ... but how proud would I be of myself if I did? For tonight, though, he settled in with her to enjoy the concert. This would be an exceptional evening—for Sara—in that no matter how much they chowed down, she was totally jazzed and pumped watching her heroine knock the crowd’s proverbial socks off, and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a good while no matter what. Had the program been of similar significance to Jake, natch, it would be he who couldn’t sleep. So a bit after 10:30, as the concert was winding to a close, Jake finally yawned and stretched out to lay down and catch a few ‘z’s. Sara retrieved a pillow to slip under his head, took an afghan comforter from the back of her couch, draped it over his body and tucked him in snug. She then turned the volume down, and went to get her headphones.

Sunday, October 13th, 2013, 9:43 a.m.

As last night was a fortuitous Saturday when the concert was on, they were both off work. Shortly after 1:00, when Sara was finally ready to hit the sack, she gave Jake a shake awake so he could drag himself up onto the much comfier couch. They ended up spending the night on each other’s couch pretty often on their TV nights.

Jake logically got up first. He jaunted into the kitchen to get something going for breakfast, another sleepover practice they’d perfected whichever dwelling was involved. He flipped on the radio to a local Top 40 stations to the middle of an all ‘80s weekend, halfway through a Madonna song. He checked out the contents in the fridge and freezer, and pulled out some waffles and sausage.

Sara was still asleep. But a few minutes later, the appetizing scents of hot breakfast wafted into her room, kissed her on the nose and tickled her nostrils. She blinked awake, kicked off the covers and floated out towards the aroma.

Jake heard the footsteps. “Yo, sis,” he called.

“Hi, bro,” she yawned. “What’cha makin’?”

“Waffage.”

“Tops.” She culled a chair from the table and poured herself into it. Already set on the table were utensils, syrup and glasses of milk.

The station returned from commercial. The DJ said something neither of them heard too clearly over the sound of the sausage frying, but subsequently, on came a classic rock ballad Sara recognized within ten seconds. Her knowledge, interest and collection of pop music were staggering, all of which she was very proud. She thought she could discern the melody on the keyboards. But when that inimitable, unmistakable harmonica jumped in and shot up, so did her head with a gasp.

“OhmyGod!” she said. “There it is! Starship! That’s my song!”

Jake looked up from the almost-done sausage. “Oh yeah ... didn’t Mickey write that?”

“No, no, he didn’t actually write it himself, but he named it after his wife Sara, and my parents named me after the song,” she said. She went into vocal mode and started belting it out along with the radio.

“Well, you’re up,” chuckled Jake, fixing the plates.

“God, would I freakin’ love to hear Velette sing this,” Sara exulted. It was one of her all-time favorite songs, for obvious reasons—if not the absolute number one on her list. She had the Knee Deep In The Hoopla album, but she intentionally didn’t play the song very often so its novelty wouldn’t wear off.

“Yeah,” agreed Jake, serving them. “The lady does have a pretty dynamite voice.”

“She has a dynamite everything.” Sara forked one of the links, making a groping gesture with her other hand. “Hell, you saw that rack on her, didn’t ya? I mean, they gotta be at least Cs, right? They make me wish my hands were bigger, know what I mean?”

Sara loved how frankly, honestly and easily she could talk to Jake about how hot other girls were. Jake chuckled along, but under the table he crossed his legs, girl-style, even though she couldn’t see the ... excitement she was giving him, with her girl-girl titty talk. Hey, stop that, he told himself. The whole reason she’s telling you this is ‘cause it doesn’t have to be weird between you, and ‘cause you can relate. She’s your friend, for heck’s sake. You’re not supposed to be turned on by your friend. Thankfully, Sara stopped talking about Velette’s tits, and returned to singing along with the song. And Jake’s “excitement” softened away.

Breakfast was concluded. They tidied up, and Jake got his shoes and jacket. They folded the blanket, which Jake also took with him for next time. “All right, Sare,” he hugged her. “Love ya, babe, see ya later.”

“Love you too, dude,” she said.

Halfway back out to his car, he stopped for a second.

Aha.

Sunday, October 13th, 2013, 10:18 p.m.

Another twelve hours later, and another day well-spent. Sara had some shopping to do, another errand or three, and a little housework to take care of. Jake had something a bit more ambitious in mind.

After leaving Sara’s, he went home and got online. He navigated to the web site and checked out the links. He clicked and perused, clicked some more, perused some more, scribbled a few things down on a sticky pad, logged off, and picked up the phone.

When it came to things like this, Jake Davis had more of an advantage than most. He worked for a PR firm, and knew a thing or two about networking. So he’d something of a conduit to others who could make things happen. And as luck would have it, a friend of a friend of a promoter happened to owe him a favor. A few well-placed phone calls (and a visit for a word with said promoter) later—recent notice though it was, still, with Jake’s pull and the favor his friend owed him—they’d managed, as if by magic, to summon and successfully book her, to Juniper’s major event venue, The Silverlight ... on Tuesday night ... November 19th.

It was quite a fortunate thing her schedule happened to be open between the 18th and 20th.

Monday, November 18th, 2013, 11:24 p.m.

Sara moooooaned in her bed.

Her legs squeezed her hands between them, as she gave it to herself (or jilled herself, as she affectionately called it) like she wouldn’t see tomorrow. The next day was her birthday. She had to go to work—a drag, but a small price to pay. She hardly loathed her office job, boring though it could be. Besides, they’d probably throw her a little party.

There was a smaller TV in her bedroom, with a built-in DVD player. Inside was a Velette DVD, with songs performed live, music videos, backstage features, interviews and other goodies. In an especially frisky mood the day before she filled another year, Sara’d injected the DVD, and frozen it on a particularly appealing still shot of her Goddess, looking right into the camera with a smirk that knocked her out figuratively—but at the rate she was rubbing herself raw to it, would soon knock her out literally. Thank goodness the DVD could stay on a still shot indefinitely, because that was just about as long as Sara could go until she was down for the night.

Usually in the span of a decent masturbating session, she could achieve either two or three pretty good orgasms, or one big knockout killergasm. It all depended on her mood, how much she was willing to tease herself, and concentration. She liked to cover herself with the comforter to her neck, so she could pretend someone else’s—a specific someone else’s—hand was down there setting her pussy on fire. Making believe it wasn’t her own hand was palpably kinkier and more fun. One day when inspiration struck, she imagined Velette slipped into her room, took her wrists, pinned them together over her head with one hand, and forcefully rubbed and stroked her, inside and out, with the other, holding her down so she couldn’t do anything about it whether she wanted to or not. It proved such a spicy fantasy, she now used it virtually every time she wanted, needed and craved that big climactic release.

As she built towards the apex, she felt like a change of scenery, so to speak. So she found another spot on the disc with a few seconds of action that turned her on, and set the player on “A-B” mode, so it jumped back to those few seconds, playing them over and over again. She loved how convenient technology was. Around the same time, her right hand, which was doing all the work, was getting a little tired, so she reached up to her headboard, retrieved her vibrator and gave her fingers a little break.

Once her pussy was ready, she activated the clit stimulator. Her brain lost its grip on the rest of her. It was a little harder to focus on the TV now that her eyes were pinching shut, then blinking open to blurriness. Her groans loudened as the electric tingle from her cunt started dancing over her in all directions. She slid down from her sitting position and whapped her head on the pillow, howling in wild giddiness. Her entire body started to pulsate uncontrollably, making waves in the mattress. Once she could no longer see the TV at all, she did her best to hold an image of Velette in her mind’s eye, and desirously chanted her name.

“Ve— ... le— ... fu— ... m— ... plea—...” she spastically wheezed. Again, she imagined the vibrator was Velette’s powerfully, rhythmically skilled hand. Or yet better, also her tongue. The room rose in temperature with her radiating body heat and dripping sweat.

A miniature wave of passion drenched her.

“Yes!” she declared. “Yes ... more ... mooooore...” she strained to her pussy. “My ... GODDESS ... Velette...”

A larger, more powerful wave hit her.

“OHHHHYES!” she shrieked. She knew it was upon her now. She saw the next wave coming. It picked her up and slammed her on the shore. Heaven’s shore.

The waves rapidly doubled in Vel-ocity, tripled in frequency, and quintupled in intensity. Each forthcoming one came like Vel-vet heat, drowning her deeper and deeper in marVel-ous splendor, making her dance in Vel-lication. Such was the wondrous nature of her orgasms—it was so much for her to take that she couldn’t bear it, and yet also didn’t want it to ever end.

“VE—! ... LETTE! ... Ve— ... lette! ... V—...”

Finally, the big knockout killer—the wavegasm—seized her, gripped her, rocked her like a hurricane, spun her in its dizzying swell, mercifully let her go thirty seconds later ... and put her out like a light.

She was down for the count. She fell dead asleep, the DVD player still replaying over and over.

Tuesday, November 19th, 2013, 3:11 a.m.

The nonstop DVD repetition finally dug deep enough into Sara’s brain to wake her, and she reached to shut it off. As she did so, switching off the TV, plunging herself into total darkness, she heard the soft Voice of a Goddess say—

“Happy Birthday, Sara.”

Sara gasped. She fumbled around for the lamp. “Wh-who is it? Who’s there?” she anxiously called out.

“Turn on the light and find out.”

At last, she located it. She flipped on the lamp, squinted until the light no longer stung, and her face transformed to a portrait of shock and awe. She had to blink at least a dozen times to make sure she was really seeing what her mind registered. But it was true, as before her disbelieving eyes swam...

“Velette?”

A pajama-clad Velette Voxe smiled at her matter-of-factly. “Who else?”

Sara was at a total loss for any sense-making words. “O—my Go—but h—what d—You—You coul—how di—” Dulled as her faculties already were, they were flat-out obliterated by this revelation.

“Don’t worry, Sara,” She told the girl softly. “You’re just having a dream.”

Sara looked around her room. Sure enough, things did look distorted, fuzzy and out of place from her normal arrangement. She looked up, and across the ceiling were yet more glow-in-the-dark star stickers that weren’t there before. And she’d fallen asleep naked, but found she now wore a set of plaid red and white jammies ... which were faded, worn and frayed. And here was a cat, with a black coat and white paws sitting beside her on the bed. A cat whom she’d never seen before, but still somehow knew was named Dewdrop. So this was a dream. “ ... Oh,” she finally said. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. Maybe a bit of both. Either way, she just hoped she didn’t wake up soon.

“But ... I-I’ve dreamt about You before,” said Sara, “ ... And, I couldn’t talk to You like this those other times.”

“That’s because this dream is lucid,” Dream-Velette explained.

“Oh,” Sara repeated. “Well, how does that happen?”

“Sara, sweetheart, I’m a singer, not a hypnotist.”

“Oh ... right,” Sara replied with a nervous chuckle, still disoriented by it all. “Well ... oh my gosh, I mean ... I-I don’t even know what to say ... or-or where to start,” she said. “I mean, there’s so much I wanna tell You, and ask You, and-and...”

Dream-Velette climbed onto her bed on all fours with her, to Sara’s widening eyes. Sara glanced back to where the cat was before, but it was gone.

“It’s on the TV,” whispered Dream-Velette saucily, on Her hands and knees. She gave Sara a little eye candy, shaking Her pleasingly large, round, cleavage-bared breasts in her nightgown.

Sara looked, and reacted with a start. There Dewdrop was all right, purring, swishing his tail just as before, but the pattern of his fur was reversed. Now he had a white coat and black paws. She looked back at her Goddess with an even bigger start. Dream-Velette’s pajamas were gone. She was in Sara’s bed, on Her side ... naked. Completely ... gloriously ... naked. She stared sultrily at Sara, a bit of comforter between Her luscious thighs, an arm just barely covering Her nipples. Sara’s gaze tilted down, and her eyes fell on the shadow of Velette’s perking nipples. She instinctively shut her mouth and swallowed to keep from salivating.

“OHHHMY...” Sara breathed. The relieved/disappointed debate was gone. She now wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or thrilled.

Dream-Velette nodded at her with a suggestive smile. “Nice curves.”

Sara looked down to see that she was suddenly nude as well. She let out a small scream and grabbed for the comforter to cover herself. Jumping on the bed and slinking by once more, the cat now wore their pajamas.

Distracted by Dewdrop, Sara did not notice Dream-Velette’s hand sneaking beneath the comforter until it cupped one of her girls. She gasped again, with an inaudible moan as her eyes closed and her head slid back. Velette sat up and leaned in closer to her.

“Goodbyes for time good a is time no,” Dream-Velette exhaled in Sara’s ear, fondling her shoulder and tickle-rubbing her tummy.

Sara’s face turned to momentary confusion. “ ... Huh?” she said quietly, looking into Her eyes.

“Sara ... Sara.”

“Yes, my love?” she huskily whispered.

“Eyes your in brewing are storms,” continued Dream-Velette. “Sara ... Sara.”

Those words rang a bell. “Oh!” Sara said silently, suddenly realizing what was happening. Velette was reciting the words to the beloved Starship song to her, but in reverse. She began to feel very charmed by it all.

“Oh, yes, more, more! Please, keep going!” Sara urged Her excitedly.

“True come won’t dream a ... ice and fire we’re ... two takes it endings happy for ... you like girl another find never I’ll,” chanted Dream-Velette, taking a well-timed pause between each line. Under normal circumstances it would sound absurd and laughable, but in her unconscious, surreal state, Sara found herself adoring this, more and more with every word. Especially as Dream-Velette touched her, while reciting the song. She wanted to grab Dream-Velette, to pin Her to the bed and smother Her with kisses, showing Her just how much she loved Her, but ... not just yet. She just wanted this exquisite moment to last a little longer.

“Anymore me loved nobody, Sara, Sara and ... more me hurt ever could one no, me hurt Sara and ... before me loved ever has one no like me loved Sara and...” Dream-Velette caressed Sara, who melted at Her touch like a handful of M&Ms. Her face read pure heavenly wonderment and none other. She closed her eyes and sank dreamily into the brachial cradle, safe and warm in Velette’s arms, wishing to be nowhere else but here forever. “My Goddess, I adore You,” she soundlessly exhaled, taking in the intoxicating scent of Her hair. Eyes closed, she shifted her position and reached to take Dream-Velette in her embrace, but felt something very different. She opened her eyes to find herself hugging a four-foot teddy bear. She let out a yelp and let go. It rolled off the bed.

“Velette?” she asked. “Darling? Velette, my love, where are You?”

“I’m behind you, Sara,” came the lovely omniscient Voice. Sara rolled in the other direction to see Her there, still in naked perfection. Keeping her eyes open this time, she kicked all inhibitions to the curb and threw her arms around Her. Dream-Velette did the same. Sara thought she noticed that while the door to her bedroom was in the same spot, the rest of the furniture and all else had shifted position, now to the other side. But who cared ... once she dared bring her lips close enough to touch her Goddess, she shut her eyes again. Dream-Velette kissed back, and Sara summoned all the strength she could to clutch Velette in her grasp, wrapping her legs around Her, pressing herself tight, squeezing hard as possible, wanting to meld their bodies together. She couldn’t believe it. It was her dream come true ... sort of. It was more like her dream come dream ... but it felt real enough to be true. And that was good enough.

They kissed. They fondled. They rubbed, stroked, tickled, caressed. They interlocked limbs, fingers, tongues. Juices flowed, passion soared. Four dizzied eyes, four hungry lips, four heaving breasts, four roving hands, two hot, wet pussies. I ... cannot ... believe it, Sara mentally rejoiced. I ... AM MAKING LOVE ... TO VELETTE VOXE!! The mere thought and its accompanying realization immediately just about forced two twingasms on her. Her zeal came out audibly, in the form of a happy, giggling squeal.

In a moment of brazen moxie, she gulped, mustered the courage and brought her quivering hand down Dream-Velette’s thigh. Her trembling fingers snuck between Her legs to unlock Her forbidden territory, begging Velette for the key to Her divine womanhood.

To her surprise, as she’d barely time to understand that she was actually, physically, literally touching ... Velette ... Voxe’s ... pussy ... even if it was a dream ... Dream-Velette reciprocated, and placed Her hand between Sara’s smoldering thighs, stroking her pussy in return.