My Nasty Futanari Neighbor - Volume 3 - Veronica Sloan - ebook
Opis

The passion of Abby's futanari neighbor has transformed her. She is enchanted by Leticia's futa body, challenged and delighted by her naughty mind. The couple drive north to deal with a family emergency, and fall deeper for each other in the process. Letty encourages Abby to explore her inner dom, and later experiment with backdoor fun. This erotic futa tale is 14,000 words and recommended for 18+ ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ I was lost in her skin. She lay naked on my bed, the sheets thrown back and her long, long legs stretched to the edge of my mattress. She was asleep, the pillow crumpled up in the crook of her arm and her faded blue hair buried in its pale blue folds. Her eyelashes trembled like drunken butterflies, wings too heavy to bear. She was hairless below her eyebrows, her skin a luscious vanilla cream. The only real colors on her body were the tattoos that wended across her arms and ribs and thigh. As she breathed, the shadows flexed their fingers over her breast. I was jealous of the shadows.  Jealousy. It stirred in me like a demon begging for exorcism. I could smell her from across the room--cedar and sweet grass--when her long, long legs brushed against each another. The scent clashed with the stale reek of cigarette that emanated from the rumple of clothes beside the bed, a reminder that she was an alien here. Did I look like her when I slept, so peaceful? Edible? It was rare that I woke before her. Addicted to caffeine and frequently waking with mad dreams she was desperate to get on paper and canvas, Leticia kept strange hours. I never knew when she'd be up or down, sleeping in the afternoon or scratching at her sketchbook before the sun rose.  I hated to wake when it was still dark but I was too nervous to sleep. I'd promised Letty that I would drive her to her parents' house. Which meant I was going to meet her parents. Which meant what exactly I didn't know. I rose before the dawn, my mouth so dry that I gulped down three glasses of water before I had a rational thought. My stomach was a square knot and I feared that I couldn't do what I'd promised. Then I turned back to the bed, saw her lying there, and my heart ached. That was always just a phrase to me, "heartache." I thought it was sappy, if cute. I didn't realize it could really happen. The sensation was visceral, not cute. My heart wriggled in separate directions, hooked through its arteries by opposing inclinations. I didn't know what to do with myself; I didn't know what to do with her.  There was a naked girl in my bed. When she was awake she was powerful--a single smirk or wink could melt my will--but asleep she was just a girl, her lips gently parted, her butterfly lashes caressing her cheeks. And there, draped over her snowy thigh, was the male organ I could not ignore.

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My Nasty Futanari Neighbor

© Copyright 2018, Veronica Sloan, All Rights Reserved

NOTICE: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This story contains explicit content, including graphic descriptions of sexual intercourse. It is intended for adults only. All characters depicted are over 18-years-old. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Cover created by Veronica Sloan. Cover Photo © Bloodua.

* * *

Chapter 1: Into Temptation

I was lost in her skin. She lay naked on my bed, the sheets thrown back and her long, long legs stretched to the edge of my mattress. She was asleep, the pillow crumpled up in the crook of her arm and her faded blue hair buried in its pale blue folds. Her eyelashes trembled like drunken butterflies, wings too heavy to bear.

She was hairless below her eyebrows, her skin a luscious vanilla cream. The only real colors on her body were the tattoos that wended across her arms and ribs and thigh. Even her areolas were faint, like two watercolor brushstrokes. Her nipples were prominent, but to define their ghostly shade of pink I'd need my ridiculous assortment of lipstick. Were they amaranth pink? Lavender pink? Flamingo? Pierced by her silver barbells, they twinkled under the dim light of my table lamp. As she breathed, the shadows flexed their fingers over her breasts. I was jealous of the shadows.

Jealousy. It stirred in me like a demon begging for exorcism. I could smell her from across the room--cedar and sweet grass--when her long, long legs brushed against each another. The scent clashed with the stale reek of cigarette that emanated from the rumple of clothes beside the bed, a reminder that she was an alien here. Did I look like her when I slept, so peaceful? Edible?

It was rare that I woke before her. Addicted to caffeine and frequently waking with mad dreams she was desperate to get on paper and canvas, Leticia kept strange hours. I never knew when she'd be up or down, sleeping in the afternoon or scratching at her sketchbook before the sun rose.

I hated to wake when it was still dark but I was too nervous to sleep. I'd promised Letty that I would drive her to her parents' house. Which meant I was going to meet her parents. Which meant what exactly I didn't know. I rose before the dawn, my mouth so dry that I gulped down three glasses of water before I had a rational thought. My stomach was a square knot and I feared that I couldn't do what I'd promised.

Then I turned back to the bed, saw her lying there, and my heart ached.

That was always just a phrase to me, "heartache." I thought it was sappy, if cute. I didn't realize it could really happen. The sensation was visceral, not cute. My heart wriggled in separate directions, hooked through its arteries by opposing inclinations. I didn't know what to do with myself; I didn't know what to do with her.

There was a naked girl in my bed. She had legs for days, powder pale breasts, forearms criss-crossed in abstruse symbols and references I still didn't understand. When she was awake she was powerful--a single smirk or wink could melt my will--but asleep she was just a girl, her lips gently parted, her butterfly lashes caressing her cheeks. And there, draped over her snowy thigh, was the cock I could not ignore.

Even in sleep, its girth was unusual. The foreskin glistened in the lamp light, pinker and smoother than any man's. Stranger still was the flange at the far side of its conical head, vigorous scarlet, plump and smooth. I could not look at it without recalling the way it swept the inside of my womanhood. I could not look at her hairless organ without marveling at the contrast between her soft, feminine thigh and its fat, masculine veins. Her scrotum was half-hidden between those long thighs, tucked between skin I'd kissed and skin that wrapped around me. Letty shared her strange body with me. With me. Masculine and feminine mixed together, inside me. Inside me.

My mouth had been so dry, and now it watered.

"I think you look beautiful," she'd said in the dressing room. Thinking about me made her hard. I yelled at her, I insulted her, and she never bit back. She only bit my neck, my nipples, my lips. She squeezed my ass until I mewed like a kitten. She fucked me, every time, like it was the last time. She stroked my sides until I fell asleep, murmuring the sweetest things into my ear. She could be incredibly crude, her room was a mess, her music was loud and obnoxious. She was impulsive and horny and she scared me to death...but those whispers.

She said she needed me. I said it back to her. I regretted saying it, not because it wasn't true but because it was too much, too fast. Why did I need her if I'd lived this long without her?

This was my room. As rare as it was for me to wake before her, it was rarer for her to sleep here. The news of her father's accident had plucked a tense string inside her till she vibrated with anxiety. So I invited her up. To my room, my life. Now there was a naked futanari sleeping in my bed.

Now? No. It felt like she'd always been here, breathing softly into my pillow, bending the mattress with her weight, shrouded by the dull curtain of my previous life. Half the bed was a mystery. In pulling back the curtain, I accepted ownership of the whole thing. She was part of it now, my life. She belonged to the bed, and so to me.

I dropped my robe at the foot of my chair. I crawled over the sheets, above her pale and open thighs, and took her flaccid penis in my mouth. Within me was an urgent, animal desire to consume her, to bring as much of her into my body as could be contained. The skin was soft, fragrant with my soap, but it wasn't the taste or texture that I craved. I wanted to feel the blood rush into her veins; I wanted to choke on her living organ, to dedicate my life to licking her balls and gagging on her futanari cock.

When I slid my fingers around its chubby base, Letty moaned in her sleep. I prayed that she didn't wake. If she woke, she'd want to participate, and that was not my intention. Though my tongue lapped at her most sensitive body part, it wasn't for her benefit. She was mine, I owned her, and it was a comfort to have her in my mouth. It was a private surrender to the one sin I could not escape: Lust.

But as I suckled at her stiffening erection, the other sins crowded into my heart. Envy for this fat cock and what women she'd given it to before me; pride of ownership; gluttony to swallow it all. That was what truly scared me about Leticia, the possibility that she fulfilled my darkest cravings. She was a woman, and I had always feared and admired other women for what they stirred in me. But she was also a futa, in possession of a penis more beautiful than any I had dared to touch or taste.

Again I prayed she did not wake. She knew my body, how to navigate it, where to rub herself into my skin and when to tease me. The power in her hands was incredible, so confident, that I obeyed. I allowed her to contort my hips and ass and legs until she found those undiscovered places where her idiosyncratic shape forced me to climax. If she woke, she'd do it again, taking control and taking me out of the driver's seat. No, I thought, as I stroked her cock to its full-blooded measure, I would not lose control.

Bubbles formed in the back of my throat when I growled, and frothed over the thickening flange of her cockhead, where my tongue wended before pulling strings of it back onto my chin. I'd never done this unasked, except with her. A blowjob always felt like that, a job. But her cock looked so yummy when it was wet, and I could not deny the nasty thrill of bathing her with my tongue. I spent my working days using my mouth to command, to request, to communicate with idiots and experts alike. This was so much simpler. My lips knew instinctually to suck. My throat accepted her length without reluctance.