Suddenly Futanari

By Veronica Sloan

Cassie never meant to fall in love with her roommate Rebecca. In fact, she used to hate the little ditz. The girl's a walking disaster: Clumsy, sheltered, and totally boy crazy. But there's something about her smile, and her never-give-up attitude, that Cass just can't ignore. Over the years, their friendship has become the one constant in Cassie's busy life, and she desperately wants to confess her feelings. But Rebecca is straight. Doesn't that mean a relationship is impossible? Maybe not, because after a strange visit to a fortune teller, Cassie discovers that she now possesses Rebecca's favorite male body part!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

I grinned. Softer this time, I slid my finger around the rim of her bellybutton. That odd little orifice had teased me for so many weeks, and now I found that its lip was as soft as baby down. "You're so gentle," she whispered.

"Do you want me to be rougher?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, it's nice. You're so nice..." Her slender fingers cupped my jaw and drew me in for another, tentative kiss. "Why are you so nice to me?"

Because I love you, I wanted to say. The words gripped the base of my tongue like the cocked hammer of a gun. I wanted to confess. I wanted to grab her, kiss her harder, squeeze her soft thighs until she whimpered the same. But that would have crossed a line there would be no coming back from. I knew Rebecca wasn't gay. I knew this was comfort to her. She wanted my touch, maybe a soft kiss or two, but more would have confused her.

It hurt not to tell her. It triggered a physical ache deep in my chest that spread up my arms and tightened my veins. You're giving me a heart attack, I thought, as I gently slid her hair out of her eyes and kissed her nose. "I want you to feel better," I whispered. "We're just having fun, right?"

"Sure." A smile broke over her peach lips. "Oh God, I was just thinking of that girl you used to date. Tiffany? I think she was Japanese?"

"Teresa."

Rebecca's brows knit together. "She was so mean to me. I never understood why she was such a bitch."

I laughed. "She wasn't that mean..."

"Not to you!" Rebecca exclaimed. She turned bright red when she realized how loud her voice went. We'd been whispering together on the couch for so long that she actually put her hand to her mouth. We giggled together, as if somehow we were interrupting an invisible crowd of people in our secluded apartment. "Not to you," she repeated, more quietly. She idly drew her fingers through my hair. "You had her wrapped around your finger. But she always gave me these looks. She rolled her eyes whenever I said something. I felt like I was offending her in some secret lesbo code."

"I didn't have her wrapped around my finger..." I murmured.

"Oh shut up," said Rebecca. "She was so into you."

I shrugged. "Maybe she felt threatened by you."

"Why?"

It was my turn to play with her hair. "Because she knew I was protective of you. I had to leave a date once to pick you up from the club. Do you remember?"

"Ugh," the girl moaned. "Barely. That was a bad night." She gripped my hand—sliding mid-way through her purple tress—and squeezed. "Thank you."

I squeezed back. "She thought we were sleeping together."

Rebecca's eyes bugged out. "Seriously? Oh, that explains a lot." She scooted down on the couch and moved my hand from her hair to the space just below her breast. It was provocative. Deliberate. And she gave me a mischievous little grin when she did it, as if to say, "Your ex's worst fear has finally come true."

Of course I knew that wouldn't happen. Rebecca didn't want to sleep with me. I kept reminding myself that, hoping she'd prove me wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Sloan
• Release date: Feb 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370754854

Veronica Sloan

Veronica Sloan writes dirty stories and naughty romances. Her erotica is explicit and steamy, and no topic is too taboo. A Chicago girl at heart, Veronica graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism with every intention of writing very important things about very important people. Currently, she spends her days writing about pop culture and her nights writing about lusty men and women and their naughty predilections. She loves big dogs, hot yoga and songs that are stupidly catchy. Visit her at https://www.veronica-sloan-erotica.com/home/.

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Suddenly Futanari

© Copyright 2017, 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 the age of 18. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by lisabook.

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Chapter 1: The Fortune Teller

Lightning tore across the sky like a burning wound, and the rain gushed forth. It wet me with a vengeance, splashing and thrashing until only the glowing sign of the palm reader was visible in the deluge. Desperate for its warmth, I dashed through the icy spray and up the rickety porch.

The woman opened the door with melodramatic flourish and handed me a towel as if she'd been waiting for me all day (instead of peeking through her blinds for suckers caught in the rain). It would have been rude for me to just stand there and say, Oh, what you do is bullshit as I wrung out my hair, so I agreed to let her give me a reading.

In that version of the story, I'm totally reluctant and only a little interested in having my fortune told. That's the version I tell anyone who asks me what I was doing there. In reality, it was raining cats and dogs that day, but I'd seen the fortune teller's shack a hundred times before. It was located just off the Venice boardwalk, and wedged between a pot dispensary and an organic coffee bar (the smells that emanated from the front door were often funkier than either of its neighbors). I passed the glowing TAROT sign every day on my way to work, and paused only when the strange brew of incense and chanting was too curious to ignore.

The day I finally ran inside, part of me knew the visit was a long time coming. The rain was just an excuse.

I didn't think a little old lady and her magic cards could solve my particular romantic problem, but I'd run out of friends to talk to about it, and the prospect of going home and just chatting with Rebecca, like nothing was wrong, broke me down. It was raining--in southern California! That hadn't happened in years. There was something beautiful and romantic about it (yes, even as the Hollywood hills dropped chunks of concrete on the Cahuenga Pass), and falling out of that mess and into our apartment, and seeing her wet head wrapped in a towel, and her smile...I couldn't do it.

So instead of driving home, I climbed the fortune teller's porch.

She called the parlor her inner sanctum, but it was really just a converted living room. Several kinds of incense were burning at once, along with other mysterious aromas I couldn't begin to identify. My head swam as she handed me another towel and invited me to sit at her covered table. It had a crystal ball, of course, and a deck of cards so ancient that they crackled when she brushed them with her fingertips.

Her voice was low and breathy. What brings you to my inner sanctum, child?

I sniffed, and smirked. Despite the decrepit state of her shack, the woman was surprisingly young. She couldn't have been more than 40, which made her roughly a decade older than me. Her eyes were a lustrous emerald, and though she wore very little makeup, her lips were a lovely, kissable pink. But I suppose an aura of hoary wisdom is to be expected in matters of the supernatural.

Me, I'm a more straightforward type of gal. The rain, mostly, I said.

It didn't faze her. Ah, then you must be a water sign.

I laughed. I guess so.

She took my wet fingers without asking and studied my eyes intently. Let me guess. Scorpio, or Pisces?

Uh, Pisces, actually.

She nodded. Mmm. The most mutable of the water signs. Slippery, dreamy, artistic, full of empathy for your fellow creatures.

I guess, I said. I do work in the arts. I'm the assistant to Ray Brown, who does set designs for most of the major studios. His office is just up the way.

Once again, she nodded, as if this were all as clear as the rain beading off my bangs. Ray is a good friend. He consults me before each new picture.

I wasn't sure I believed that, but Hollywood employees were a notoriously superstitious lot. Ray wasn't a Scientologist and he wasn't a Buddhist, so that left just about everything in between. I don't care if you're joking, I said. Please don't tell him I was in here.

She patted my hand. Your visit shall remain in my strictest confidence.

You did just tell me you and Ray are friends, and I haven't paid you a cent.

Yes, she replied, but Ray is not in my strictest confidence. He is very open about his faith in the stars.

I rolled my eyes. Okay. Well. I'd like to keep this between us, please.

She drew my hands over to her ancient tarot deck and laid my palms upon it. And what shall we discuss, my dear?

I sucked at my wet lip. Was I really going to do this? Behind me, the roaring rain goaded me on. I want to know if my friend--my roommate--wants me...the way I want her. Yep, Cassie, I thought, that was definitely the best way to phrase that.

The fortune teller brushed my palms aside and cut the deck. Your roommate, does she know you have feelings for her?

I dragged my fingers through my thick hair and took my time winding it into a loose braid. It was the best way to keep my hands occupied while I tried not to look like an anxious idiot. I don't know, I said. "Sometimes I think she does. Sometimes I think she wants me to make a move. But we live together.