My Nasty Futanari Neighbor: Volume 2

By Veronica Sloan

Abby refuses to confront her feelings for her futanari neighbor. If it was just the kinky sex that drove her crazy, she could bury her passion with her prayers, but there's something else going on. Leticia cares for Abby in a way that scares her senseless. The futa girl wants them to be more than secret lovers, but can Abby accept that? It goes against her religion, her upbringing, her sexual identity. Just when she thinks she's made up her mind, Letty appears at the mall with a very naughty proposition... This erotic futa tale is 14,000 words and for readers 18 and up.

~~~ Excerpt ~~~

That was hardly the most daring aspect of the dress. The tag said it had a plunging V-neckline, but the neckline was more of a suggestion than a reality. The front was a cutout that needed to be tied, and tightly. Without a bra to hold me back, my chest pushed against the lightweight weave and turned what was supposed to be a cute dress into a sultry proposition. If I was skinnier, and less endowed, this would be a fun little number to wear to the beach, but the way it fitted against me was more tantalizing than teasing. It was sensual.

My fingers shook as I tied a loose knot in the cutout, knowing full well that I'd never wear this thing again. Though every second I spent in the dressing room ate into my commute, I sacrificed them for the fantasy that this belonged to me. I combed out my hair and let it fall over my shoulders, I pouted, I posed. I played with the loose sleeves. I twisted in place to see how the fabric draped over my butt.

I suddenly remembered that Letty was behind the door. With the exception of my brain (which tumbled into a bucket of ice water), every part of my body turned uncomfortably hot. The contradiction left me dizzy and reeling for the wall again. I didn't have to let her see me in this, I promised myself. I didn't owe her a thing. But the warm parts of me rebelled.

With weak fingers shaking like leaves on a brittle branch, I slid the bolt out of the dressing room door. The door swung back.

Awkward in my own skin, I curled my shaking fingers into the skirt. I wished the hem was longer, wished her eyes would end their long journey up my bare legs and stomach, and not linger on the knot. I wished she didn't sway from side to side and wrap her arms around her hips in quiet contemplation. I wished I didn't say something stupid like, "What do you think?"

I wished I could tell her no when she reached for my hand and lifted it over my head. She spun me in a slow circle. I wished I could control my breathing better, wished my ragged panting wasn't made so obvious by my naked cleavage. I wished I didn't close my eyes when she brushed her lips against my ear.

"I think you look beautiful," she whispered.

I heard her close the dressing room door behind her. "I know you think that," I said, trying to be stronger. "I mean the dress. What do you think of that?"

She locked the bolt.

I felt her near me again, just in front of me. I felt her hands on my thighs slowly pushing up the skirt, felt her body through her t-shirt. I felt her warm breath on my nose. "I was thinking..." she said, "of you. In this dress. In a little cottage by the ocean. Barefoot. Nothing under here..."

"A cottage?" I murmured. I finally opened my eyes. She was gazing down at me with an unholy hunger. "That's a very domestic scene," I said. "Do we have a little dog, too? Do I make you dinner when the sun goes down?"

"No, I think we order out," she said. Her voice was low, and I wondered if it was because she knew it made me wet or because the mousy clerk was sitting just outside. Letty's fingers began to untie the loose knot I'd made in the cutout. "But you do let me undress you when we get back inside."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Sloan
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370833474

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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My Nasty Futanari Neighbor

© 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 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 © Can Stock Photo Inc.

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Chapter 1: I Always See Your Face

I'd never been so angry at a dress.

I stared at the mirror for a long, long time before the clerk clicked over in her heels and asked me if something was wrong. I almost told her the sound of her heels clicking on the Nordstrom linoleum was wrong. I almost threw the dress in her face and told her everything about it was wrong. The only thing that stopped me was the sudden, stupid realization that I wasn't angry at the dress. Rational human beings are not angered by garments made of 95% Rayon and 5% Spandex. Yet there I was, standing in front of the mirror with the dress pressed to my chest and my eyes two blue candles about to set the damn thing ablaze.

I stammered out an apology, even though I knew I had nothing to apologize for. Then I said, I'm just wondering what goes with this... Sandals?

Her maroon lips (no doubt colored by the bored girls at the makeup counter) split into a relieved smile. Oh, no, she said. Wedges, all the way. For something simple like this it helps to give it a little more pop. Flats or ballet pumps and it's just kind of flat, right? Wedges give you some more definition. And you've got the definition.

The dress folded in my hands like a wilting flower. It is simple, I sighed. It was a summery, A-line vest dress with jersey tiers and dyed in three shades of warm (but not sexy) red.

Honestly? the clerk chirped. With a figure like yours I'd go more adventurous.

The dress had a button panel and a chest pocket. Anything was more adventurous.

Did you see the Lulus? she asked. She wasn't much older than me and had no fear jumping on my silence. She spoke excitedly, eager to make a recommendation. She liked her job. We just got the embroidered dress in. With the scalloped front? It's adorable but it's not--

I saw, I said flatly. It's too much.

You mean price? she said. Because it's really not.

No. There would be too much of me hanging out of it.

Oh! she said. So you're looking for something more conservative?

I wasn't even looking for a dress. It was my lunch hour, so I was supposed to be eating lunch, but I couldn't sit still and I couldn't concentrate and I couldn't stop my stomach from twisting into nervous knots. So, since lunch was impossible, I decided to drive five minutes to the mall, and the Nordstrom, to pick up 3.4 ounces of body cream. The alternative was to let my panicked brain overanalyze every choice I'd made in the last two weeks.

I'd seen the dress the clerk was talking about. It was the first thing I saw when I arrived in the store. It was beautiful, in a cheap way. Decorated with carnation pink and powder blue embroidery, it boasted adjustable straps and a scalloped triangle bodice that cut deep down the middle. It wasn't designed for a girl with my measurements, but if I wore petals I might be able to get away