My Nasty Futanari Neighbor: Volume 3

By Veronica Sloan

Abby has watched her life from behind a dreary curtain of safe and dispassionate relationships, always with men, never to her satisfaction. The passion of her futanari neighbor has transformed her. Abby must admit she is in love with Leticia. She is enchanted by her 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. Abby has no idea where this road will end, but their carnal adventure has just begun.

This erotic futa tale is 14,000 words and recommended for adult readers.

~~~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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veronica Sloan
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370120390

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/.

Book preview

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.

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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