ISBN:9781370120390

My Nasty Futanari Neighbor - Volume 3

Autor: Veronica Sloan

Wydawnictwo: Boruma Publishing

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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