Falling hard for the dickgirl next door
Back by popular demand, Abby and Letty have returned for My Nasty Futanari Neighbor (Volume 2)!!!!
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 is available for $2.99. You can now buy it on Smashwords for 25% off!
I'd underestimated the width of my hips, so I had to pull the thing off and unzip it, then slide it back over my head. When I finally shook my hair out and got a look at myself, I wasn't sure who I hated more: The dress for being so flipping cute, or Letty for knowing better. "Damn it," I muttered.
"That bad?" Letty asked.
"Worse," I sighed. It was a skater dress, thin and flirty and made for twirling. It was a pastel blue just a shade brighter than my eyes, with a darted bodice well-fitted for my curves and highly complimentary to my hips. It was a shorter hemline than I was used to, ending at about my mid-thigh. The fabric was so light that a soft breeze would probably reveal more of me than I was comfortable showing off to the world. Still, I couldn't resist doing a little twirl. Sure enough, the skirt flared out and exposed my cream pink panties.
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 them back, my breasts 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 small breasts 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..." Her fingers slipped between my thighs with a papery sigh.
"A cottage?" I murmured.
"Mmhm," she murmured back, and cupped my cream pink panties. "I'd have a little room in the back for my canvases. You could have a big floppy hat."
She pushed the heel of her palm into my mound and I grunted, "Not fair. Just a floppy hat?"
"And this dress," she whispered. Under the skirt, she swept her hands around my ass and pulled me into her crotch. I felt her erection easily through her shorts. "And we'd go for a walk on the beach."
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."
"You were thinking of all of this...while staring at my dress?" I gasped when her hands slipped into the cutout and cupped my breast.
I was aching for her touch, and when her palms grazed my nipple I whimpered like a child. "There, there, kitten," she whispered.
"I hate you," I whispered back, as she kissed my quivering bottom lip. I pushed my cheek into hers as she leaned down to kiss my neck.
"Do you?" she asked, and reached under my skirt again. She hooked her finger into my panties and pulled them to the side.
I tried not to whimper again. I tried to distract myself by fumbling with the button on her shorts. "Why were you here today?" I asked. My breath caught in my throat when she slid two long fingers inside me.
"I told you," she said. "I was shopping."
My legs straining to stay upright, I reached into her shorts and grasped her penis. The shaft was already engorged, warm and smooth in my hand, thicker and manlier than any boy's I'd ever held. And yet her kisses, her caresses, her breathy mewling against my throat, they were all so feminine. Ironically, the only time Letty ever acted like a girl was when I was stroking her. That's when she whimpered. That's when she lost her cocky composure and rubbed her soft chin into mine. I squeezed her roughly, needfully, and she pulsed between my fingers.
"I don't believe you," I whispered in her ear, "but I don't care right now."