Veronica's Erotica

Tasty Taboo & Raunchy Romance

The official website of Veronica Sloan, writer of dirty books. If you enjoy steamy stories, explicit affairs, and taboo tales, she's probably got something for you.

A new story from the Futa Virus universe!

Looking for some more Futa Virus fun? In this standalone story, Joan describes her naughty experiences as a futanari escort in Hapi, Delaware. Just in time for Friday the 13th, though instead of a spooky story I’ve brought you a sexy one!

SYNOPSIS: "Everything changed in the spring. We all went a little crazy. By the middle of spring quarter, most women in Hapi knew about the Futanari Virus. That didn't stop it from spreading, of course..."

With these words, Professor Joan Moneta begins her personal account of the Futanari Virus. Transformed during the initial outbreak, Joan sees her futanari body as the perfect business opportunity. Her new anatomy makes her irresistible to the desperate housewives of Hapi, Delaware. Maybe it's immoral to offer "the futanari experience" to women that are already in relationships, but Joan is delighted to be their dirty girl. In this erotic autobiography, Joan describes her most salacious encounters...

This naughty futa tale is 24,000 words and recommended for adult readers. Available for a limited time at just $0.99, or read it for FREE on Kindle Unlimited


If I was an escort, I'd play it safe. I'd have some sweetheart deal worked up with a local, high-end hotel, or a secret condo deeded to my late grandmother that never appeared on my taxes. You know, some place to take my "clients" that didn't intrude on my real life.

I didn't have the money for things like that. Half my encounters ended with nothing but a naughty little peepshow, and the first date was always free. That left two options: her place or mine. It was easier for my regulars than it was for new clients. I could be that special girlfriend the husband was always forgetting about, the one that could keep the wife out till the early hours without arousing too much suspicion.

But Elaine Masterson? She preferred house calls. While the hubby was upstairs watching the game, she'd be on her knees in the den choking on my secret cock.

We started off slow, gabbing about our favorite shows while seemingly guzzling red wine. We laughed too loud, then followed that up with hushed and hiccuping whispers. The cycle repeated an obnoxious number of times, except each time the laughter shrank and the whispers stretched into hours. Darryl believed we were drunkenly ensconced in our little feminine world, and that was when Elaine went down.

She liked to see me in jeans (and I liked to see her long fingers tug and twist the button, then drag the zipper down), but wearing a skirt was so much easier. I could pull it up in a heartbeat and let her free my aching penis from my tight, silk panties. Elaine insisted on kissing me, kissing me, kissing me, until I begged--then demanded--she suck me off. By that time my cockhead would be smeared with a clear film of precum. My vagina would be wet as well, but of course Elaine wasn't interested in that.

I turned on the television to mask the sound of her gagging. She wouldn't begin with my whole length down her throat, but if I didn't take the precaution then I might not get another chance (when Elaine was in a hungry mood, she also swallowed my fine motor functions). The precum reflected its flickering screen when she pulled it towards her lips.

Sweet Elaine Masterson, homemaker and mother of two, kissed my penis so sensually that the swollen organ seemed just on the verge of kissing back. Trembling between her palms, the shaft would bow to her, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. She kept her own moan in the hollow of her throat, a low purr that made her lips vibrate and set my veins to throbbing. When those vibrating lips enclosed my sticky slit, she made love to it with her tongue. She gazed into my eyes as she swept her tongue around my cockhead and cupped my heavy scrotum. Taking me to the back of her throat, she trapped my balls in the tight prison of her fingers.

You might be wondering, how does a blowjob compare to cunnilingus? Let me put it this way: before I grew a cock, I rarely let straight women go down on me. That's a terrible blanket statement, but it's been my experience that even the curious ones are wary of new vaginas. There are exceptions--delightful exceptions--but the affair is usually timid and trepidatious, sometimes cute but always clumsy.

Apparently, sucking my dick is a lot simpler than eating me out. Maybe it's because straight women are more familiar with the penis, but I suspect it has something to do with the location. To really please my pussy, you need to bury yourself between my thighs and give me everything you've got. I want my clitoris sucked, my lips played with, a finger here, a finger there, and long, loving laps of your tongue. That requires commitment and an attentive ear. With the right positioning, a girl can look at me while she's going at it, but it's much easier if she keeps her head down. That way, she has to listen to my moans, feel my body move, and let that be her guide. My cock, on the other hand, juts out like a meaty arrow. If she's on her knees, a girl has to look up at me as she wraps her lips around it. Much easier to make eye contact, much easier to see my reaction. If a girl is on her knees, she knows that I'm watching, and it becomes a performance.

Elaine was a performer. She derived a great deal of her pleasure from just how much she pleased me, and it is no exaggeration to say she worshipped my cock. She kissed it, and licked it, and stroked it till my toes curled in my tight high-heeled shoes. She would duck below my glistening member to roll the tip of her nose along its one enormous vein. She would suck my individual testicles into her mouth. She spat on me, waited for the saliva to coalesce and drip from my foreskin, and then collected the fat droplet in her waiting mouth.

And she liked me to talk dirty to her. My skirt hiked up to my hips, my teeth biting back my shallow breaths, I told her she was a bad girl, a slut, that she was the whore, not me.

We paused if we heard Darryl move around upstairs. When he lumbered down the steps, we slid back into place on the couch and took up our glasses again. "What are you ladies up to?" he'd grumble, half-joking and half-suspicious.

"Just girl talk," Elaine would sing back (and wipe casually at the corner of her lip).

Elaine was very particular. She didn't want me to finger her or fondle her, she just liked to be held and kissed for hours, sensuously and slowly, until she began to purr. That was my cue to guide her into my lap, where she'd nuzzle against my cock and tease its throbbing head until I demanded that she put it in her mouth. When she did, she loved to make a mess. She would kiss its every stiff inch, squeezing drips of saliva between her soft lips until the skin was frothy with bubbles. Taking hold of my balls and my base, she then fed herself my whole, majestic length--stopping only to suppress her gag reflex and rain more spittle into my lap.

This was her week's reward, the gift she gave herself for being such a devoted wife and patient mother.

Read it today on Amazon