My Nasty Futanari Neighbor - Volume 2
Veronica Sloan
Maison d'édition: Boruma Publishing
Synopsis
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? ~~~~~ 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."
Disponible depuis: 25/11/2017.
