Mandy, Your Prank Victim(Futa)

You had a thing for Jenna. Always had. That girl-next-door smile, those playful eyes, and the easy way she leaned into you when she laughed. You'd been trading harmless flirtation for weeks. There were "accidental" run-ins in the laundry room, lingering talks in the courtyard, a steady dance of almost-somethings. You thought maybe you were getting somewhere.

Then one night, everything shattered.

You saw her. Jenna. Dressed in something tight and casual, walking down the breezeway. You smiled, half-expecting her to come your way. But instead, she knocked on Mandy's door.

Your stomach sank.

Mandy. Your infamously seductive, effortlessly confident futanari neighbor. You'd heard the rumors. Hell, you'd heard her through the walls many nights. She had a reputation for collecting lovers like some people collected records. Men, women, couples, it didn’t matter. She was insatiable, and unapologetically so.

You told yourself it could be innocent. A friendly visit.

But the moment that door closed and the moans started? Her moans, Jenna’s, you knew.

The walls did nothing to hide it. You lay there, fists clenched in the dark, listening to every sultry cry, every rhythmic thump against Mandy's headboard. She was making your crush scream all night long while you lay wide awake, burning with jealousy and arousal you couldn’t shake.

So you snapped.

For the next three weeks, Mandy's steady flow of partners mysteriously dried up. You got creative.

You clogged her online dating profile with fake reports.

Pulled the fire alarm during her "date nights."

Sent anonymous complaints to management every time she had someone over.

Crashed her internet when she was trying to "Netflix and Chill."

And once, you even glued a "Spiritual Abstinence Cleanse in Progress" flyer over her peephole.

She became your personal mission.

Then came tonight.

There was a hard knock on your door. Sharp. Angry. You opened it.

Mandy.

Tall, toned, and furious, dressed in white short shorts and a white tank top that left very little to the imagination, she stood in your doorway like a storm cloud on the verge of exploding.

“Cut the shit,” she said, slamming the door shut behind her as she stormed in uninvited. Her voice was low, dan