tagHumor & SatireThe Long Pull: Friendly Competition

The Long Pull: Friendly Competition

byDTales©

Written By D.

Years ago, an enterprising yet mysterious entrepreneur established a new variety of coffee shop. They had developed a new form of biological implant for that equally mysterious sexual minority: the futanari, biologically female women with penises.

When inserted into the rectum, the implant stimulates the prostate, increases libido and the production of semen. It was an allegedly simple adjustment to the formulation to allow the implant to impart flavors into the ejaculate itself.

The Founder, who is seldom called by any other name, used this in the most logical way. They established the first entirely futa-staffed coffee shop in downtown Los Angeles. Inside, hung futa baristas, wearing micro-miniskirts that revealed their perpetual erections, would gleefully masturbate into a cup and mix it with excellent espresso to make a "latte sans pareil."

This was the name the Founder originally wanted for his establishment. His marketing consultants suggested a simpler name: The Futa Brew. Evidently, including 'futa' in the name would make it appear when people were Googling for futa pornography. They called it 'search engine optimization.'

Today, the Futa Brew has dozens of locations across the West coast and reaching almost to the Missisippi river. For a coffee shop serving such a niche market, most districts... even most states, could only support one Futa Brew shop, usually in a high-traffic urban area.

With the creation of this new market, inevitably... competitors would start to appear.

This is one story, from one competitor, one shop... one day.

But a very important day in the coffee business.

***

October 1st.

The location: Albuquerque, New Mexico. Berri drove her Volkswagen Beetle into the parking lot of this plaza. It was very convenient to only have to do one minute of non-highway driving to get to work. After all, being close to the highway was what made this location popular.

In the center of this parking lot, standing out like a mushroom on a flat stretch of black rock, was a gray building only slightly larger than the defunct Fotomat kiosks. The sign on the blue canopy read,"Bukoffee." The last lowercase 'e' was slightly rotated, so that the open space at the bottom half of the 'e' looked like an open mouth, catching the white blasts of jizz that decorated the right half of the board.

When they applied for the logo's copyright, the designers insisted that the white stuff was coffee. When it was suggested that this would be more obvious if the squiggles were made a color other than white, the designers refused.

Berri parked in her normal space, sadly not one of the three or four spaces right next to the building, which were reserved for walk-in customers. At least they had reserved parking far enough away from the building that the line of cars moving through the drive-up would likely never smash into them. Among the assigned employee parking, there was a car that wasn't normally there. The vanity license plate read 'SZZNNE.'

Berri left her car, rubbing a wrinkle out of her white T-shirt with her palm. She had parked next to another car, a burgundy Camry that seemed so common around here that Berri knew she'd have to find one if she ever planned a bank robbery; the cops would never pick it out of a crowd. They might pick this one out, as it was covered in bumper stickers celebrating hard rock and concerts, like the notches on a bedpost.

She tapped on the window. Inside was Enola, eyes closed and head on the steering wheel. If it wasn't for the rock music playing loud enough to be heard through the closed windows, one might assume she was asleep.

At the sound of the knock, Enola looked up. She sniffed, turned off the radio and left her car. Enola was a full-blooded Cherokee woman with black hair, prominent cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Her eyes were so dark, they almost looked black, but for the shimmer of light that always seemed to appear within them. Unlike what might be expected of her, she wore no jewelry and had no braids. She did own a lot of concert T-shirts.

"What's Suzanne doing here?" Berri asked, in her New Zealand accent. She had short brown hair with highlights of chestnut. Her eyes were a faint blue-gray, her lips pink and her skin fair.

"I don't know." Enola said softly, folding her arms. "But I saw her car, so I said... I'm going to wait a bit before stepping in here."

"Well, I'm going inside, 'cuz it's hot out here." Berri stepped over the concrete parking stop and towards the door. "And I can't get naked until I'm inside. Suzanne said so." She opened the door and felt the refreshing wave of cold air rush over her. It had only been thirty seconds since stepping out of the air-conditioning of her car, but that was enough exposure to the heat. In Albuquerque, until it was winter... it was still summer.

"Why does her license plate have two Zeds in it?" Berri asked herself, looking back to the obnoxious vanity plate. "Her name doesn't have two Zeds, does it?"

Suzanne stood at the counter, with another woman beside her whom Berri didn't recognize. The stranger was about five-and-a-half feet tall, no older than twenty-one, very pale with a huge wave of red hair reaching her butt. Dark eyeliner and mascara surrounded her bright blue eyes and freckles decorated her arms.

"There you are, Berri." Suzanne said. "I'm glad you're here, because I wanted to show you something. We're doing something new this year."

Enola had entered the shop behind Berri. who asked, "What? What's different?"

"Well, it's October 1st, so we're finally bringing back pumpkin spice for the next two months." Suzanne beamed with enthusiasm.

Berri nodded without saying anything. This was actually her least favorite time to work here. Despite being a Caucasian woman in her early twenties... she hated everything flavored with pumpkin spice. The only time she ever tried a real pumpkin spice latte, she gagged so hard that she saw stars.

Suzanne continued, "But as you know, it's hard to keep up with the pumpkin spice orders here. So... this is January. She's a temp worker who will be making pumpkin spice and nothing BUT pumpkin spice for the morning and afternoon rushes."

January smiled and waved.

"So there's going to be three of us back here?" Enola asked. "The last time we did three baristas, it was a mess."

"That was the old system, with the pneumatic lines running into the ceiling." Suzanne said. "With the new flavor belts, you'll be fine. In fact, because January will only be making the one flavor, she's going to use the standard pumpkin implant that our competitors use."

"You can say 'Futa Brew,' Suzanne." Berri said. "I worked there for two years."

"Will she be on drive-thru or counter?" Enola asked.

"Neither. She's here exclusively to make pumpkin spice."

Berri blinked. "What, every day?"

"I'm ready to pull sixty days in a row." January said confidently.

"So... you're going to get... forty-something hours a week? For eight weeks?"

"I can handle it." January said.

"I'm still getting thirty-six. I was hoping to squeeze a few more hours in... does that include overtime?"

"Only on Sundays." Suzanne said.

Berri took in a breath. "Well, all right. Welcome to Bukoffee."

"Berri, is that you?" Called the woman at the drive-thru. There was a gap in the cars coming by, so she moved away from the window.

"Hey, Adri." Berri said. "How was the night shift?"

"Fine." Adrianne answered. "You want one before I get out of the belt?"

"I'd love one, actually." Berri said. "You have amaretto cream?"

"Sure do. Wanna watch?"

"Always." Berri smiled.

Adrianne was wearing a large black belt around her hips instead of pants. The belt had thirty-two round cartridge slots running around it like bullets on a bandoleer. Below the belt, a flat tube went all the way around the belt, down the intergluteal cleft, and finally disappearing up into her ass. The device resembled a strap-on harness.

But of course, Adrianne didn't need a strapon.

Adrianne found the cartridge that held the amaretto cream concentrate. She depressed the button on the top of the cartridge with her thumb. A CO2 cartridge at the back of the belt activated, the negative pressure pulling a dose of the concentrate out of the cartridge, through the tubes, and up Adrianne's ass. The CO2 being released made a gentle click and 'ffft' noise, like a soda tower at a restaurant being activated.

After years of working here, hearing that sound so often, both Berri and Enola had developed a powerful Pavlovian response. They both suddenly felt themselves growing hard, even though they weren't wearing their belts yet. A cruel ex-girlfriend of Berri's had changed her phone's text notification sound to this distinct hiss to tease her.

Berri quickly unfastened her shorts and dropped them, releasing her huge stiffening cock from within. The sight of caused Enola to push her jeans down, exposing her own large cock. This was not a breach in workplace protocol: there simply was no place to change clothes in this building. If someone was shy, they could change in the building's single unisex lavatory. But changing in there was like changing clothes inside a cardboard box.

And of course... none of them were shy.

For Adrianne, seeing hard naked futa cock was nothing new. It was just something she worked with. But half-hard cocks, slowly bulging and swelling, the gentle veins growing in prominence, watching as they expanded in every dimension to the lengths that only her kind truly reached...

Adrianne sprayed her seed into the cup very swiftly. She filled the cup about halfway up, then filled the rest with some recently-brewed coffee.

"Here you go." She handed the coffee to Berri. "One Adri special."

"Thanks. I really need this." Berri took a long sip. She set it on the counter and removed her shirt, leaving her lacy pink bra, the only piece of clothing she'd be wearing for the day, except the all-important flavor belt.

Adrianne decoupled the disposable nozzle from the belt's flavor hose, leaving it inside her rear. She unfastened the belt and gave it to Berri to wear. Berri fastened it around her waist and pulled a new spout from the box of fresh nozzles, all sealed in sterile paper like Band-Aids.

Berri snapped the two ends of the hose and nozzle together, and fed the tube into her ass. As much as anal could be loads of fun, the implants from the Futa Brew were too intense for her. It was perpetual, constant arousal that eventually felt like there was always a TV set to static in her mind. She preferred this system.

"Well, you all know what to do, so I'll leave you ladies to it." Suzanne moved towards the door, past January as she finally threw her dress off her body, revealing her nearly nude body.

"WHOA!" Berri shouted, pointing at January's crotch.

"Thanks." January smiled. "I thought the same thing when I saw yours. Damn, you must be bigger than twelve inches, right?"

"That's NOT what I'm 'whoa'-ing about!" Berri insisted.

Between January's legs was a penis, with a flaccid hang that Enola estimated would give her a nine or ten inch erection. And neatly to one side of it... was another penis, perhaps a little smaller. There were still only two testicles, at least that Berri could see.

Suzanne stopped in the doorway, standing with it open and letting all the valuable air conditioned air out into the unappreciative desert. "Ohh... didn't I mention that?"

Berri stared at her. "No, you didn't mention that she has two penises."

"Is this a problem?" January asked innocently.

"It's not a problem. I just didn't know it was even possible."

"Do they both... work?" Enola asked, hooking up her own belt.

"Wouldn't do me much good if they didn't."

Seeing Berri's look of helpless confusion, Suzanne closed the door and started her explanation. "This is the smallest Bukoffee franchise in existence, by square footage. It also has the least number of employees with eight. For the last two years, in October, the wait time for this store has been eight to ten minutes. We want to cut that down, but... there's no room for more than three baristas at a time. We could renovate to make this shop larger, but we only need the extra room in October and November, so it's not really financially sound."

"So..." Suzanne opened her hands. "How else do you get four penises in a facility that only holds three people?"

Berri didn't respond, but she knew the answer. Suzanne pressed on, "We flew January in from her home and put her up at the extended-stay for the next two months. It's the best option to keep the lines from building up."

"All right, then." Berri shrugged. "Whatever makes our jobs easier, I guess."

"Cool! I'm really happy to be here." January reached behind her and took off her bra, releasing her breasts. They were also dotted with freckles, like the sprinkles on a donut.

"Y-you're not going to wear a bra?" Berri asked, trying not to stare. Berri was very accustomed to the sight of erect penises. Even two of them side-by-side didn't seem that out of place. But erect nipples...

"Do I have to wear one?" January asked.

They both looked at Suzanne. She opened one hand. "I don't think so?"

"Good enough for me." January threw the bra into her pile of clothing and stuffed it underneath the counter. She pulled up a long cylindrical bag from the front of the store and opened the drawstring. January removed a folding canvas chair and set it between the desk and the window, leaving a small space to pass behind her.

"You're getting a chair? Seriously?" Berri asked.

"I need to use both hands." January commented. "I can't use one hand to steady myself if I get lightheaded. And I modified it for this..." She moved the armrests upwards until they were facing diagonally. She slid two plastic cups into the cupholders built into the armrests.

"See, the cups are at a 45-degree angle, so I can come up into them, hit the wall of the cup and the rest will settle at the bottom." January explained. "Speaking of bottom..."

January pulled out a sealed plastic bag and ripped open the perforated edge, rolling something out of the bag and into her palm. The pumpkin spice implant was red-orange, and larger than normal. It wasn't quite the size of a candied apple, but that's what Berri first thought when she saw it. It'd been years since Berri had seen one. Maybe this size was the new standard. Maybe this was how the Futa Brew would introduce their version of the 'super size' portion.

"Looks big." Enola said simply, never one to let an observation like that go unspoken.

"Is it?" January looked at it. "Well, I can handle it." January bent over and pressed the implant up against her ass. It stopped for a moment, but with a gentle push and a clench of teeth, it slid inside until nothing but the orange flange was visible. She did this in plain view of the others.

Berri felt her heart thumping and skin flush, and she hadn't even used her belt yet. She would feel a little guilty as she replayed what she just saw in her head over and over as she masturbated throughout the day.

She took her bank, put it in the register and got ready for the first car to pull up. She turned back behind her. Her view of the other register, and her longtime friend, was obstructed by the interloper, sitting on their own chair.

Enola moved past January and into the tiny alcove for the drive-up cashier. "Well, there's one good thing about this."

"What's that?" Berri asked.

"At least you won't have any pumpkin spice in you today."

Berri chuckled a bit. "Yeah..."

By the time she'd turned away, the first car had pulled up to the window. Berri pressed the button that automatically slide the drive-thru window open, took a breath of exhaust-tinged air and smiled.

At the Futa Brew, she had her prewritten introduction she always had to say. Here, in this tiny box of concrete and coffee, she just said, "What can I get ya?"

--

The way this arrangement was sold to her, Berri's day would be easier because there would be a third person making drinks today. She'd have less orgasms, but also go home less exhausted.

This wasn't how it ended up working out in practice.

They were going through customers faster, but that meant the line for the drive-up was shorter, and customers wouldn't balk at the long line as they normally would when it got busy. Thus, those customers would enter the line... and make it longer.

Thus, Berri's day was about as hectic as normal. Except now, when five people wanted pumpkin spice in a row, she called out to the red-headed woman sitting in a chair who would whack it out, or have one already prepared from her spare schlong. Berri would actually go a few minutes without orgasming, but was still ringing in orders as fast as normal, faster when January had one already prepared, like the final dish a chef pulls out on a talk show.

If she went a while without masturbating at the Futa Brew, the effects of the implant kept stacking, until she was so horny she got thigh cramps and vertigo. The belts were more up-and-down, with a blast of intense arousal that cooled after ejaculation. But with no extract keeping her prostate company... she started to wilt.

Berri made another coffee for herself, selecting the Mudslide flavor. It was as close as she could come to her favorite alcoholic drink while working here. She sipped it and set it next to the unfinished amaretto cream that Adri had so kindly made for her. It helped a bit, but after too many pumpkin orders in a row... Berri was now flying at half-staff. Not entirely flaccid, but not as huge and turgid as normal.

She didn't want to make another coffee that she would barely touch. She tried to fantasize about something erotic. In her mind, Berri replayed the sight of January pushing that implant the size of a light bulb into her ass. That was pretty hot, and would hopefully enter her mind permanently if she really was going to see it every time she worked for the next two months.

Berri waggled herself a bit. It wasn't working yet; the image wasn't clear enough in her mind's eye. She longed for that stretched-out pocket pussy from her old job, not that she needed it there to stay hard. She played that scene from Cruel Intentions in her head. That usually worked, but she was only at three-quarter chub.

Tentatively, Berri's fingers went between her legs and teased her vulva, one finger peeking inside. She moved the finger back and forth, the way one scratches an itchy ear. Even this gentle touch got her to her full length again.

Berri bent over and slid her tongue along her cock head. This act would always get her hard, if she didn't have to be fully hard to accomplish it. She brought her forearms behind her knees and folded her body in half to press the head of her cock into her mouth. This was a trick she wished more people asked her to perform, and she enjoyed herself for a little while... perhaps almost forgetting where she was.

A car horn honked politely to get her attention. Berri stood straight up, a strand of drool connecting her lip and cock like a spider's web. A young African-American woman had pulled up to the drive-up window in her top-down convertible. Berri didn't know her name, but she was a regular customer.

Of course, the one time she sucked her own dick at work was the one time she was caught doing so by a customer who was there almost every day.

"Hey, Berri." Said the customer, elbow extended over her retracted window. "You don't have to stop if you don't want to."

"Nope, nope!" Berri insisted. "Break time's over. What can I get ya?"

"Do you guys have pumpkin spice today?"

"We sure do." Berri said with manufactured enthusiasm. "We have a temp here to help us make them." Berri pointed to January. "She's making all the pumpkin spice orders. She has two penises."

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