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.
