One thing that was very seldom seen in the back room of a coffee shop was a chair. The only chairs in a coffee shop were in the break room or in the front of the shop. On the provided cafe tables and couches, the customers could enjoy the wares of the coffee shop while reading a newspaper, if this was the eighties.
And yet there it was. A chair in the back room. Most managers would see this as a magnet for unsupervised and unapproved loafing.
Something else that might not often be seen in the back room of a coffee shop was a chair with a small blunt spike in the center of the seat. It was a feature absent in just about any chair one might find. It looked a bit like the cruel anti-homeless spikes that pop up in larger cities. This one had a gentle taper that was perfect for connecting it to something else.
Something else not often seen, here or anywhere, was a cock just under twelve inches long. The futanari referred to the small minority of women born with penises. Though not a requirement, almost every futa that worked at this coffee shop had a gargantuan cock, the likes of which were hardly seen anywhere.
Something very rarely seen in public, unless one knew where to look, were the specialized rectal implants that took the shape of slender bulbs with a colored circular flange on the end for extraction and flavor identification. Unlike the formulations seen at other shops, the colored flange on this implant had a conical depression in the center, the same size and shape as the conical spike on the seat.
Theodora, the futa standing by the curious chair, was a tall woman with dark curly hair, a prominent nose and what her grandmother euphemistically called a 'big caboose.' Nobody ever seemed to comment the size of her nose or anything else when they saw here at work.
She sat down on the chair, coupling the spike on the chair into the corresponding depression in the implant currently stowed securely in her ass. The two pieces of plastic made a gentle snap when they clicked together, like a brand of popular construction toy bricks. There was a button underneath Theo's right hand. She pushed it down with her palm and gripped the underside of the armrest to keep the button depressed.
The 'spike' in the chair started to vibrate very fast, accompanied by a loud hum. Some of that hum was Theo moaning through her lips as the implant shook inside her, her buttocks wobbling gently against the seat. Her toes curled inside her sneakers and her hair rolled about her shoulders as she endured this pleasurable torment. Her cock felt like someone was shaking a two-liter bottle of soda, waiting for the plastic cap to give way.
With great difficulty, Theo grabbed her cock with her left hand, held it by the base and wagged it back and forth like a firefighter wrestling a powerful hose. Resting right in front of the chair was a full sheet pan covered in unfrosted donuts, packed within a centimeter of each other. Theo's glazing efforts left the donuts decorated with horizontal stripes, her thick glaze dribbling down the edge of each freshly baked treat.
Theo brought up her right hand, releasing the dead man's switch and ending the vibration. She was left leaning back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, arms to her side. How she wished she had one of those buckets of water suspended over her chair like in Flashdance.
Of course, that would ruin the donuts.
One more thing not often seen in donut shops was a glass window revealing the back room, where this whole spectacle was watched by a small group of customers crowded together like impoverished children looking into the toy shop to gawk at the rocking horse. Some Krispy Kremes had huge glass panels to let visitors watch the donuts go through their assembly line. This location was small enough to support only one such window, and thus was focused on the most entertaining part of the baking process.
Another barista took the tray of donuts from the back room. Most of the baristas wore tan polos, disposable paper hats and aprons that didn't reach past the waist. No pants at all, not even the micromini skirts worn in other establishments.
This barista wore a colorful pink scarf that covered all her hair, leaving only her face visible. She wore a scarf around her neck, a flowing blouse with gold trim on the sleeves, and loose-fitting pants that reached her ankles. In what was surely an alteration to this outfit, there was a vent in the groin where the woman's erect penis was exposed, a tan obelisk among the bright colors of her outfit.
The more fully-dressed barista brought the tray out to the crowd. Not close enough for them to touch them, but close enough for them to watch as something unexpected happened. Before their very eyes, the white streaks of glaze started to turn a rich, glossy brown.
The barista, whose nametag identified herr as "Mae," leaned over the tray and smelled the chocolate before addressing the crowd. Mae spoke with a very gentle accent that made her stories sound more compelling, even when she was just talking about donuts.
"This is my favorite part." She smiled widely. "The first chocolate flavor we had was just terrible. Tasted like a chocolate cereal. The second formulation was much nicer, but since the come was still white, some people didn't like it. Fine to mix into coffee, like they do at those other places, but what can I say? By and large, Americans love chocolate, but they don't like white chocolate.
"The next adjustment was just to make the glaze brown, but people HATED watching it..." Mae gestured with one hand, as if throwing confetti from the tip of her penis. "come out, right? Even though it looked like chocolate, smelled like chocolate, now people thought it was gross. Didn't stop people from buying them, but the window-watchers... none of them liked it. So... the new formula doesn't turn brown until it hits the air and cools a bit. I don't know how it works scientifically, but even if I did, I'd say that it's magical. Every time we make a set of chocolate glazed donuts, it's hard to resist the temptation to wave my hands across them and take credit for the transformation."
Mae set the tray down. "There's one last step that we cannot forget." Mae found a stout cylindrical container and removed the screw-on cap. Inside were white and pink sprinkles, specialty ones shaped like an overlay of the Mars and Venus symbols. "Enjoy these sprinkles. I hear they're very expensive."
She shook the container over the donuts, dusting them like salt on a pretzel. Mae started putting donuts into bags and handing them off to her right, where Hila was standing at the register, ringing them up. A somewhat curvy black woman with her braided hair lashed into a ponytail, she was just relieved she wasn't given the Chocolate implant today. The jokes would never cease, even if the orders did. The jokes might be just as bad if they knew she had the Vanilla Creme implant today. She'd heard the 'Oreo' comparison before, and it wasn't funny when it was said to her by stereotyping asshats.
Most of the donuts were bagged and paid for, but one man stayed behind. A mid-twenties man with slightly sunken eyes and slicked-back hair... he didn't look pleased with the sprinkled donuts.
"You don't like chocolate?" Mae asked. "We've got other flavors."
"It's not that. I just can't eat sprinkles." He admitted, looking to the little decorative things as though she's sprinkled sleeping pills all over the donut. "The caranuba wax, I'm allergic to it."
"Oh, that's a shame." Mae said. "We can make you a filled donut without sprinkles."
"That would be excellent." The man looked away, folding his hands together. Most men who walked in here didn't make eye contact and otherwise acted intimidated... for some reason. "How about a chocolate-filled donut?"
"Theo!" Mae called to the back room.
"Theo?" The name seemed to confuse the man.
Theo returned to the front, still wiping the perspiration from the back of her neck with a napkin. She ditched it in a trash can under the counter.
"Oh." The customer seemed relieved at Theo's obvious femininity. "Theo... dora."
"You're surprised a futa would go by a name most consider to be masculine?" Theo looked at him.
He didn't respond right away. He inhaled to say something, but Theo got there first.
"I was born on August 2, 2000." Theo said. "You know what else started in August of 2000?"
The man was unsure. "The end of the dotcom bubble?"
"A kid's show about a little Spanish explorer girl and her monkey."
"Ahh..."
"Yeah. You try telling a bunch of stupid first-graders that you aren't Spanish, you're Greek. So... that nickname is dead, and I'm Theo now. Nice to meet you. Now, feel free to watch me have sex with this donut."
Theo picked up an unfilled round donut with a piece of baker's paper. She set the donut in a small rack on the shelf and adjusted it to her height. She pulled out a piping tip and pressed it into the side of the donut, cutting a small hole out of the side. At no point in this customer's life did he realize that the hole in the donut was made by filling it, and wasn't part of the baking process. Theo put the tip of her cock up to the hole and started jerking herself with her free hand.
