Futanari Notebook Ch 18

"She's avoiding me," Carmen said, sipping at her coffee. She was sat in Stacy's office once more, both taking their slight reprieve from the first rush of the day, though neither could afford to take long. In the last week, the flood of customers had worsened, as had their insistence that Carmen be front and centre. Stacy had said business on Carmen's off-days was pitiful by comparison.

"This Zoey girl?" Stacy asked, sighing into her own steaming cup.

"Yeah. I'm not sure what it is," Carmen shook her head, "Well, I kind of do." She glanced at her girlfriend, despite only having one date thus far, and grimaced at the guilt she felt. Zoey's attraction to her was her fault. It never would have come to fruition without the Futa Note.

"She's into you, isn't she?"

"How'd..."

"Honey, I'm not blind. Nor am I worried," Stacy said and set her drink aside to lean forward. They were close, chairs side by side and legs touching. It was the best intimacy either could hope for until Stacy could get another day off, which neither could guess. The rent had gone up for the property, as had the prices on ingredients, and the oversaturation of customers on Carmen's shifts left both exhausted. All Stacy's time was devoted to keeping track of everything.

But physical intimacy wasn't the cause for Carmen's love for her. It was amazing to kiss and hold her, to taste the milk that weighed heavily on Stacy's chest, and to come within reach of going all the way. The tease was horrible yet marvellous, leaving Carmen with her libido blazing and her self-control strained.

"You're a good woman. I doubt you'd cheat on me. Not that I'm really opposed to it," Stacy said.

"What?" Carmen asked, certain that she'd misheard her boss. The answer would wait. The second rush was coming, lecherous eyes combing the surroundings for Carmen. Rather, her tits. She couldn't blame them. On anyone else, she would have done much the same, though she would be far subtler. Some didn't even try to steal glances at her chest, instead they just gawked at her as they ordered the same thing as always. They left healthy tips at least.

An hour later and the rush had stemmed into droplets of wonderers. Carmen slouched against the counter, sighing and scowling as her breasts were squished and the weight on her back relieved. They popped out from her ragged shirt, which hung too low to conceal her abundance of cleavage. Just the shirt was enough to gird her breasts enough to form the crevice, though she lacked a bra.

"Don't worry about Zoey," Stacy said while she organised some cups, ready for the prospect of another onslaught, "She's probably just dealing with her own feelings right now. Being gay in high school can't be easy."

"No, it's not," Carmen agreed, though middle school was as bad, if not worse.

"So, uh," Stacy cleared her throat, "I've been hiring lately and I might have a couple of new recruits coming in soon."

"Oh?" Carmen arched her eyebrow and turned to face her. The shop floor was empty, but neither expected it to remain that way for long. Even so, a moment to enjoy their relationship was welcome. Regardless of how fleeting it was. Stacy also faced her, full face glowing with a nervous grin.

"That means I might be able to schedule a few vacation days. Get out of the city for a bit, somewhere quiet. You've got graduation coming up, right?"

"Yeah," Carmen said and leaned forward, anticipation rumbled in the back of her mind and made her heart gallop.

"Good, because you're more than welcome to join me. It'll be my present to you. You'll still be paid of course."

"A few days all to ourselves? I can't say no," Carmen closed the distance and kissed her, groaning at the sweet aroma that surrounded Stacy and the taste of her lips. Joy and lust danced as one, both rejoicing the potential of this invitation. A trickle of moisture down her inner thigh sent a lustful shudder up her spine. She slid her hands along Stacy's hips to cup her delicious ass, while her boss reciprocated.

The door open and they jumped apart, curves jiggling. Carmen cast a sidelong glance at her, sighed and resumed her professional manner. Two months, she could hold out for that long. The torment would be worth it to have all that time with Stacy. Alone, uninterrupted, free to express the lust she'd built up.

Familiar fantasies surged to life as she served customers. It was a steady flow of their usual clientele, none demanded extra attention from her, leaving Carmen's prodigious mind to wander from scene to scene. Her and Stacy entwined, milk splattered all over their skin, kissing and moaning as their ground their pussies against each other's thigh. Or locked in a 69 position, crying out into the other's pussy. Again, she wondered how Stacy's must taste. Would it be tarter than her own, or sweeter? How juicy? How soft? How quick to cum?

Carmen banished those thoughts. She was flustered, a burn in her cheeks and loins. A snide chuckle at her side brought Ryuka back into focus, her presence igniting the fire further. For as much as she acted indifferent to the Seikogami, Ryuka was the epitome of sexual extravagance. To ignore her was an impossible task. No matter how often she woke and saw the goddess floating nearby, the sight still captivated her.

No, it was worse than captivation. Carmen lusted for her. Every night, when she tried to fall asleep amidst her stifling arousal, stray thoughts of relieving herself would come through. She wanted to ignore Ryuka and let her body have the release it craved, but that wasn't accurate. Masturbation would be a relief, but not a solution. Only two answers stared her in the face day after day, and neither would acceptable. Choosing Ryuka meant accepting defeat, and pressuring Stacy into it might ruin their relationship.

Mary and Dakota were a potential third and fourth, but that meant cheating on Stacy. Zoey was another option. Stop it. Carmen raked her nails along her thigh, lashing her desire with pain. Giving up wasn't an option. She had to focus on studies and work. Anything that might compromise them was an impossibility.

Yet that didn't change how bad she craved it.

Streamers of white vaulted from the dark tip to splash across her face and body. One crashed against her chest, splashing onto the mounds she hadn't grown accustomed to, while another glued her hair and a third rushed the wall above her head. As the blasts quieted, she lurched forward and caught the remainder in her mouth. Her loud gulps urged her balls to clench and deliver a thicker finale.

Zoey came free with a laboured gasp. Rivulets of cum had escaped her lips and coursed down her chin, joining the rest that had poured across her skin and the previous, drying loads. She stroked her cock, wringing the viscous dregs from it, and savoured the afterglow. Beneath her balls, her pussy pulsated in its own, weaker climax. How many was that now?

She'd woken earlier than normal with dread writhing in her stomach. Today was the day. Her first race since meeting Carmen, since her body underwent excessive changes, and since she stepped out from underneath her own despair. Now that fear was back. It had infested her nightmares, tormenting her with everything that could go wrong; she could trip, or expose herself, orgasm for no reason, try to fuck a competitor. Or she was simply too slow. Even now, after cumming more than three times to rid herself of the sensation, anxiety threatened to drown her.

Sunlight spilt through the clouds overhead. It would be a nice enough day; no rain was forecasted and the wind was down. No excuses. Any failure was her own. But why would she fail?

Zoey wasn't the same runner as before, in both the physical and metaphorical. She ducked under her doorway and into the bathroom, hoping to clean herself before Megan got up. Things were complicated with her. Her sister's claims at turning over a new leaf weren't unfounded, as she had found a job and she acted less like a bitch every day, but she was still the modern Megan. Worse, she acted too friendly toward Zoey. Not as a sister should.

Disgusting though it was, she wondered time and again if Megan was attracted to her. The shorter sibling still wore skimpy clothes, though now she seemed to have them targeted toward Zoey, often exposing that delicate bit of thigh that intersected with an ass cheek, or adjusting her low-cut shirts to flash a hint of nipple. Sometimes she swore Megan moaned her name at night.

Not that Megan's attraction was unfounded. Zoey hadn't taken pride in anything but her legs for all her life, overshadowed or put down by Mary, Gretchen and others, though she would be hard pressed to refute the stunning figure she now sported. She had become every women's sports fans greatest dream; luscious thighs and hips slathered in muscle and fat, a sleek waist, a hint of abs, and her breasts overflowed her hands when she cupped them. Discipline and excess - femininity and power - embodied her towering frame.

"Nothing to worry about," Zoey told her reflection. Not a speck of cum remained, all wiped clean or shovelled into her mouth. Her arms rippled with sleek muscles as she gripped the sink, staring down the snivelling beast that wanted to break free, "You've... I've got this. Who's gonna try anything anyway? They'd have to be stupid." They would indeed. No one walked up to a seven-foot athlete and intimidated them, doing so would have the reverse effect.

Then again, they didn't have to walk up to her. A glare or scowl from afar would be adequate. She shook her head at herself and left. That was the old Zoey. Even Gretchen didn't frighten her as much anymore, though being within view of the unstable bitch set her on edge. What chance did strangers have?

The race wasn't until late morning, following the relay and other team contests, none of which Zoey was part of. No one on the track team, few as they were, liked being in the same room. They even insisted that Zoey change after them, lest she try to spy on one of the girls, of which she wasn't anymore. They didn't care that she still had her vagina, all they saw was the bulge in her gym shorts and musculature. She was the freak tranny to them.

Ms. Blake had done all she could to keep the bullying to a minimum, going so far as to persuade Gretchen to leave her be. That wouldn't last long. Every second spent around them exacerbated into what felt like hours, tension dense as the thicket of ancient cobwebs in every corner. No words were exchanged beyond derisive remarks.

A grin teased her lips as she readied herself for the day. No comment heard had gone unreturned, though her retorts were less inventive then her former allies. Her height didn't care if she said something lame or repetitive, so long as she didn't tolerate the abuse, and with her improved vantage point she couldn't lose. Not when her legs rippled with power and dwarfed even her father's lanky limbs.

"Morning Zoey," Megan said, entering the kitchen.

Zoey sat at the table, chugging down her breakfast, and averted her eyes. Once more, Megan presented her body without shame. One strap of her tank top hung over one arm and threatened to slip further, while her shorts struggled to stretch over the bodacious curve of her rear. Not one inch of her plump legs was concealed. If it wasn't her, Zoey might have enjoyed the view. Perhaps if it was Carmen? ...yes.

No! Zoey shook the thoughts loose before her imagination resuscitated her slumbering cock. She choked down her cereal, grabbed a protein bar and bag, and rushed out. Megan called after her, but the words faded away. She couldn't afford to exhaust her on further fantasies. She needed focus to make everything come to fruition, then there wouldn't be a need to imagine everything.

She'd avoided Carmen for that exact reason. Being around her, knowing she was unattainable for the meantime, drove Zoey's sex drive wild. Every hour of every day, without fail, she would conjure Carmen's image and contemplate how her skin must feel, how her boobs bounced, if her butt was as firm as it looked behind her skirt. Best and worst of all, Zoey pondered what her pussy was like.

"Stop, stop, stop," Zoey muttered as she power walked to Saint Puella. She needed to handle these urges and keep them segregated until after the race. Which she would win and, if Carmen's words in the infirmary held any weight, quench her curiosity. It might be a lie, yet it also could be. Not from Carmen. Other people deceived their way through life, but she couldn't be one of them.

The school towered into view, casting its shadow across the sidewalk and road and all who walked them. Zoey didn't linger in its darkness. She was done cowering beneath something, and headed to the field, past the silhouette. And frowned.

People were on the field. Runners, she assumed from how they moved, but none wore the customary skirt, opting instead for a pair of shorts that allowed excellent manoeuvrability. She hung back to observe them, while annoyance stirred beneath her skin. Who were they to encroach on the one place she could truly relax?

Someone spotted her and jogged over. They were a typical athlete. Mid-length hair tied back in a tall ponytail, sharp features to cut down wind resistance and a honed body designed for sport, though she only came up to the futa's chest Zoey noted.

"Hi," the runner panted, "I'm Beth, from Northland High? You're Zoey, right?"

"Yeah," Zoey said, thinning her eyes in caution.

"Jesus, you're just as tall as Michelle said you were."

"Michelle?" The name was familiar, as was their high schools, she just couldn't place it.

"Oi! Michelle!" Beth waved to someone, who approached with a calm stride that exuded confidence.

"Oh shit! That you, Zo-Zo?"

A few feet separated them and Zoey recognised her now. Michelle had several striking features, the least of which being her musculature. Neon pink hair cropped short into a faux-hawk, dominant jawline and nose, stacked a body pure power. It wasn't at the level of a body builder, nor was it the sleek form most runners sought. Square shoulders, stocky torso and a pair of legs layered in muscles. If not for her height that put her level with Zoey's collarbone, she would appear ridiculous. Instead, she simply exuded strength.

And intimidation, "Looks like you filled out. At least you beat me in something," Michelle said, smirking, "But you still look puny. How's the twigs holding you up?"

Zoey swallowed her response, afraid of what might come out. Frost bit into her veins. Her fingers were numb, as were her feet and legs. The fist she wanted to make refused to form. Phantom voices taunted her, all Michelle's, and long healed aches spread across her body. Gretchen had salted the ground on which her self-confidence had been razed, but it was Michelle who brought it to that state. And, unlike the bitch queen, Michelle had no issue with physical enforcement.

"Cat got your tongue? That's alright," Michelle clapped a hand on Zoey's shoulder. A moment ago it was above her eyeline, now they were even. She squeezed, nails sinking deep into the once tall redhead's shoulder, "You're gonna lose again, right? Wouldn't want an accident?"

"No," Zoey said and shuddered, realising she wasn't refusing Michelle but agreeing with her. The world had returned to its former stature and dominated her. She was tiny, an insignificant speck on the Earth to be walked over once more. Saint Puella was no longer a school, but her personal hell. It offered her hope under the guise of a curse, and ripped it away once she got comfortable. The chill stopped, but she was still quivering. Michelle's stomach filled her view.

"Good. If I lost to a little shrimp like you, I'd probably kill myself," Michelle laughed and gave Zoey a pat on the head, like she was a diminutive dog, "Now run along. You're distracting."

Zoey left and turned the corner, stopped and looked up at the wall she encountered. It was Carmen. Was it frustration? Sorrow? Anger? All three played in her mind as she clung to the honour student, snivelling into her clothes like a child with their mother. This is what everything she'd done had amounted to; failure.

"I'm sorry," Zoey said for what must have been the hundredth time. They were sat in the destitute library, now devoid of the books it needed to be called such. Zoey cradled a bottle of sugar water, while Carmen reclined opposite her, calm and in control as always. She hadn't said a word.

"You should be," Carmen finally said, "You go and punch Gretchen, get your ass kicked and still walk around like you own the place, then one freak shows up and look at you!"

Zoey flinched away. She was well aware of what she had become. Even Rachel was taller than her now, probably stronger too. A kitten could intimidate her.

"You don't know her," Zoey said, "She's worse than Gretchen."

"I doubt it."

"Gretchen never sent someone home with a broken arm. And nose. Or nearly popped someone's shoulder out," Zoey wrapped her arms around herself. Michelle hadn't done any of those things to anyone but her. She was the competition, the only one who ran at the same pace. Of course Michelle would target her, "I almost ended up paralysed because of her."

The calm on Carmen's face vanished, pulled past the point of return and into an abyss of rage. Her full lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes twitched, her hands came together in a furious embrace. She took deep, shuddering breaths.

"Why are you angry?" Zoey asked, "It's not like she did anything to you."

Carmen ignored her, "She did all that because you were better than her, didn't she?"

"Maybe," Zoey shrugged.

"Then beat her," Carmen said and relaxed, though her body remained taut and fury crackled behind her cobalt eyes, "Make her look like the petty bitch she is."

"I can't. Look at me!" Zoey laughed and stood, shoulders barely above the three-and-a-half-foot table, "I couldn't beat a fucking turtle, let alone the fucking hare."

"Then just grow!" Carmen also stood, glaring down at her, "I don't care what you think you're capable of. Because, right now, you still think some steroid freak is better. So, instead, you're going to ignore anything your brain says. You," Carmen leaned forward until her face almost cross the table and peered deep into Zoey's eyes, "Are going to win."

"I can't," Zoey whispered and hung her head. The last time she was on a track with Michelle, in an actual competition that she wanted to win, she woke up in hospital. A 'nasty fall' was the apparent cause. She didn't believe it for one second. Silence hovered then was torn asunder at the brutal crack across her cheek.

"It may sound stupid, but I want you to win," Carmen said, "Don't believe in yourself, then. Just believe in me. Because I believe in you."

"That does sound stupid," Zoey snickered, a flicker of warmth chased away the sting in her cheek.

"Fine, whatever. But it's true," Carmen reclaimed her seat and sighed, exasperated, "I could take care of Michelle for you."

"What?"

"I could make it so she could never run again."

"That's..." Zoey recognised that Carmen was smart, but her physical strength had never seemed apparent before. Was she some kind of martial art master? Otherwise, Zoey saw no means for Carmen to beat Michelle in a contest of strength, not with that sleek build and heart-stealing curves. Yet she had a confident inferno in her eyes. Maybe she could handle it?

No. Michelle was brute force incarnated in middle school, after four years, she didn't want to imagine what she was capable of. But Carmen's mind was made up. If Zoey did nothing, if she stayed there and snivelled like a coward in her tiny body, then Carmen would take matters into her own hands. She would get hurt, no telling how severely, and everything would be Zoey's fault. All because she let her fear overpower her again.