Futa Goo

"Why don't you stay at my place," Tess suggested.

"Why would I do that?" Marcy asked, curious.

"I don't know," Tess replied, her head shaking a little bit. "But...but it feels like I need you to be with me, for this weekend," Tess said.

"Oh god, Tess," Marcy said suddenly.

"What?"

"Oh god." Marcy looked around suddenly. Her bra began to feel uncomfortably tight. "We need to go. Now," she hissed softly. They had already paid.

"Why?" Suddenly Tess's eyes clouded. "Oh fuck, Marce."

"We wondered whether it would come back."

Tess's head bobbed fast, up and down. "We need to go!"

By the time that Tess's apartment door opened, Marcy was clawing wildly at her top. Her boobs were spilling out over the cups and the pressure between her legs was unbearable. Tess closed and locked the door, and was on her knees, unzipping Marcy's dress slacks she'd worn to work that day - the ones that now had a massive bulge in them - eager to put Marcy's futacock back into her mouth.

Two people cannot have an orgy, strictly speaking. But Tess and Marcy did, and reveled in the cum and orgasms and explosions and screams and cries. Saturday night Marcy planted her seed deeply in Tess, and withdrew the little golden droplet. Sunday afternoon Tess did the same to Marcy, and added her droplet. On Monday morning, their periods were completely gone, completed and there was no sign of their futa cocks.

It would take the two of them three more years before the bottle of futa goo was fully restored. Only then did Marcy along with Tess return to the little store. The Japanese woman took the bottle and smiled, shaking it a little to see that it was fully replenished.

"Ah, very good," the woman said. She set the bottle down, and stood up. This wizened, elderly woman grinned a toothy grin and waved. "Come with me," she said.

Marcy - with Tess in tow - walked to the back. "We want thank you," the elderly woman said.

"We?" Tess asked.

"Thank us?" Marcy said at the same time.

"Yes, we. Thank." The Japanese woman nodded eagerly. "You refill bottle."

"Will...we will always be like this?" Tess asked.

"Up you," the Japanese woman said.

Both younger women frowned. "How is it up to us?"

"Charm sealed one way only," the woman said softly. She unzipped her slacks, and took her own flaccid futa-cock out. "You feed from me, you stay as you are now. But under control," the woman added. "You walk way, charm dies, stay regular woman," she said. "Up to you," the woman said, extending her finger and pointing it at both younger girls.

Tess and Marcy both flicked their eyes from the woman's dark eyes, flashing with humor and intensity, down to the futa cock that had now grown erect. The Japanese woman's body grew thick and fleshy, with heavy breasts, and rather than seeming like a wizened, elderly woman, now glowed with youth and vitality.

"Feed...how, exactly," Marcy asked.

"I cum, your mouth, then pussy. You stay like me," she said. Her hand stroked the large organ, a droplet of precum oozing out.

"You leave, stay woman. Can have kids. No tell husband," the Japanese woman added with a leering wink.

"Will..." Marcy found herself unable to think, unable to speak. She was aware of Tess in a similar state next to her.

"Always be young. Hard cock," the Japanese woman said. Her breathing was coming faster. The futa cock had its siren song, but its deep mind-wiping strength was gone.

"Marce?" Tess said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to do it," Tess said eagerly.

Marcy, who'd long had problems with her impulse control, found herself in total agreement. "Me, too."

"Good girls. Now come. Suck," the older futa advised needily.

***

The door opened. Marcy sat in the back, her legs crossed as she hummed a tune and read her book. She looked up and saw the young, healthy woman walk into her shop. "Hello, dear," Marcy said. She had no idea that her pronunciation sounded more like "herro."

"Hi," the young blond said brightly. She browsed the shelves slowly. Marcy watched, her fingers reaching out here and there, picking up an item or two and inspecting it, before returning it to slightly dusty shelves.

Marcy set her book down. "Help you with anything?"

"No, thank you, I'm just browsing," the blond said.

"Okay. You need help. Ask, okay?"

"Sure, sure," the blond said idly.

Marcy felt a familiar stirring deep between her legs. Her slightly oriental face remained impassive, though, unwilling to show even a glimmer of hope. The bottle that sat on a dusty shelf, pushed towards the back, was again about half-full. Time, it seemed, ate away at the mixture. The bottle had been calling of late, though Marcy herself was not drawn at all to the bottle. She had done her part. Both she and Tess had done their part.

She sighed but only mentally. The car accident that had stolen her best friend and lover and wife had occurred some thirty years before. Not a day when by that Marcy did not feel the intensity of that loss. Some mornings, especially those mornings when her futa body demanded release, all she could do was sit and weep for the loss of her fellow futa. She had never even wanted to make love to a regular human being since Tess's loss.

She barely even registered that her caucasian frame and look had morphed over time into the little wizened Japanese woman that she now presented herself as. In fact, when she looked in the mirror, all she saw was herself - years older, of course - but simply herself. It was others who looked at her as a friendly but broken-speech oriental. And as the curator and owner of this curious little shop. A shop that rarely sold anything, but as Marcy and Tess - while she lived - came to discover, their little futa clan had been among humanity for centuries. That they were rich beyond measure came as a shock, but then again, what was the point of having all these riches without the ability to do anything with it?

Marcy only had one indelible image of that day when they joined the clan. Marcy had been on her back. Her face was covered in a sticky, hot and wet mixture of the Japanese woman's futa-cum and Tess's own drippings from her body. The futa had come and come and come into Tess's body, at least ten separate times, and in between Tess's innate orgasms, and those triggered by the futa-seed dumping into her, the cream of her pussy simply overflowed and ran down onto Marcy's face and into her tongue and mouth. Each swallow was an elixir of the gods, a taste never before enjoyed, and not savored ever since. Marcy had lost count of the number of times that her own organ had spurted into Tess's mouth; Tess, on her hands and knees, had sucked voraciously on Marcy's organ all while the little Japanese futa had taken her pussy over and over and over again.

Though she had enjoyed wild and decadent sex a thousand times over since joining the clan, losing her mate had set her onto this particular course. It seemed that over history, there was always one. One couple, among whom one would suffer an early, tragic end. In small stores dotting the globe, there was a wizened Japanese woman who tended her store, where the bottle lay dormant until it awoke and cast out its net, in need of replenishment. While Marcy had always enjoyed the clan's long hormone-fueled weekends, she had always gone to bed alone, and often shed tears in the darkness. There was small consolation that in the world wide web of the futas, that there were several like her, destined for a long but fundamentally lonely life.

She bore up well, though, seeing the world many times over. No part of the globe or its population was unknown to her. She spoke every major language, and could adopt any local dialect. Sometimes she was a brassy Aussie from Sydney, other times a sullen, beautiful woman of mystery from Vienna. All her futa were like this, all better to remain utterly hidden from view. But she always had to return to her duty station, where she appeared as the wizened old Japanese woman. People would come and go, and her futa cock would never tingle; the bottle would never stir.

But as this blond moved through the store, picking up odds and ends, studying it with a half-smile, and setting it back down, Marcy felt more than a faint flicker of hope. These tingles were radiating more powerfully through her lower body. They held such power, in fact, that her futa loins emerged. She always wore long, flowing dresses to work, and her suddenly turgid erection throbbed needily under the pleats of the dress. Marcy did her best to remain passive, only scooting her chair forward a little so that if the blond got too close, she'd not see the massive erection that Marcy now endured.

The blond came to the proper shelf. Her head tilted, just the tiniest bit to the side. The dim light in the shop still managed to glint off of the lustrous head of hair she enjoyed. As the blond's fingers touched the bottle, Marcy had to steel herself - her cock oozed a large droplet of precum. Yes, this blond was definitely the one. Marcy watched, the blond holding the little vial up to her eye and giving the golden liquid inside thorough inspection. She then tossed it in her hand, over and over, continuing to browse. But Marcy felt it now, the way that her futa-cock was so impossibly rigid between her legs, that the vial had found its next target and was already beginning to impose its will on the young woman.

"Hi, um, can I ask a question?" the blond came forward.

"Sure, sure," Marcy said, nothing in her voice betraying the roiled blood pumping through her body or the raging arousal that she felt in my mind.

"What does this say?" the blond asked, her finger running down the row of calligraphy.

"Futa goo," Marcy replied dutifully, helpfully.

"Futa goo?" the woman asked, her head pulling back at her neck, her hand moving a little forward. "What's futa goo?"

"Not know," Marcy lied. "Maybe keep you young." The words were not her own; they were fed to her by the vial and her own throbbing erection.

The blond smiled. "We'd all like that, wouldn't we? A magic elixir," the blond chuckled.

"Yes, yes," Marcy said, not impatient. Let her think that she was making up her own mind. Her futacock positively throbbed, an enormous droplet of precum oozing out, so much so that Marcy felt it run down the front of her turgid organ. "You stay young, look healthy. Pretty."

The blond smiled. "I feel pretty today," she said.

Marcy's wizened old face cracked into a sunny smile. "You look good," Marcy said. She'd not endured this strong of a reaction from her futa cock in years, and began to wonder whether or not she'd inadvertently orgasm just from the blond holding the bottle. The power of the mixture was...substantial.

"How much?" the blond asked.

"Ten dolla," Marcy said, quoting the same price that she'd been given some decades prior.

"Only ten?" the blond asked. She chuckled. "Hell, I can do that!" she smiled, reaching into her purse and fishing out the bill. She handed it to Marcy, who took it and slid the paper into its proper drawer.

"One drop only," Marcy advised. "All you need. One drop."

"Just one?" the blond asked.

Marcy's smile was huge and conveyed all of her knowledge into that expression. "One all you ever need," she assured the blond.

"It won't hurt me, will it?" the blond asked.

"Don't know," Marcy said, again echoing what she herself had heard long ago. "Never take. Only hear. Things."

"Good things?"

Marcy's grin was truly triumphant. "Oh. Yes, good only," she assured her. In her mind she went FUUCCCCKKKKKKKK because she felt the hard spasm in her cock and an enormous droplet of her hot, slippery precum oozed out, practically coating her erection.

"OK. Hey, what the hell, works for the movie stars, right?" the blond asked with a grin. She tucked the vial into her purse. "Thank you!"

"Welcome!" Marcy managed to reply in a sunny tone that did not reveal her need.

The door closed, the little bell jangled, and Marcy did not even have to touch her cock - the orgasmic explosion sent cum splattering all over the inside of her dress, raining down onto her thighs and coating them. The cock spewed and spewed cum, and Marcy finally slumped forward, her arms crossed and lay her head down on them. She remained there for a long time, breathing slowly and steadily. She felt...relief. The cycle had begun anew; her time was nearly done.

"Looks like I'll be seeing you in a few years, Tess," Marcy said as she sat up. Afternoon had turned to night, and dried cum stuck to her legs. She wept a little, whether joy or relief or yet another shedding of sadness she neither knew nor cared. The cycle had begun anew; that was all that mattered.