The Long Pull: Spunk in Donuts

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.

Not long after, Theo had an orgasm of a more standard intensity, spraying her seed into the donut until it gently bulged, a bit of white appearing at the newly punched opening that quickly turned brown and glossy.

"What kind of frosting do you want?" Mae asked.

The man shrugged. "How about chocolate?"

Theo sighed gently, took in a deep breath and held it. Of course it HAD to be double chocolate. She started jerking again, this time aiming for the top of the donut. Her cheeks turned red, her lips contorted, trying to hold the breath inside, her eyes pinched shut. With a tight groan, Theo drizzled her chocolate across the donut until it spread into a contiguous layer.

Theo took a few deep breaths, hoping he wasn't going to ask for anything else chocolate flavored for a little while. Doing it twice in two minutes after glazing two dozen on the chair... it threatened to reach her output limit. At coffee establishments, that would be less than what would go into a single coffee. They'd laugh at her. But they'd also be driven crazy if they didn't get to jerk it every five minutes.

Mae took the donut off the frosting rack and set it aside. She produced a plastic stencil and a can of pink food coloring spray.

"Wait, what are you doing now?" The customer asked.

"I'm spraying a stencil on the top of the donut." Mae explained.

"I don't want that." He objected.

Mae turned to face the man before applying the stencil. "It's one or the other. Sprinkles or spray."

"The spray has sodium benzoate, propellants, bad stuff. I just want a donut with jizz in it. Why is that such a problem?"

Mae looked to the side of the can to see if sodium whatever-he-said was indeed an ingredient. Hila moved away from the register and spoke to the customer. "What happens in this shop... would be a crime if the person eating the donut did not know what was in it. There's no way to permanently tag coffee to show that it was made with jizz, but we CAN do that with donuts."

"Yeah." Mae set the can down. "So we either spray them with the coloring stuff..." Mae held the stencil out to him. It was an another Venus-Mars overlay symbol. "Or we cover them with the hundreds-and-thousands. That way, it can't be given to someone without them knowing where it came from and what's inside."

"I'm not going to do that." The man insisted. "I just don't want any of the funny business."

"That's fine..." Mae picked up the glazed but otherwise unmarked donut with a new sheet of baker's paper. "But you have to eat it here... in the shop."

She extended her arm, holding out the confection towards him. He didn't wear the face of a man who was eager to slurp up some still-warm ejaculate from a still-warm donut.

"I don't want it right now." He said. "I wanted it for after lunch."

"Take one bite and we'll put the rest in a bag for later."

He still hesitated.

"It's free!" Mae blurted out, quite loudly. "Today only! One free donut! Don't let it go to waste!"

The man didn't move to take it. Instead, he said, "Why is this such a big deal? I-"

They cut him off. Hila called out towards the entrance. "Chip!"

Chip stepped out of the vestibule that stood between the entrance and the shop. The customer had barely registered his presence when he entered. Chip was about six-foot-five with a wave of red hair standing off his head almost like a pompadour. With his white T-shirt, khakis and slim frame, he looked like a lit match.

"What's going on, ladies?" Chip said. He was staring at the uncooperative customer as he said it.

"He doesn't want the safety sprinkles or the spray." Mae clued him in.

"Well, that's fine." Chip accepted the donut from Mae's hand. "But he has to eat it here."

Chip moved the donut closer to the customer's mouth.

The man leaned away like it was a cooked Brussels sprout.

"Come on. Here comes the airplane!" Chip made an unconvincing impression of an airplane's engine, 'flying' the donut around his head before attempting a landing near his mouth.

The man took a step back.

"See, when they opened this place..." Chip began. "They were folks who would buy donuts and try to give them to someone else without telling them what they were. Now, that wouldn't be nice, making someone eat this if they didn't want to, huh?"

Chip placed his other hand on the customer's shoulder. It felt like a catcher's mitt made of lead.

"So if you don't want their donuts, I think maybe it's about time you hit the road."

The man slinked out of the store without his donut.

"And it's 'carn-a-u-ba' wax! Not 'car-a-nu-ba,' you dumb ass." Hila shouted just before he vanished.

Chip glanced at the women behind the counter.

Hila nodded gently, as if only moving her nose.

Chip took a big bite of the donut, right on the hole where it was filled.

"Mae... you say the chocolate turns brown because it touches the air." He considered the inside of the donut, which was filled entirely with chocolatey goodness.

Mae didn't respond, still squinting to read the ingredients on the color spray.

"Mae?" Hila got her attention.

"Hmm?" She looked up from the can.

"You said it goes brown when it hits the air. Well, how come it's brown on the inside once I bite it? Shouldn't it still be white?"

Mae shrugged, smiling. "Maybe it's based on temperature. I don't really understand it. But luckily, neither do the customers, so I can say whatever sounds most appetizing!"

Chip took another bite of the donut. "If my ma knew about me eating this, when I could never once stomach her shepherd's pie, even as an adult..."

"Well, shepherd's pie is just plain gross." Hila said.

Chip finished the donut. "Thank you, ladies. If you have any more issues, I'll be out here."

"It'll probably be another quiet day, Chip."

He returned to his wooden stool in the vestibule and picked up his book of crosswords, removing the golf pencil from behind one ear.

The final thing one might not expect to see in this particular shop... had just entered. A woman, wearing a tan polo and name tag with the name 'Berlin.' She was a slight woman of average height, short sandy blonde hair... and tight gray yoga pants.

It was not uncommon to see yoga pants, even among clientele that love donuts. But the necessary extension to 'fill' the donuts made the tight lycra of yoga pants an unpopular garment. None of the workers here were overburdened with self-consciousness, but this was still a fashion choice avoided by most futanari.

That was the final thing one didn't expect to see at Futa Donuts: a non-futa working behind the counter.

"Hey, Lin." Chip said, not moving from the stool. "I've got one for you. 7 letters, second letter is A. Padres finally got one in'06."

"The San Diego Padres, right?"

"I assume so?"

"Rainout."

She walked past him before he could check the back of the book.

"Hey, Hila!" Berlin waved as she walked up to the counter.

"Hey, Lin!" Hila pulled a disposable paper hat from the box and handed it to Berlin. A deliberate throwback to the soda jerks and diners of the fifties, the paper hats were more costume than an OSHA requirement. Mae was the only employee who didn't wear one. She would pull one out if a customer wanted a photo, because that would be about as long as it would stay in place on her headscarf without lots of bobby pins.

Berlin opened the hat and tucked her head and hair into it.

"You ready for the rush?" Hila asked.

She cracked her knuckles by weaving her thin fingers together and flexing them backwards. "You bet!"

--

Over the years, there have been attempts from businesses both small and large to loosen the iron grip held by Dunkin' Donuts over the northeast, or to at least carve a place in the market for themselves. Small bakeries that made luscious handmade donuts thrived in the shadow of Dunkin' Donuts, so long as the community that surrounded them was sophisticated enough to tell the difference between a homemade donut and a ring of gardening foam.

In 2019, Dunkin' Donuts officially changed their name to remove the word 'donuts.' This was an attempt to rebrand as a more 'beverage-led company,' according to Wikipedia. It could be considered an attempt to compete with the less-pastry focused coffee chain Starbucks. A skeptical observer might say this might be akin to a futa chopping her balls off to make it easier to play the bongos because she was jealous of their neighbor's drum kit.

With the East Coast king of donuts abdicating their throne, this seemed like the perfect time for a new donut shop to emerge. They could even try introducing that predominantly West Coast technique of enlisting futa to ejaculate into food and beverages to the eastern United States. It could be the wedge that finally makes a foothold for this market on that side of the Mississippi river.

This was the plan for the first Futa Donuts location, which opened in the heart of Boston, Massachusetts.

After the first month of operation, Futa Donuts had essentially become a ghost town. There were still regular customers, and the occasional curious passerby. But most of the time... the crew just hung around, waiting for someone to come in. Some of them read books. Those that were enrolled studied for their college classes. Some got exceedingly good at match-three puzzle games.

But most of time time... they waited around, their implants slowly being absorbed and their lust gradually deepening until someone ordered a donut of their flavor.

Except Berlin, of course. She was not obligated to wear one to her job, which was just to stand by the register while her futa co-workers 'made the donuts.'

Just before the noontime 'rush,' the crew prepared a lovingly made vanilla frosted donut and put in the paper to-go bag before the customer asked, "What's Ring Toss?"

Hila looked down to her name tag, where the question "Ask Me About Ring Toss" was printed in small type underneath her name.

"It's basically what it sounds like." She made a circle with her finger and thumb and mimed placing it on her penis.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" The woman's eyes brightened. "Can we do that?"

"Not with the donut we just made. It's too small." Hila removed it from the bag, still touching it by the bakery paper. "That hole is hardly an inch wide. Maybe there are some men who could fit this on their penis, but we'd just rip the donut apart."

Hila got on her tiptoes to pull a donut down from the top rack. It was an undecorated plain cake donut with a shape more reminiscent of an inner tube than a donut. It had a comparatively large hole in the middle.