Hungry For More

A futa has an eventful outing at the grocery store, enjoying the most fuckable foods in the store.

Authors note:
I wrote often for myself but have yet to post before. Let me know if you all are interested in a part two/any suggestions. Enjoy!

The convenience store clerk hadn’t blinked in seventeen minutes. His name tag read 'Carl', but the way his fingers twitched against the counter suggested he’d long since checked out of the concept of identity. Across the street, a woman - no, something taller, broader, adjusted the strap of her tank top, the fabric straining under the weight of what could only be described as a biological anomaly.

She moved like she owned the sidewalk, each step deliberate, hips swaying just enough to make the air itself seem to part for her. The bell above the door jingled when she entered, and Carl finally blinked. His throat clicked as he swallowed.

The produce section smelled like damp lettuce and raw basil. She paused by the bananas, running a thumb along one’s curve before letting out a quiet laugh. It wasn’t the laugh that drew attention, it was the way her jeans bulged suddenly, fabric struggling as something beneath shifted with interest. A shopper dropping a bag of pretzels didn’t break her focus.

By the time she reached the dairy aisle the first button of her jeans had given up entirely. Cold air licked her stomach as she palmed a quart of cream, considering. The carton left condensation on her fingers when she set it back down, but not before giving it a slow, appreciative squeeze.

The freezer hummed louder when she crouched, the fluorescent lights catching the sweat at her collarbone. She didn’t bother with subtlety, just hooked a thumb into her waistband and freed her cock with a wet, meaty sound. The ice cream selection shuddered as she grabbed a gallon of mint chocolate chip, cracking the lid with one hand while the other guided her cock into the frosted depths. The laminated cardstock creaked but held strong.

Carl’s walkie-talkie crackled from the front. Somewhere near aisle four, someone dropped a jar of tomato sauce. None of it mattered as much as the way the ice cream yielded, softening instantly around the heat of her greedy length, the green swirls clinging to her shaft with ease. She exhaled through her nose, hips giving an experimental roll before sinking deeper. The carton deformed in her grip, ridges pressing into her palm as she bottomed out.

The freezer door rattled when she braced against it, her breath fogging the glass. Tiny fractures spread through the ice cream’s surface as she fucked into it, slow at first, then with enough force to send sticky flecks splattering against the shelf below. A pint of Ben & Jerry’s toppled over, but she caught it absently with her free hand, thumb popping the lid off mid-thrust. The smell of sugar and salt thickened the air.

She didn't bother wiping the mint chocolate chip from her cock before spearing it into the pint of Ben & Jerry's—Half Baked, the label proclaimed, which seemed unnecessarily pointed. The cold barely registered now, her flesh radiating enough heat to turn the cookie dough chunks into a molten slurry that clung to her dick in thick, uneven globs. The freezer shuddered when she rocked forward, her balls pressing against the shelf's edge as she hilted herself in the pint, the container flexing dangerously.

Across the aisle, a display of whipped cream cans trembled as she withdrew with a wet pop, only to plunge back in three times faster. The ice cream barely resisted now, parting for her like it had been waiting its whole refrigerated life for this. A dollop of vanilla landed on her thigh, and she swiped it up with two fingers, sucking them clean as she reached blindly for another pint, this one strawberry cheesecake. The plastic lid tore away beneath her nails before she could even think to twist it off.

She didn't slow down. Not when the strawberry chunks caught deliciously on the underside of her cock, not when the cream cheese swirls smeared across her balls, and certainly not when the freezer door's hinges began to whine under her weight. Every thrust sent another wave of pink-tinged slop splattering against the glass, the condensation running in milky rivulets down to the floor. Someone's phone buzzed loudly from a forgotten cart nearby, but the sound was drowned out by the rhythmic squelch of her hips meeting plastic, over and over again.

A shudder ran through her, not from the cold, but from the way the ice cream clung to her cock, impossibly warm now, like it was melting just for her. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, her fingers tightening around the pint's mangled edges.

When she finally came it wasn’t graceful. The first spurt hit the back of the freezer with enough force to splatter the price tags, thick ropes painting the glass in uneven stripes. The second pulse overflowed the pint she was still buried in, frothy white mixing with pink until it slopped over her fist and dripped onto the floor. She didn’t stop thrusting, not even as the last few spurts painted the surrounding pints; Rocky Road, Cookies & Cream, in glistening streaks. The freezer reeked of salt and sugar and something unmistakably primal.

Breathing hard, she pulled out with a slick sound, her cock glazed in a mixture of melted dessert and her own ejaculate. She smeared a hand down her length, scooping up a glob of strawberry-laced cum and licking it off her palm with a satisfied hum. The mess she left behind was obscene: half a dozen pints oozing onto the shelves, their lids askew or missing entirely. One had toppled onto its side, a slow river of cream pooling beneath it.

The bread aisle was quieter, the air thick with the yeasty promise of dough and flour. She dragged a fingertip along a baguette’s crust, the texture rough against her skin. The plastic wrapping crinkled as she hefted it, testing its weight. Then, without ceremony, she tore the bag open with her teeth. The bread was still warm from the bakery in back, soft enough to give under her grip as she squeezed, her other hand already working her cock back to full hardness. The first thrust into the loaf sent a shower of crumbs scattering across the floor, the crust splitting open around her girth with a sound like crumpling paper.

A customer turned the corner, froze, and immediately walked the other way. She barely noticed. The bread’s center was dense, yielding just enough to make her groan as she buried herself to the hilt, her hips stuttering forward in shallow, eager rolls. The baguette wasn’t going to last long.. but then again, neither was her patience.

Crumbs clung to her dick like confetti as she pulled out only to shove the ruined loaf aside and grab another. This one was softer, pre-sliced, and she tore through the plastic with her teeth before lining herself up with the first slice. The spongy texture swallowed her cock effortlessly, each thrust pushing the bread deeper into the bag, until the entire loaf was nothing but a pulpy mass around her. She came with a grunt, her cum soaking through the slices, turning them into a sticky, doughy mess that oozed out between her fingers.

The next loaf was rye; sturdier, crustier. She flipped it end-over-end before driving into its side, the resistance making her hiss through clenched teeth. The crust cracked under the force of her thrusts, flakes raining down onto the linoleum as she hammered into the soft center. When she came this time, it was with a low, guttural sound, her cum soaking into the dense interior until the loaf sagged in her grip, oozing warm jizz from its fissures.

She tossed it aside with a wet smack and grabbed a pack of dinner rolls still in their plastic casing. The film stretched obscenely as she tore it open with her teeth, the smell of yeast and butter thick in the air. The rolls were pillowy-soft, barely resisting as she shoved two of them together around her cock, their pale surfaces dimpling under the pressure before splitting open around her girthy dick. She fucked into them with short, messy strokes, her breath puffing faster as the bread absorbed every thrust, turning into a warm, doughy Fleshlight that clung to her. When she came, it was with a sharp gasp. The rolls bloated obscenely, their golden-brown tops splitting as her cum overflowed, dripping onto the floor in thick, creamy rivulets.

A jar of marshmallow fluff caught her eye next, its sugary contents gleaming under the harsh store lights. She unscrewed the lid with one hand, the other still slick with cum and melted bread as she plunged into the sticky white mound. The fluff clung to her cock like a second skin, warm and yielding as she buried herself to the hilt, the jar fogging with her breath. Every withdrawal pulled strands of marshmallow in long, glistening threads, stretching obscenely before snapping back against her flesh with a wet slap.

She fucked the jar harder, the rhythm erratic now, her hips pistoning in short, desperate bursts as the fluff churned around her. The scent of vanilla and sugar filled her nose, thick enough to taste, as the jar’s contents began to froth and bubble from the friction. A strand of marshmallow snapped free, landing on her collarbone like a sticky brand, and she licked it off absently, her tongue dragging slow over the sweetness before plunging back into the jar with a wet slap. The glass fogged completely, obscuring the mess inside, but the sound was unmistakable: a wet, rhythmic squelch punctuated by the occasional creak of the lid straining against her thrusts.

A last minute, lust filled decision was made as she snagged another pack of dinner rolls from the shelf, barely having time to tear into the plastic this go around. She plunged her sticky cock into the soft, forgiving dinner rolls, groaning as they warped around her girth with ease.

When she came, it was with a shudder that sent the dinner rolls bulging obscenely, their golden-brown skins splitting at the seams as thick, creamy cum surged between them. The plastic tray beneath groaned under the weight of the mess, sagging until one corner gave way entirely, depositing a slurry of dough and seed onto the floor. She exhaled through gritted teeth, fingers kneading the ruined rolls like they owed her something, before tossing them aside with a wet splat.

The produce section was cooler, the misters kicking on with a quiet hiss as she approached. Watermelons gleamed under the fluorescent lights, their dark green stripes almost tauntingly taut over the ripe flesh beneath. She dragged a fingernail down one’s surface, leaving a faint white trail in its wake. The fruit didn’t tremble, it had no reason to yet, but the way her cock twitched against her thigh suggested that wouldn’t last.

She hefted the largest one, its weight satisfying in her palms. The stem snapped clean when she twisted it free, the sound crisp in the quiet aisle. For a moment she just held it, fingers digging into the rind hard enough to dent the flesh beneath before turning it slowly, searching. A shopper’s abandoned cart blocked the misters, but the watermelon was already slick with condensation when she rolled it against her cock, the chill making her hiss.

The first thrust was messy. The rind resisted before yielding with a wet crack, fissures spiderwebbing from the entry point as she buried herself to the hilt. Pulpy red flesh clung to her shaft in thick chunks, seeds scattering across the floor like fleeing witnesses. The watermelon’s juice ran in rivulets down her thighs, warm where it pooled in the creases of her jeans, but she didn’t slow down. Each withdrawal pulled strands of pink flesh with it, the fruit’s insides churning into a frothy slurry as she pistoned harder, the rhythm uneven now, desperate. The smell of summer and sugar filled the air, mingling with the musk of her own sweat as the watermelon split further, halves splaying open like an offering when she came with a groan, thick ropes of cum painting the ruined flesh in stark white streaks, dripping lazily onto the floor in sticky puddles.

She left the watermelon gaping on the display, its split halves still quivering as she palmed her slick cock, already half-hard again. The misters kicked on with a hiss, droplets catching in her eyelashes as she stepped toward the pyramid of cantaloupes. One hand gripped the nearest melon’s dimpled rind, still cool from the refrigeration, while the other stroked lazily, her thumb smearing precum and sugary residue down her shaft. The cantaloupe gave little resistance when she drove into its stem end, the flesh parting with a wet crunch that sent orange pulp oozing around her knuckles. Juice dripped from her wrist as she fucked it in short, brutal thrusts, the melon rocking against its neighbors until the entire display shuddered. She came with a grunt, her release flooding the cavity until it overflowed, rivulets of white and orange streaking down the pyramid’s slope.

The peaches were next. She grabbed one at random, its velvet skin bruising instantly under her grip. A sharp twist of her hips buried her cock to the hilt in its soft flesh, the pit cracking audibly as she bottomed out. Juice sprayed across her tank top when she pulled free, the ruined fruit slipping from her fingers to splatter on the floor. She didn’t pause, just grabbed another, and another, fucking each in rapid succession until her thighs glistened with sticky nectar. By the fifth peach, she was panting, her orgasm building slow and thick as she pistoned into the fruit’s pulpy remains. Cum mingled with peach juice when she spilled, the mixture dripping onto a cluster of strawberries below.

The cucumbers hardly stood a chance. She snatched one still wrapped in plastic, tearing the film with her teeth before lining it up against her cock. The cool length of it slid against her shaft as she stroked, the vegetable’s ridges catching deliciously on her sensitive flesh. Precum smeared the cucumber’s tip as she worked herself faster, her breath coming in ragged bursts until, with a sharp cry, she came, thick streaks arcing over the produce section. A bell pepper caught the first shot, the seed-studded interior pooling with her release. An avocado took the next, the creamy green flesh indenting under the force. By the time she finished, the lettuce heads glistened under her mess, their crisp leaves drooping under the weight.

She stepped back, surveying the wreckage with a satisfied smirk. The tomatoes were untouched.. for now. Her cock twitched at the thought of their thin skins bursting under her grip, the way their seeds would mingle with her cum.

A shopper rounded the corner, pushing a cart piled high with groceries. The woman froze, her eyes flickering from the ruined produce to the futanari’s glistening cock, still slick with peach juice and cantaloupe pulp. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with a strangled noise, the shopper reversed course, her cart squeaking as she fled the aisle.

The futanari chuckled, turning her attention back to the tomatoes. She plucked one from the display, plump, ripe, its red skin taut with juice, and rolled it between her fingers. The tomato trembled slightly in her grip, its surface cool against her palm. She lined it up against her cockhead, pressing just enough to dimple the flesh. Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, she speared it onto her length, the tomato splitting instantly with a wet pop. Seeds and pulp oozed around her shaft as she bottomed out, her hips stuttering forward in shallow, greedy rolls. The tomato didn’t last long, just a few strokes before it burst completely, its remains sliding down her cock in sticky streaks.

She grabbed another. And another. Each tomato met the same fate; impaled, fucked, obliterated, until her thighs were streaked with red, her cock glazed in a mixture of juice and cum. The display was a massacre: pulped flesh, shattered skins, seeds scattered like confetti. A lone cherry tomato rolled off the shelf, bouncing across the floor before coming to rest against her sneaker. She crushed it underfoot without a second thought, the pop satisfyingly wet.

By the time she stepped out of the store, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the parking lot in shades of orange and pink. Her tank top clung to her back with sweat, her jeans stiff with dried juices. The walk home was slow, unhurried, her cock still half-hard, twitching occasionally against her thigh as she savored the memory of the store’s destruction. She’d left her mark, and the thought made her grin.

The streetlights flickered on as she turned the corner, her shadow stretching long behind her. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm blared. She ignored it, humming tunelessly as she dug her keys from her pocket. Home.. where she could shower, maybe nap, and most importantly, plan her next outing. The grocery store had been fun, but the farmers’ market opened at dawn. And those pumpkins looked delicious.