Quintessential Futaplets (Futa Amazoness TF)

This is a 2am Story, that means the quality might not be as high as you are used to from me. Full info about 2am Stories here.

(Futa and Musclegrowth warning.)

---

Futaro Uesugi’s thumb hovered over the “End Call” button for a solid five seconds before he finally tapped it. The screen went black. His expression had already drained of color.

“You’ve been with them for how long now, Uesugi?”
“Weeks, sir.”
“Then why are their scores still abysmal?”
“I… I’m doing my best.”
“That’s not good enough. Fix it, or I will find someone else.”

The last words had come with that cold businessman’s tone Futaro had learned to hate. He wasn’t wrong, the girls were improving, just not fast enough to impress their father. Not enough to justify Futaro’s paycheck.

“I’ve tried everything,” Futaro muttered, pacing the school hallway after class. “Flashcards, practice tests, one-on-one sessions. What else is there?”

He found himself drawn to the old campus library, an ancient section barely touched by modern students. It smelled of dust and ink, a tomb for forgotten books. Maybe, just maybe, something in there could help. Some old methodology, a teaching philosophy, maybe a psychological trick.

He scoured shelves for hours. Study guides, motivational quotes, textbooks, memorization tricks. All useless.

And then he saw it.

A book with a cracked leather spine, squeezed between volumes like it was hiding.

“Five Questions to Ensure Only the Hopeless End Up as Dumb Brutes.”

Futaro blinked. Then blinked again.

“What the hell kind of title is that?”

He pulled it from the shelf. No author name, no publisher, but the first page had a bold header:

“A Revolutionary Method to Determine Learning Potential and Encourage Full Intellectual Submission to a Superior Mentor.”

Futaro stared.

“Okay. That’s… weirdly specific.”

Still, something about it tugged at him. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the echo of Mr. Nakano’s voice in his head. Or maybe he was just losing it.

He stuffed the book in his bag and marched straight to the girls’ apartment.

Later that day, at the Nakano residence. All five girls stared at him.

Ichika had a towel over her shoulders, clearly interrupted mid-shower. Miku clutched a warm mug of tea. Nino looked ready to stab him with a nail file. Yotsuba waved like he wasn’t calling an emergency meeting. Itsuki already had a notepad in hand.

“What now, Futaro?” Nino groaned. “Is someone failing at not breathing again?”

Futaro cleared his throat. “No. This is serious. Your dad called.”

Suddenly, all five were listening.

“He’s not impressed,” Futaro said plainly. “And he’s threatening to replace me unless you all show dramatic improvement. Immediately.”

The girls exchanged nervous glances.

“So,” Futaro continued, pulling the strange book from his bag, “I found something. An experimental method that… Might help. It’s weird. But it’s worth a shot.”

Nino squinted. “Experimental how, exactly? That book looks like it came from a haunted dungeon.”

“You’re one to talk. You nearly summoned a curse from that DIY makeup blog last week.”

“That was different!”

Futaro rubbed his temples. “Look, just trust me. I ask you five questions. You work together. If you get them right, great. If not… We’ll see where your gaps are.”

“And if we do get them right?” Yotsuba asked, grinning.
“Then your scores go up and I don’t lose my job.”
“Then count me in!”

The others hesitated, but even Nino, arms crossed, eventually nodded.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if this turns out to be dumb, I’m blaming you.”

Futaro opened the book to the first question.

He didn’t notice that the title on the front had already changed slightly.

“Five Questions to Ensure the Hopeless End Up Stronger and Dumber.”

Nevertheless they all placed themselves around the living room, after Ichika grabbed some clothes of course. Futaro sat on a chair near the center of the Nakano living room, the mysterious book open on his lap. The five girls formed a semi-circle around him on the couch, expressions ranging from curious to skeptical to visibly annoyed.

“All right,” he said, holding up the book. “Let’s begin.”

Nino groaned, already flipping her bangs with exaggerated disdain.

“Okay, first of all, this is dumb.”
“We haven’t even started yet,” Futaro replied flatly.
“Exactly, and it’s already dumb.”

Itsuki crossed her arms, trying to project seriousness. “If this helps improve our grades, I’m willing to play along.”

“Me too,” Yotsuba chimed. “Maybe the questions are like riddles! I love riddles.”
“This is the first time I heard of that, Yotsuba,” giggled Ichika, sipping from a juice box. “When did you become a riddle master?”

Futaro tried to break the banter before it started up again, took a breath and read aloud:

“Question One: Which is heavier: A kilogram of steel or a kilogram of feathers?”

Silence.

Five pairs of eyes blinked.

“...Is that seriously the question?” Nino said, tilting her head. “Futaro, I repeat: dumb.”
“It’s a trick question,” Miku murmured. “It sounds simple, but… I dunno. Maybe there’s a catch?”
“Steel,” Ichika said immediately. “Obviously. Steel’s way heavier.”
“But it’s a kilogram of each,” Itsuki reasoned. “The weight is the same. That’s the point of the question.”
“No way,” Yotsuba argued. “A kilogram of feathers would take, like, ten bags of pillows.”
“Yeah, but weight isn’t volume,” Nino stated flatly. “It’s science. Blegh.” 

Futaro waited. “Your final answer, collectively?”

They all looked at each other.

Miku hesitated. “I… guess we’ll say steel? Final answer?”

Futaro sighed. “Wrong.”

“HAH!” Nino stood up and pointed. “Told you it was dumb!”
“No,” Futaro said, “You all agreed. A kilogram is a kilogram. It’s basic physics.”

The room fell quiet.

Then something… strange happened.

Each girl suddenly tensed.

Eyes widened.

Their expressions turned puzzled, then uncomfortable. Yotsuba clutched her stomach. Miku sat straighter. Ichika looked down at her legs like she’d just felt a cramp.

“Uh… is it hot in here?” Itsuki asked, tugging at her collar.

Futaro glanced up. “You okay?”

“I— I dunno,” Ichika muttered, adjusting her posture. “I feel… weird. Like I stretched too fast or something.”

Nino blinked and rubbed her temples. “My spine just… popped. All at once. That’s not normal, right?”

One by one, the girls felt it:

A tightness in their clothes, like their shirts and pants were suddenly a half-size too small. A pressure in their shoulders and backs, dull but insistent, as if their bodies were shifting upward and outward. Muscles beginning to grow firm beneath the skin, unnoticed but very real. But nothing seemed wrong… just different. A mild fog settled in their thoughts. Not pain. Not fear. Just… change.

Futaro frowned. “Are you all sure you’re not coming down with something?”

The girls looked at each other, but no one said anything more. The pressure faded after a few seconds.

“I’m fine,” Miku mumbled. “Just felt… off.”
“Same,” Ichika said, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s just keep going.”

Futaro shrugged. “All right. Next one soon. But pay attention this time.”

As he flipped the page, he didn’t notice that the book’s title (now barely readable on the faded cover) had shifted once more:

“Five Questions to Ensure the Hopeless End Up Stronger, Dumber, and Obedient.”

“Okay,” Futaro said, flipping to the next page. He glanced up, then down again.
Weird, he thought. I could’ve sworn the cover had a different title earlier...

He shook it off. Pressure made you see things.

The girls sat back down, vaguely squirming. Ichika was massaging her thighs. Yotsuba kept fanning herself with both hands. Miku had removed her cardigan entirely. Futaro barely registered it. He was too focused on saving his job.

“Ready for Question Two?” he asked.

“Sure,” Ichika said, eyeing the book with narrowed suspicion. “Let’s get dumber.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nino grumbled. “But seriously, this whole thing is still dumb. Dumber than before, even.”

Futaro flipped the page and frowned.

The question was… strange. More of a riddle than a math problem. But maybe they knew it… or could at least figure it out.

He cleared his throat.

“All right, next one. This one’s a bit of a logic puzzle,” Futaro said. “Pay attention.”

“As opposed to what, last time?” Nino scoffed. “That one was just a dumb science question.”

“This one’s probably dumber,” Ichika chimed, clearly mocking Nino with a smirk. “So dumb I’m kind of excited.”

Futaro ignored them and read the question aloud:

“Three friends go out to eat. They each pay $10, for a total of $30. Later, the waiter realizes the meal only cost $25. Not knowing how to split the $5 refund evenly, he gives each of the three friends $1 back and keeps $2 as a tip. So now, each friend paid $9, totaling $27. Plus the $2 the waiter kept. That makes $29. Where’s the missing dollar?”

The room went silent.

Even Nino blinked.

“...Wait,” she said slowly. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Thirty dollars, right?” Yotsuba counted on her fingers. “Minus five is twenty-five. But then the three each get a dollar, and the waiter keeps two. That’s… that’s... twenty-eight? No, twenty-nine?”

“But if each paid nine dollars, that’s twenty-seven,” Miku said, frowning. “And the waiter kept two. So twenty-seven plus two is twenty-nine…”

“Which still doesn’t make thirty,” Itsuki muttered. “Yeah, that is a good question…”

They leaned in, heads close together like conspiracy theorists over a map.

“Welp, this isn't my forte.” Ichika declared, leaning back. “I’ll leave this one to the girls that know more about math than me.”
“Uuuuu… Why does this refund break math…” Miku moaned. “Unless the tip’s separate. But that still—ugh!”

“Okay, hang on—hang on,” Nino said, rubbing her temples. “I know I insulted the last question. But this is giving me an actual headache.”

Futaro watched them spin in circles, debating technicalities and logic loops, until finally—

“Final answer?” he asked gently.

The girls all groaned at once.

“We don’t know!” they shouted.

Futaro smiled, a little grimly. “I had a feeling.”

But as he said that, it was like the air had grown heavier. A creeping warmth began pooling in their cores. The girls subtly arched or shifted in their seats as the sensations spread.

This time, the changes were more drastic.

Miku felt her bra stretch with a quiet, insistent tightness. She didn’t look down, but she knew something had filled out.

Yotsuba scratched her hips, which now pressed more tightly into her shorts. “Hmm,” she mumbled absently. “Must’ve washed these wrong.”

Ichika’s thighs now brushed together when she walked the short distance to the kitchen for water. She paused mid-step but didn’t comment.

Nino’s shirt clung to her chest more than she remembered. Her arms felt… stronger? More solid.

Itsuki, pressing a hand to her stomach, felt firmness where soft skin used to be.

But none of them said a word about it.

They exchanged glances, brief ones. Something was changing. It should have been concerning. But they just weren't. But also this small distraction made them mis Futaros entire explanation of the problem, so each of them could only fakely smile at the guy when he looked up and asked “Got it?”

The girls all nodded with a uniform “Got it”, although with varying levels of enthusiasm. Futaro cleared his throat. “All right. Two down. Let’s keep it going. Maybe the next one is better.”

Futaro rubbed his temple.

Something felt off.

He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was sleep deprivation. But as he sat back down, book in hand, he glanced up and—

“...Wait.”

They were all… taller.

Not just a little. Noticeably.

He blinked. Then blinked again.

Ichika was leaning against the wall with one arm up, looking like a swimsuit model in gym gear. Miku’s hoodie looked like it had lost a size. Yotsuba was bouncing on her toes, abs clearly visible beneath her cropped tank. Itsuki’s chest had grown heavy enough that the poor buttons on her blouse looked seconds from surrender. And Nino…

Futaro stared at her, stunned.

Nino was standing stil,. not glaring, not huffing. Just… quietly flexing her jaw, her eyes distant. She was taller than him. Hell, they all were.

“When did that happen?” he muttered aloud.

“Hmm?” Ichika tilted her head. “Did you say something, sensei?”

That made him freeze. Ichika never called him that unless she was teasing him.

“Nothing. Just…” He hesitated. “Have any of you noticed anything… weird?”

“Like what?” Miku asked, adjusting her hips in her seat with an audible stretch of fabric.

“You’re all taller. I think.”

“And that's weird cause…?” Yotsuba chirped, sounding genuinely confused. 

Futaro stared at her. Then at the others. They all nodded.

"Because…"

He opened his mouth to press, but then—

He looked down.

And instantly regretted it.

Five sets of pants or skirts were showing distinct, unmistakable bulges.

Large ones.

Growing ones.

He made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a cough, nearly dropped the book, and shot his eyes back up to the pages like they were holy scripture.

“O—Okay! Next question! Let’s… keep going…”

“Question Three,” he read shakily, “A train leaves Station A heading north at 60 km/h. Another train leaves Station B heading south at 40 km/h. The stations are 300 km apart. How long before the trains pass each other?”

Nino leaned forward slightly, lips parted in thought.

“One and a half hours,” Itsuki said. “I can math this one out! Sixty plus forty is a hundred. Three hundred divided by one hundred is three, and dividing that by two trains is one and a half hours!”
“Wow,” Ichika smiled. “You sounded confident.”
“I am.”
“Welp, it's not like you can expect a better answer from me.” Ichika laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Wait,” Nino said slowly. “You mean… we’re all agreeing on that?”
You have a problem with it?” Miku asked.

Nino opened her mouth, paused…

And smiled.

A soft, strange little smile.

“No. I think that’s the right answer.”

Futaro looked stunned. “...You’re all saying one and a half hours?”

They nodded.

“Well… you’re wrong.” He sighed, causing the room the pulse. “And you were so close too. I don't know where you pulled that divide by two from at the end…”

This time, there was no ignoring it.

The girls all exhaled in unison, like a switch had flipped.

Their muscles surged. Shoulders rounded with bulk. Arms swelled beneath sleeves. Abs defined themselves like sculpted armor.

Busts swelled with sudden mass, stretching cloth to its limits. Breasts now hovered well beyond normal proportions.

Their hips flared wider, thighs thickening, legs sturdy and powerful. Most dramatically, the bulges between their legs pulsed outward, reshaping their stance, their posture, and their silhouette.

Miku arched her back. “Ah… that felt so weird.”

Ichika chuckled. “Weird, but not bad, right?”

“Totally not bad,” Yotsuba giggled. “Kinda fun, actually!”

Futaro gawked at them. They were now towering over him, buxom, muscular, and very clearly… different. He opened his mouth to ask, to shout, to demand an explanation—

But then he looked at Nino.

She was gazing at him.

Not angrily. Not sarcastically.

Like she was studying him.

Then she smirked.

“Told you this was dumb,” she said, voice velvet-smooth. “Dumb that we didn’t try this sooner.”

Futaro shut his mouth.

No way. He was not ready to fight this version of Nino.

“Right…” he muttered. “Let’s… move on.”

The girls nodded, obediently. A little too attentively.

Futaro swallowed, feeling very small in every sense of the word.

The atmosphere was strange.

Heavy.

The five girls—no, five statuesque titans—sat crowded together on the living room couch, their massive, curvaceous forms pressed against one another. Flesh, muscle, and fabric strained in every direction. The couch groaned beneath them like it knew its time was running out.

Ichika shifted uncomfortably, her thighs spilling over the edge. She glanced at the others, then pushed herself up.

“I’m just gonna stand,” she said casually. “There’s no room left on this thing.”

The others watched her rise. The couch, relieved, let out one final sigh of survival.

But then Itsuki snapped:

“Sit down.”
“What?” Ichika blinked.
“Futaro told us to sit,” Itsuki said firmly. “That’s part of the rules.”

Ichika paused mid-step. Her smirk faltered.

Then, for the first time, she looked… conflicted.

Her body, now absurdly strong and towering, actually tensed, as if torn between comfort and command. She slowly turned her head toward Futaro, eyes wide with a strange, almost anxious softness.

“Uesugi-kun… is it okay if I stand?”

Futaro blinked at her. “Uh… yeah. Of course. Why are you asking me?”

Ichika exhaled hard, like a weight had been lifted. “Thanks.” She stood the rest of the way up and adjusted her skirt, which—due to recent changes—wasn’t doing a great job hiding much of anything.

And Futaro noticed.

Oh, he noticed.

“Right. Okay. Let’s keep this going,” he mumbled, turning pages like they might rescue him from his own life.

He read aloud, carefully avoiding Ichika’s… region.

“Who was the second emperor of Japan, according to traditional historical accounts?”

Miku perked up. “Ooh, I know this one. Emperor Jimmu, right?”
Yotsuba clapped. “That sounds right!”
“Jimmu…” Ichika repeated. “Yeah, I remember something about that.”

Futaro gave them a few seconds of quiet deliberation.

“Final answer?”
They all nodded.

“Wrong.” Futaro winced. “That was the first one. The second one was Emperor Suizei. I feel like you should have known that one…”

It didn’t hit them like a wave this time.

It was an explosion.

Every one of the girls visibly thickened, like bodybuilders mid-pump under an anime-style glow. Muscle mass surged across every limb. Arms widened with coiled power. Legs became sculpted columns. Their already-voluptuous busts expanded again, now bordering on the surreal. Hips flared wider, shirts rode up, buttons strained.

And for Ichika, already standing—

The change was… impossible to ignore.

Her skirt lifted slightly with the surge, revealing an enormous, pulsing bulge stretching rapidly down one thigh. There was no mistaking it, no hiding it. Her stance widened to adjust, and she gave a soft sigh like she’d just taken off tight heels.

Futaro’s eyes locked on it.
He couldn’t help it.
It was like a gravitational field for attention.

“...Holy hell,” he whispered.

Then—

“Futaro?” Yotsuba’s voice piped up.
He nearly jumped out of his seat.

“C-Can I stand up too? There’s really no space left here.”

Futaro glanced over.

She was right.

The other four were practically welded together on the couch, arms pressed into boobs pressed into thighs pressed into… god knows what. Their wide shoulders made the couch look like a prop from a kindergarten play.

“You can,” he said without thinking, “But only if you start doing flexing poses until the end of the study session.”

It was a dry joke. A dry joke to distract himself.

Yotsuba’s eyes lit up.

“Okay!!”

She sprang up, raised both arms, and hit a double biceps pose so hard her shirt sleeves ripped with an audible tear.

“Tadaa!”
“Wha—You didn’t even hesitate!?”

“You said I could!”

She shifted into another pose. Then another. Her whole body rippled like a living anatomy chart. Miku clapped. Nino muttered something about Yotsuba always showing off.

Futaro just sat there, stunned.

“They’re huge. They’re all huge. They’re muscle-bound giants with... bulges. Actual bulges. And they’re listening to me like I’m some kind of guru.”

The air was hot. Not in temperature, but in pressure… thick, electric, expectant. His throat was dry. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

He looked up.

All five girls were watching him. Still posing. Still growing. Still waiting.

“I… I think we should stop here,” Futaro said, hesitantly. “Something’s wrong. You’re all… changing.”

Itsuki tilted her head, confused.

“We should be changing?” she echoed. “Okay. What about us?”

“No…! Wait, I meant the opposite,” Futaro stammered. “I mean, you’re changing too much! I mean, I think something’s wrong with the book—”

But before he could finish, Nino spoke, stepping forward with all the casual presence of a professional bodybuilder queen:

“Futaro. We’re fine. We’re five strong girls, right? We can handle anything you throw at us.”

She flexed. Her bicep ballooned larger than her own head. Her tank top cried for help.

“You’re the smart one,” she said with a warm smile. “We’re the dumb ones, remember?”

The others all nodded.

“She’s right,” Miku murmured, hands behind her back, her massive chest bouncing slightly with the motion. “Just ask the last question. We can do it if we stick together!”

“Even if we get it wrong,” Ichika added, her voice low and proud, “We’re ready.”

“Please,” Yotsuba said, eyes wide and innocent. “I know we can impress you!!”

“We can do this!” Itsuki said firmly. “We trust you, Futaro.”

Futaro held the book tightly. His hands shook.

“Just… one last question.”

He opened his mouth.

But the words weren’t his.

His voice moved on its own. His tongue formed syllables he did not think.

“Final question: Does each of you agree to be my eternally loyal, muscular, futa servant who will always do as I say, even if that means any command I give is more valuable than all of your thoughts combined?”

Silence.

Time froze.

Then—

One by one, the girls stood.

And the world shifted.

It wasn’t just a surge. It was transcendence.

Each girl’s body erupted with power and exaggerated femininity:

Six-packs sharpened, etched deep enough to chisel granite.

Biceps and triceps expanded beyond anatomical reason, throbbing with raw strength.

Their breasts surged forward, each a massive globe larger than their heads, no bras could hold them now.

Hips and butts exploded in size and curve, their lower halves now dominated by curves upon curves of otherworldly proportions.

Their bulges… oh god. They swelled, throbbed, extended… Each one looking like it was built by divine misunderstanding. Unrealistically and absurdly massive. They twitched with  heavy heat even though their skirts and panties, impossible to ignore.

And their eyes — all five sets — locked on Futaro.

Eyes full of devotion.
Eyes full of purpose.
Eyes that said one thing:

“You matter more than our minds.” Ichika was the first to speak, standing front and center.

“Yes. I agree.” Nino, chest heaving, nodded without hesitation. “Whatever you say, we follow!”

“I obey.” Miku, flushed and breathy, whispered: “Please command us.”

Yotsuba struck a double biceps pose again, smiling so brightly it was eerie. “We’ll do anything for you, Futaro!”

Itsuki, proud and firm: “We exist to serve you.”

And then silence.

Futaro looked around, heart pounding. Sweat beading on his brow.

He was a high school boy.

And now he was standing in the middle of five musclebound, hyper-curvaceous, hung futa goddesses whose loyalty eclipsed their own sense of self.

They were gorgeous.

Terrifying.

Ridiculous.

And his.

He dropped the book.

“What the hell have I done?”

…

Epilogue: “Just a Normal Afternoon”

Futaro sat on the living room couch, well, technically he slouched on it, because the couch was now tilted slightly upward on one side. That side was supporting what could only be described as one of the five hyper-muscular, ultra-busty, futa Amazons worth of weight daily. And even that was lowballing it.

He stared at the accursed book on his lap, flipping through the yellowed pages with mild panic and a very real headache.

“There has to be something in here about reversing it. Curing it. Anything...”

Across the apartment, the girls had settled into a routine, but into one that can only be described as painfully distracting, with all the massive boobs, asses, and pendulums swinging around.

Nino was in the kitchen, apron stretched tight across her absolutely inhuman chest, stirring something in a pot with enough arm muscle to churn cement.

Miku hovered behind her, trying to copy her motions.

“That’s too much salt again,” Nino snapped. “You always—just—ugh, you’re hopeless sometimes, you know that?!”

Futaro groaned. “Then show her how to do it properly.”

Nino stopped, blushed, and straightened up like a drill sergeant getting praised by her general.

“Yes, Futaro.” She turned, her tone suddenly syrupy-sweet. “Miku, darling, let me guide your hands.”

Miku’s face turned redder than the tomato sauce. “Y-Yes, Futaro… I’ll listen closely.”

She had never looked more focused. Not even during finals.

Meanwhile, Ichika’s voice came through on speakerphone, cheerful and breathy.

“Guess what? I got it~! They hired me as the star model for Muscle Glam Extreme Volume 3—the extra-naughty edition. I just wanted to hear my sisters get jealous. And Futaro~ Praise me!”

Futaro didn’t even look up from the book.

“Congrats. Don’t break the camera lenses.”

“Aww, you’re adorable when you pretend not to be turned on.”

He hung up.

Yotsuba stood in the center of the room, looking lost. Futaro, without thinking, had told her:

“Just… clean up a bit.”

Five seconds later, she cheerfully bent over, slid her hand beneath the massive couch Futaro was still sitting on, and lifted it one-handed like she was curling a dumbbell.

Futaro yelped as the world shifted beneath him. And he got lifted a good two meters into the air. By Yotsuba. One hand from Yotsuba.

“Careful! I’m still—”
“There was a wrapper under here!” she chirped, beaming. “All clean now!”

She lowered the couch gently, humming.

Futaro blinked. “...Right.”

Itsuki, the only one with a clipboard and glasses (neither of which fit properly anymore), was seated on the floor beside him, though "seated" was generous. Her muscles made basic posture into a sculptural challenge. Her bust alone made reading a book that's right in front of her almost an impossibility.

“Futaro… What are we looking for again? I still don’t really understand what went wrong.”

Futaro stared at her.

Her clothes were in total revolt. Her abs were on full display, like an anatomy reference sheet. Her skirt barely covered anything at all, and her massive, pendulous bulge twitched lazily in her lap as she waited for an answer.

“I…” He blinked.

Yotsuba bent over again, dusting something. He caught another full view of glorious, rippling backside so round it could’ve been its own planetary body.

Nino flexed her glutes as she stirred.

Miku moaned softly about how nice it was to be “guided.”

Itsuki waited.

“...You know what?” Futaro sighed. He closed the book. “It probably wasn’t that important.”

He sank back into the cushions.

His head was spinning. His heart was pounding. Never in his life had he ever felt this physically, overwhelmingly, carnally attracted to anyone, let alone five absurdly muscled futa goddesses with bodybuilder builds and dump trucks for butts.

And they were everywhere around him. 

His brain had checked out.

Then—

“FOOD’S READY!” Nino called from the kitchen.

Futaro stood.

“Perfect. That I can deal with.”

That's when his brain had checked out for the day. Tomorrow’s Futaro could try to deal with this situation again…