II - Yvette gets a letter from a stranger

The long days carry on, and no word from Rose. Yvette has been checking her mail, both work and home, every opportunity she could for some mention of that red-headed beauty. Yvette convinces herself she is checking the mail as part of her routine, but there was always a single, twisted glimmer of hope that something was there, only to be faced with disappointment when the usual advertisements and bills arrive.

As it is, one fine morning, as she goes through her 'routine,' expecting disappointment again, she hears her wife's voice.

"Yvanna," Daiane utters with a whisper, lost in thought. Her dress is raised as she caresses her fingers delicately across her exposed and stretched skin, where her soon-to-be born child resides. "The name of our child..."

"A lovely name," Yvette says, before realizing the name that Daiane had chosen for their third child. Lily, Ava, and now "Yvanna," Yvette repeats. How much that name shares a likeness to her own.

Yvette lifts her eyes away from the mail, catching her wife in the comfort chair. She was in absolute harmony, beautifully serene. Her eyes gaze out towards the shallow forest that climbs along the path jutting out to the horizon. This beauty, this picturesque moment, captured within the balcony window that Daiane stared out of with wonder and revelation. It was like she saw something more than the peaceful nature. More like...a future. It was rare, but the tribe believed such moments had meaning, and the tribe would silence their activities to kneel and listen so the words of the woman could be heard.

Yvette has never seen her like this, not when she carried Lily or Ava. Far more contemplative, or perhaps, at peace, Daiane stares as some **** that keeps her in place with that beautiful, near-childlike smile, as if she would break into tears any moment. Maybe she was about to. Was this a sign? An unborn child held such power over the universe it was believed that the woman could sense that connection through them and tell the universe from a vision. Does this connection have anything to do with that choice in name? Yvanna?

Yvette hadn't realized she was sorting the mail subconsciously. She looks down at the final letter in hand. It was a black envelope with a fancy white lettering on its cover: FFW. Its content contains a proposition to help with a 'certain problem' plaguing her tribe, along with directions to meet up at the designated location. Further details upon introductions.

Yvette receives many scam letters, but this seems far too personal and detailed to be so. Despite the fact she told few people where she came from, she never once spoke of the situations of her tribe: neither the people on their voyage, neither the people in the city.

Something told her she should go. If the letter was true about this 'problem,' and there was some assistance to be offered, then the only course is to see this through.

Yvette drives to work the next day to access the computer. Looking up the address, it was a cafe by a small studio for modeling and advertising. Plenty of people will be around, so Yvette knows she will at least be in public with witnesses.

She then heads off to a market hidden away with many shops and services. Several models walk to and fro, dressed in gorgeous and elegant wear.0 The men chat in the lot and women pose before cameras. There was an event, and Yvette felt out of place wearing her joggers from work as she steps out and investigates the area. Several of the people from the shoot confirm her fears when they look at her with raised eyebrows as if she was at the wrong address.

The parking lot sat off to the side against another row of buildings, and the view of the city was certianly a spectacle. The tall statue like towers climbed over each other, as if fingers stretching high up into the sky. The afternoon sun was out with no clouds in sight, and the city shimmers in a mirage with its buildings of glass windows and burning aura.

Along the studio building, there was another row of markets that sat hidden from the main road: a couple restaurants, antique shops, a computer shop, and of course, the cafe in question. One lady sat alone among the tables with an umbrella opened up. She wore a nice suit, something like a federal agent or a well-endowed business woman with her sunglasses on, a description which made Yvette shake a little. She sat casually with one leg crossed over the other while staring at the studio lot. She slowly chews on a croissant, decorated with sugared powder dust and shaved almonds, while delicately holding the thin paper plate beneath it.

But Yvette approaches anyway. "Are you...?" She begins.

"Depends..." Her voice was firm. She does not look at Yvette, instead continuing to observe while finishing the croissant and wiping the powder from her face with a napkin methodically.

"I received a letter, saying to come here..."

"Then you came to the right place, Ms. Yvette," she says still avoiding eye contact.

Yvette cocks her sideways, "How do you know my name?"

"We know the names of every one of our kind that lives in the city. It's important for our line of work."

"Our 'kind?' And what work, if I may ask?"

The lady looks over at her and uncrosses her legs. Her eyes still hidden behind the shades, but she is obviously looking down towards Yvette's crotch. "The kind that will save us and our progeny."

Yvette notices the subtle bulge between this lady's legs. She was a futa. The lady crosses the other leg over hers, and goes back to examining the crowd.

Yvette looks over towards the models. The crowd still seems dazzling as ever with this beautiful scenery just behind them. "You said in your letter that you wanted to discuss a 'certain problem' plaguing my people. How do you even know about my people?"

"A few months ago, one of our agents took a vacation to the Amazon Rainforest with her girlfriend. The two stumble upon an entire tribe of people living in the vast jungle, all futas. Apparently, they mistook the couple for some enemy and got them tied up. By the sound of it, they had plenty of fun, the little adventuresses. After a bit of clearing up, they call with the news. The information about your tribe was invaluable and we wanted to know more. We were given a name, looked it up in our registry, and decided now was the perfect time to meet. It was this, or send an entire research team to the jungle."

Yvette chuckles. That's her tribe all right, still horny and **** for action. It gave some relief to know they were still out there. "But what does this have to do with me? If you want to help the tribe, what would you need me for?"

The waitress comes by as Yvette talks, and offers the lady a coffee. She takes it without ackowledging her and speaks to Yvette after the waitress leaves. "Answer me this. How well do you know about futas in this world? How many live and breath as we do?"

Yvette pauses to think. "Not many, outside the tribe."

The lady takes long, slow sips. With a satisfying breath of air she continues. "Futas make up the tiniest fraction of humanity, a measly 1% percent of the entire human race consists of our species. And among them, a few among us can do what you and I are capable of; receive a baby, give a baby. Having been told how your tribe operates, I would wager you are more interested in the latter."

Yvette nods. It's true futas are virile, and some even can wish to become mothers themselves. But the asolute pain that comes with being blue-balled on a regular is a different matter entirely and the tribe takes much more interest in doing anything they can to ease that pain, one way (one woman) or another.

"But your people still struggle to produce futas?" Rhianma continues.

"Yes," Yvette nods, mournfully, as she thinks about her tribe, her family.

The lady clicks her tongue. "Don't be so down. It may surprise you to hear that we have a smaller chance than you to bring one us into this world."

"Really? How is that possible?"

The lady nods. "Futas are a rare breed, and the ability to produce even one takes great effort. Mother nature is brutal with our kind, since the day the first of us were born, we were not blessed to multiply, instead be virile. Painfully so. The difference is, your people have shown to have a higher chance of creating futas than anything are able to."

Yvette blinks. "That can't be true."

"It is the truth. In your genes is the answer we have been wanting, or something that can bring those odds higher for us. But I avoided the question long enough. I have called you hear to make a deal. We want to help you raise your homemade tribe and make every woman you knock up make...well, more of us. In exchange, we receive your genes and study them. Does this seem interesting to you?"

"Well of course, but how can it be done?" The question spilled with it several more questions in Yvette's mind. How can it be done? What must she sacrifice to make it happen?

"First things first," The lady interupts Yvette's train of thought and fumbles in her bag for a set of keys. "I'd like to introduce you to some people. Have them take a look at what they are working with."

"And how can I trust you?" Yvette stops cold. "What guarantee can you give me to show this isn't some hoax?" This all seems far too good to be true. Help her raise her tribe? She is more intrigued by the idea that it's not just happenstance that she is greeted by this stranger, but that it actually could be something she could benefit from. And what if it is a hoax. Her people were hunted through ages all her life, but they weren't immune to internal disputes. Many have died over the honor of three captured women. Despite her skill, Yvette highly doubted she can escape a nest of enemies with superior technology.

The lady turns her head to look at Yvette, dropping her shades, revealing the deep, brown eyes she carries, a mixture of falsehoods and stern honesty mixed in something unknown, something malicious yet sincere. "I have none, only my word. If you leave, you will never see nor hear from me again." Then she raises her shades and looks back at the crowd with the same stoic face she has on her.