Lucy Looks for Love (futa on female, hyper, cum inflation, etc.)

Derision. Hatred. Revulsion. It was how they felt about her. It was how she felt about herself. It was how she felt about it. For as long as she could remember, ever since she found out she was different. Different, the biggest curse you could ever experience in life, a curse that hung over your head, marking you forever. She thought adulthood would change that, that it would change everything. Moving away, becoming a member of society, meeting new people - none of it mattered. Things were the same wherever she went. It was just as they say: the more things change the more they stay the same.

Tears flowed from her eyes, dripping onto the large circular glasses hanging off her face. They streamed down to the small tip of her button nose, briefly hanging onto the rounded end before falling onto her pillow. The soft cloth quickly darkened, the purple material turning black from the moisture. With a dainty arm she wiped under her glasses, pushing the black frames up to her forehead. A cascade of brown hair lay across her cheek, acting like a barrier to cover her shameful visage from the world. 

Rolling onto her back, she grabbed her glasses between her slim fingers and threw them to the side, the thin frames bouncing gently against the bed. With an arm covering her eyes, she stared into darkness, the twin waterfalls of salty sadness soaking into her pale skin. Her breaths came out in ragged gasps, small bits of spittle flying from her pink lips into the air, before dropping back onto her face. Chest rising and falling rapidly, heart beating like a drum, she lay in hushed darkness, only the sounds of her rejected wailings penetrating the suffocating silence.

Like all things, even this came to an end. For one such as her, who cried herself to sleep more than most, being lulled into unconsciousness by her own audible despair was nothing new. The world of dreams, or in her case, nightmares, more often that not, overcame her being. Gentle snoring replaced mournful cries, and a new sound, one that would be all but out of place for anyone but this slumbering individual, joined the congested inhales. Gurgling. It came from under the thick blanket that cradled her small body, right below a very unusual protuberance that snaked from her crotch down past her feet.

Her slumber was anything but peaceful. 

Arm raised. Hand holding metal. Passing scenery. She was on a bus. Wearing something - a dress? It was too short. Everyone could see it. No one was saying anything to her. Sideways glances. Not-so-subtle snickering. Clicks of cameras. Mocking. Leering. Laughing. She couldn’t do anything. Frozen in place. Facing forward but able to see everyone around her. Crying. Then something new.

Sitting outside. Sun shining. A cold table. Same outfit. Same problem. Surrounded by others. Young. Immature. Mean. They were jeering, hurling insults. An apple splattered next to her. A carton of milk splashed across her head. Cruel nicknames. Threats. Promises of violence. More crying. Then something new.

Indoors. Uncomfortable seat. Computer monitor. A man. Sitting on her desk. A vicious grin. Rows of pointed teeth. Beady eyes. Ogling eyes. Innuendo. Inappropriate comment. Hand on thigh. An implication. No response? A scolding. Face a mask of anger. Others standing up staring. Same visage. Heads shaking. Underhanded comments. A folded letter. Then something new...

A small, rectan

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