Becky and the Blob [requested]
Story by andromeda
Tags: Monster/Tentacle; Consensual; Cute 'n Cuddly; Futa/Monster; Companionship; Young Teen; Privacy
Andromeda-babble:
sooo Counterdist requested a tentacle story.
I don’t write tentacle stories. The fact that my spell-check keeps reminding me that I misspelled “tentacle” is a testament to that (apparently there’s no “i” in tentacle. Huh).
So why did I take this story on? A few reasons; one, I want to try something I’ve never done before. Two, Counterdist’s criteria fit very well into my particular style of writing. Three, I haven’t published in a while and I wanted to have something out there. So here we are.
Disclaimer:
If you like tentacle stuff, you might not like this story. If you don’t like tentacle stuff, you might really like this story. It’s not typical. It’s cute, it’s (hopefully) fun, and it’s realistic in terms of the limits of human physicality. The monster is a cat-sized cuddle-bug, not a hulking tangle of vines. The Monster serves the human, the human doesn’t serve the Monster. You can look at this as a “my first tentacle” story. It’s all very tame, ‘cause that’s what the requester asked for.
Summary:
Becky is broken. A young teenager living on her own after the disappearance of her parents, she struggles daily to attend school, take care of herself, and generally keep up appearances. Unfortunately, her cock is a secret that keeps her from truly enjoying life. It is a constant source of social anxiety that drives her away from everyone, relegating her to a life of self-deprivation and self-neglect. Her life is a constant struggle, and she is slowly drowning. What on earth could possibly turn her life around?
Part 1
The patter of rain woke Becky. It tapped on her bedroom window like nervous fingers, incessantly drumming a nervous staccato. She tried to ignore it, to roll over and go back to sleep; but she knew she had to get up. It was Tuesday. A school day.
Reluctantly, Becky rolled out of bed and stood. Her bare, slender legs poked out the bottom of her oversize sleep-shirt like a couple of chopsticks. She shivered, rubbing her arms to chase the goosebumps away. Gotta get the heat fixed, she told herself for the hundredth time.
Truthfully, Becky needed to get a lot of things around the house fixed. Since her parents had gone, the place had fallen into neglect, and the once-proud Victorian had deteriorated in a state of noble decay. She didn’t put off repairs for a lack of money; her parents had left her a substantial sum in a private bank account. The problem was that fixing things required outsiders. And outsiders asked questions Becky didn’t want to answer. She was barely a teenager and her life had become hard and lonely, but it was better than people finding out that she lived her by herself and her parents were nowhere to be found.
Deciding to put off the repair for another week, Becky padded through the dark, cold hallway to the bathroom, the only room with a touch of cheer. Like all the rooms in the house, it was big, with twelve-foot ceilings and a custom tile floor. A claw-foot tub stood against one wall, with an improbable rubber-ducky shower curtain circling it. An open shower alcove stood next to the tub, and here Becky walked, pulling her sleep-shirt over her head and tossing it unceremoniously on the floor next to her hamper.
Becky had the long, lean body of a girl in the midst of her teens. Her graceful legs arced into the shy swell of her hips before tapering again to her narrow waist, bracketing her flat tummy. Becky’s breasts were modest in size, but they were shaped perfectly; two hemispheres of soft, supple flesh capped by cute pink areolas. Her nipples poked out like eraser nubs and stiffened easily and often, always drawing undue attention at school and embarrassing her. But that embarrassment she could live with. What would really kill her was the embarrassment she would feel if people found out what she had between her legs.
As a healthy, functioning female, Becky had what was by all accounts a very cute little pussy; two plump, smooth lips separated by a neat slit in which the rose-petal pink folds of her labia nestled shyly. She also had what was by all accounts a very cute little cock, too, perched just above the confluence of her outer lips. Like the rest of her body, it was long and slender, with a heart-shaped head the same hue as her labia, hanging gracefully between her legs like it had every right to be there. This was what attributed largely to the source of Becky’s embarrassment and introversion. Her delicate living arrangements dictated that she always remain under the radar, drifting through life in the background, fading in and out of public consciousness like a ghost, disturbing nothing, contributing nothing, changing nothing. Becky felt that if people knew about her cock, everything would change forever, and the thought of t
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