Simpsons: Burn's Heir Part 2 - A Present For Marge (MF)
by Dark Tangent
Marge could hardly stand, her eyes welled up so thick with tears she couldn't
see. She felt though that this bettered her chances of surviving this. Her
breathing grew thicker, heavier and then fainter as what she had endured
started to subside. She felt her husband's boss's cum slide in thick salty
sheets down her neck and over the fleshy balcony of her bosom. She fell to
her knees again as Mr Burns, the means of her family's support, her husband's
employer, and soon after his eyes drifted southern a cuckold, her cuckold,
began again to punctuate, or rather, exaggerate the lower and outer arches
formed by Marge's breasts into two eclipsing globes of tan-lined blushing
pert flesh. Marge felt the crest of each bosom rise to her collarbone and
then overwhelm it.
It suddenly occured to Montgomery as he slid his tool between those two
beautiful bouncing bosoms that there was some deep need in him to extinguish,
as soon as possible, any reputation for modesty or anonymity that Marge had
groomed for herself amongst her husband's coworkers. As long as he was
wrecking one life, why not two? What was there for him to gain from his being
quiet about the new service Homer Simpson's wife was providing after all?
Marge could make a lot of his employees a lot happier employees. He watched
this woman, this delicate angel, this woman his employee called wife,
children called mother, heave in starved gasps as he tit-fucked her carefully
groomed purity into local celebrity.
Outside Mr Smithers had a perfect view with Burns's camera-phone. Mr Burns
caressed with the shallow indentations of each palm the stiffening pink buds
of Marge's nipples. He watched, grinning ear to ear, as, despite Marge's
screams and sobs, her nipples perked at the slightest bit of prompting from
his touch. Marge began to shake her head, suddenly horribly aware that as her
humiliation impoverished her dignity she felt her skin blush against his
touch, her body even glow beneath the salty balm she felt conditioning her
topless figure. She felt at the ends of her lips pulling back strings of this
man's potent corruption.
'Enough of this bullshit', Mr Burns thought to himself as he shoved Marge
back until her body laid splayed across the shag carpet. He reached down and
seized up the elastic band of her panties and as if soliciting a sacrifice to
some pagan god tore it from her and dangled it teasingly above and just out
of her grasp.
"No. No, please." Marge seemed delirious with something awful.
Marge began to fight and scream as Mr Burns moved his hands down between her
legs. Marge turned and saw where he'd tossed her panties, they laid draped
over a family portrait. As Burns began to insert himself into the resistant
woman beneath him the second part of his plan started to form. His jubilant
fingers studied the delicate petals of her quivering pussy. He heard Marge
begin to call out her husband's name, not in passion but in suffocating
terror. Marge tried to sit up, slide her fingers down into the indentation
of flesh between her hips and retrieve this man's hands, but Monty was
determined to stay the course. He probed, undeterred and when she managed to
pull his hands back every once and a while his fingers were coated in Marge's
trickling juices. Mr Burns began to wonder how long it had been before Marge
had been thoroughly fucked. Once he was able to manipulate Marge's moistening
folds in a marathon of clumsy machine-like gestures he finally felt her pink
pussy bloom over tips of his fingers. In time his arm would disappear up to
the middle of his forearm.
Marge screamed and shook her head as Monty had just seized by the crest of
her clitoral hood and was inside her. She felt his touch as it twisted and
spun inside her crawl closer and closer to her g-spot. Then just as Marge
feared he grazed the tip of it and withdrew entirely. Marge shuddered. She
stood at the threshold of something horrible that could be, despite its
cruelty and loveless intentions, the relief she desperately required now.
Marge looked down and saw Mr Burns spit into his thin varicosity-laced hand.
His eyes moved down to her, where he head fit from where he stood, between
her giant tits. Her terrified gaze back at him, as if from a child who knew
despite whatever she wanted, whatever was best for her, she was going to get
what was coming to her. Marge began to shake her head again.
"No. No. NO!" she began to scream. Monty would only nod back to her, a very
serious and more importantly pitiless response from his own face and eyes.
She watched, uncertain of her own feelings, whether they be anticipation or
dread, as his hand descended and slid between her thighs. The contours formed
by the combination of the fingers on his right hand fit perfectly there,
despite Marge's hesitation and her knowledge she'd only loved and been loved
by one man, and it wasn't Homer's boss. As one hand began a new set of
manipulations another went back to one of Marge's breasts, his thumb began
to entice in its cruelty the blushing servitude and standing of one pink
nipple. And then suddenly as from an organism Marge felt her body begin to
unravel from its dignity into sensuous voluptuous curves before this
stranger's eyes. Her legs were tossed wide open by a will of their own and
suddenly the image of her husband's boss's penis appeared in her mind again,
and began to worm itself toward places where she placed loving memories of
her husband, their wedding vows, all those promises and sincerities they
conversed between each other as they lied into each other's arms. She knew
somewhere behind the fogging mirror of her conscience that this image could
replace all that, even hypnotize her into a frenzy. As Mr Burns began to
insert himself Marge felt her modesty evaporate, her insides fervently
attempt to memorize the features of this strange visitor and circumnavigate
its singular purpose to the deepest depth and most unguarded galleries where
only the most impoverished of pools unsatisfied by her husband had laid
As Monty felt himself sink deeper and deeper into the weeping woman he
watched her body unhinge from its restraint. It suddenly occurred to Mr Burns
if he wanted any chance of planting his seed successfully he was going to
have to go as deep as humanly possible, maybe even deeper. He reached down
toward the woman who waned toward catatonia and lifted each leg until her
calves rested against his shoulders. Then he stood just the slightest bit and
began to lean down over her. Once he heard Marge begin to cry again, now from
the traumatic straining of her calves as he bent her into a human pretzel
Monty suddenly dropped his weight down on her. Marge let out a bloodcurdling
wale as Monty slid entirely inside of her, thrust through the not yet moist,
not yet certain, not yet turned regions of Marge's sensuality. The pain for
Marge, no matter how terrible and definitive gave Monty no reason to hold
back. Mr Burns began to thrust in and out, sawing through Marge's unprepared,
inexperienced unripe insides. Back and forth as Marge pitched back her head,
her tall blue-hair unraveling into curly compromised dishevelment.
Finally Marge tipped her head back down, to confront this monster with
unkind words. She found him sating his vices in the form of Marge's breasts,
Marge was taken aback as she saw, fascinated, humiliated, distant, as she
nourished perfectly his greed with her breasts. The sight she found somehow
provocative, almost addictive in its newness. She was suddenly self-aware in
a way that made her feel impowered.
"YOU BASTARD! YOU SON OF A BITCH! HOW DARE YOU! HOW COULD YOU? I'M A MARRIED
WOMAN! I PROMISED MYSELF ...UHH...TO SOMEONE, AND IT WASN'T YOU!"
But Marge's body had a stronger hold on this man, this monster, this
manipulator. It suddenly occurred to Marge that in a way, she was
manipulating him. Control like this felt alien to Marge, she would never
imagine a man so insatiable in his greed for sex so lovelessly infatuated
with her. As he inserted himself, digressed and then reinserted Marge felt
herself drowning beneath the realization that she had become this body for
a man she'd never really known, how long before there were others like him?
Marrge watched, in a daze, as this evil old man's kisses and suckling pursed
lips cut through the glaze of sweat and jizz that soaped her bosom.
'Loveless, but in love.' Marge thought as he fought more and more for her
cooperation and company. His hands had moved down and now plied the ovals of
Marrge's ass. Marge felt her nudity amongst the stranger become less and less
a fissure of shyness. As Marge felt herself begin to edge more and more
toward complete cooperation, state of natural being that would turn herself
completely over to this horrible old bastard she thought now would be the
best time, the only time to try and bargain with him.
Marge felt her hands begin to shake, and a terrible emptiness in her stomach
as she lifted those hands to the back of Mr Burn's head, took his head in her
hands and lifted his lips to hers. As Marge, to the best of her ability and
tolerance, tried to reproduce that first passionate kiss she gave to Homer
the first night they made love she felt this old man's face immerse itself in
her unwilling heart. His lips, cracked and graceless began to comb over and
between hers. She tried to hold her eyes with his, and found his gaze icy and
evil. This wasn't love, but Marge felt she could only do her chances better
by bettering the illusion.
Further prompting led his mouth into hers, reassessing with his tongue hers
which had just been tasting his dick earlier. Mr Burns seemed to fall in love
with the idea of this whole passion thing. Marge wrapped her arms around her
new lover and her legs over his back pulling him deeper inside her. Though
just as she was about to ask him to tell no one about any of this the first
orgasm suddenly hit Marge. Mr Burns watched happy as a clam as the feeling
pulled Marge's blue eyes wide open. This man, this horrible old man had
finally reached her g-spot. Marge was being lifted up out of her house, out
of her marriage, out of any spec of love or caring for Homer or anything
"CUM IN ME! CUM IN ME, MR BURNS! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU MR BURNS!" Marge
felt her body coil around her husband's boss. She felt him begin to throb
hypnotically within her.
If Homer is listening, Monty thought, I might as well turn the knife a little
"AM I BETTER THAN YOUR HUSBAND, MARGE? DO I PLEASE YOU BETTER THAN YOUR
Marge realized somewhere beneath their bodies there had once been a facade
with which she'd hoped to entice this man into not telling anyone about this.
But somewhere she'd forgone any possibility of dishonesty in her words to Mr
Burns. This lie had been replaced with something else, something so much more
horrible because she realized it was suddenly true. This man, this monster,
this evil old bastard had gotten to her, just as he said he would. Just as
he'd promised. And now she wasn't reluctant to sing his praises because she
felt despite his cruelty he deserved the truth.
"HOMER WHO?" Marge thought it to herself but somewhere it broke out into
gasps between the intense loving kisses.
Mr Burns broke out into maniacal laughter.
Marge realized, her eyes glazing and gazing through the ceiling above her
into the nothingness that existed beyond a marriage she'd helped destroy,
he'd heard her. Oh, god! He'd heard what she was thinking.
Mr Burns began to pump into Marge what would be the first of several potent
salty loads of cum. Marge tossed her head in violent sobs, feeling the salty
balm bloom hot inside her belly. Still her body, her waist, her pelvis, her
groin pumped back at her rapist squeezing as if out of starvation the seed
from his fleshy stem. Mr Burns reached down, and taking her waist, began to
jackhammer himself down into her, increasing his speed and equally his
impatience for a second sense of relief. Marge reached up and, purely by
instinct as she had a dozen times with her husband, took the man's head in
her hands and led his lips down to one pursing pink nipple. Her arm from
shoulder to elbow formed along with her waist and hourglass in the length
between her body and Monty's as she squeezed together into domed paramount
the enormous ovals of her breasts into the evil man's excited face. She had
before only allowed this for her husband but what she'd never told Homer was
that she enjoyed it as well and quite frankly needed it right now. Regardless
of whether or not her betrothed was there she needed it urgently. If Mr Burns
was going to get an itch of his scratched, she figure so should she. Though
she didn't think that this formula of give and take would addict her to his
touch that's what began to happen at that very moment.
Reluctancy lingered somewhere in Marge's body language, it would occasionally
interrupt the whatever artful rhythm their bodies created together. So much
as Monty could coax the sensuality out of Marge's nude body he could every so
often feel her curves begin to wind down just as they began to unravel into
explicit vulnerability. Something was still penetrating the most basest of
her body's programming, something maternal, something she felt for her
husband and family.
Marge had forgotten how much she enjoyed the feeling of hot breath and then
a hot mouth clamping down on her areola. Something in the stranger's earlier
attempts hadn't hit the note more because of the ill-timed moment. Though
something in the dishonesty she'd hoped to use against this man, lying that
she loved this feeling when she didn't, became corrupted by the truth that
she was enjoying it. And so when she decided to share that little secret that
once only her husband knew with the man she undid the last of her reluctance.
Monty felt Marge gasp as he seized up one pert bosom with his starved mouth.
He knew he done something so right that it would be her undoing. Marge's back
arched and her legs fell slack to either side of their bodies. As if suddenly
her hormones signaled the need for nursing Monty could feel her breast and
then the other expand and her nipples grow stiff and long as never before.
He could feel her exhale and then, as her legs had just done, her body fell
slack. Marge collapsed, paralyzed by his touch.
"NO. NOT THERE." Monty heard her say. He could distinguish by now old Marge
from new Marge and this was definitely old Marge crawling back out of the
muck of his cum.
Monty let the savoring pulp of his tongue crawl and fold and unfold back and
forth over Marge's now flush, perspiring domes. Monty clenched and unclenched
as he shot another load deep within the frozen torso beneath him. He felt
Marge tense up as his cum crawled back up inside her. Like a woman running
from a encroaching tide that has already submersed her. That tide carried her
unwilling body to the next orgasm, where as he was sitting up to look down at
the aftermath she pulled him back down to kiss him passionately. Her eyes
were closed and as they opened Monty felt himself stare down into the eyes of
a stranger, a woman that his employee hadn't fallen in love with and
certainly hadn't married.
"HOMER WHO?" she said now without reluctance. Her lips curled into a come