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Codes: MF, cons, no real plot,



The Simpsons: The Empress Or How Marge Became The Head Vampire
by Knorg ([email protected])

Marge Simpson felt a stab of worry as she climbed out of her small red car,
and eyed the clearly broken down front of the large house, second only to Mr
Burns in size, and on the next estate along. The blue-haired matriarch of
the Simpsons clan examined the damage closely, and decided she should call
the police.

"Mmmm. Oh my..." she laid a hand on her chest as she stepped back and
wavered in her resolution. Standing in the shadow of the old house, she felt
compelled to enter, to step into it's shadowy entrance-way. The chirpy
birdsong of the bright sunny day seemed to cut off instantly as Marge walked
through the house. Though she'd never before been inside, she found her way
easily to another busted open door, looking down dark steps that seemed to
lead into the basement. She knew she wanted to go down them.

"This is a nice house. I'm sure the owners will contribute to the church
fund if I ask nicely." Getting money out of anyone in Springfield was easier
than the next challenge on her list, Mr Burns. Resolved that she ought to go
down, to see if anyone needed help, Marge stepped down into ill-lit
darkness.

'Come to me...' She stopped, straining to hear a voice on the edge of
hearing. The urge to walk deeper into the basement was over-powering;
Marge's mind was not her own anymore and she didn't even notice as the
basement took on the trappings of a Crypt. Marge reached the bottom of the
steps and crossed the floor, stopping before the deepest shadows.

'Show yourself to me.'

Marge dropped her green dress to the floor about her, and undid her bra.
Then, slowly, she pushed her panties down to her ankles. She stood naked
before the darkness, her eyes adjusting.

'Now... you must...' But it wasn't working anymore. Marge's eyes had taken
on their night vision and she could see the grievously wounded man on the
floor before her, wounded in the chest. Her own natural... Margeness... was
more than capable of defeating any preternatural influence. Her brow nit in
momentary confusion as she realised she was naked, before she ran forward
and dropped by the bearly moving man.

In the gloom she saw he was wearing old fashioned evening dress with
under-stated but clearly expensive jewellery. Whoever broke in and attacked
him, they weren't thieves.

"Oh, you poor dear! Quick! Press the wound..." Marge had taken first aid
courses, and had to deal with Homer's accidents many times. It seemed as if
the man's wound was over his heart. She wondered that he was still alive -
he was very cold.

'No! too late for me! Need you now...'

"You need Dr. Hibbert!"

A too cold hand closed around Marge's arm. She gasped as she was pulled down,
her full bare breasts brushing his bloody chest. She was about to protest
when strong images assailed her mind. The psychedelic wagon... the college
kids with the dogs... the p-p-p-p-puppy power...

Marge sat silently for a moment, and then spoke sadly "They didn't even give
you a chance... You've been a part of Springfield all these years, and these
outsiders just came in and killed you... Count Jebbediah.. Springfield's
head vampire." The grip on her arm relaxed, but the blue haired mother didn't
move. She knew that no power on Earth could save him now. She knew that he
had intended to force part of himself into her, to make her his creature in
death, his instrument of vengeance.

'Your mind... too strong... too late now... fare... thee...'

"NO!" Marge was surprised by her own forcefulness, "Not yet! I will see those
kids brought to justice! Give me your power!"

Marge pulled at his damaged clothes with her fingers, and began to lap at
his bloody chest, feeling the power still sputtering within. Instantly, her
senses became sharper - she could hear the birds outside, see the bloody
wooden stake rolled from the corpse, taste the life of a hundred victims.

The count had no strength to resist even this house-wife as she pushed down
his pants with one hand as she drank, and began rubbing his cock, skin the
palest yellow. Marge felt guilty as Homer's face flitted across her mind,
but she wasn't cheating on him - she just needed a full union to take the
power, to become head vampire. The knowledge sat in her mind, serving, not
controlling.

The count hadn't moved since releasing her arm, but she felt his eyes on her
now and looked him in the eyes. Marge saw her bloody yellow face reflected
in dying eyes.

Impaling herself in one easy thrust, she was hunched on his body, drinking
from his chest. Blue hair shaking in time with her well preserved rack,
Marge licked the blood around her mouth and felt fangs starting to grow; the
power change from the head vampire fast and efficient. Humping faster, the
last sweat of her life dripping down her face, Marge lifted the Count close
to her and tore into his throat. The blood flow was sluggish, cooling. The
count hung limply in her arms as she drained the power, the knowledge, and
the undead life from him.

Claws flicked from her fingers, piecing the flesh she gripped, then
disappeared back into yellow flesh. Marge felt the fire building in her
stomach, and rode harder, the rucked clothing of the vampire count roughly
stimulating her puffy sex.

"AARRRRHHHHH YEEAAAAHHHHHH! HOMIE!" sweat damp blue hair hung about her face,
and she called out as she came, crushing the body to her even as it began to
crumble to dust in her arms, even the penis inside her. The cold crypt air
felt humid about Marge as she juiced on the stone floor, spasmodically
massaging her right breast with one hand, her pussy with the other, she
completed her transformation.

The hunger came with the early October night, and Marge Simpson, Head
vampire, cleaned herself in one of the house's many bathrooms. She hummed as
she dressed, imagining raising an army to go after those pesky kids.

"I'm sure Mr Burns would love to contribute" she told herself, as she patted
her hair, not regretting her lost reflection for even the briefest moment.

    

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