The Simpsons Blues: The Ex-Husband's Revenge

BY : Wendell Urth
Category: +S through Z > Simpsons
Dragon prints: 1546
Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story. Please don’t sue me, I got nothing!

The Simpson Blues: The Ex-Husband’s Revenge

Disclaimer: The Simpsons and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story. Please don’t sue me, I got nothing!

Prologue:

An expensive office suite. Cherrywood, mahogany and black leather. Tinted windows facing the riverfront. He had done well for himself. Now it was time to begin using his money, his power.

“You don’t know how much this will mean to us, our family…”

“Please, Mother Simpson… Marge” said the smiling man in the expensive suit. “We are still family, after all.” Accenting the word “family.”

She looked at the check on silver tray on the expensive sideboard. It was three times as large as she had asked for, and she had been embarrassed by the original size of the request. There was no question about it being a loan now, they both knew there was no way it could ever be repaid.

There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at her son-in-law. Ex son-in-law.

A second man was standing by the desk. He hadn’t been introduced. Marge assumed that he must be security or something like that. 6 foot 8, easily 300 pounds, not an inch of it fat. He wore a matching suit, obviously custom made. Dark skin, shaven head, dark glasses. He hadn’t moved since Marge entered the office. Didn’t seem to breathe. She almost thought he might be a statue.

“Uh… it’s a…”

“Not signed Marge? Well, let’s take care of that, shall we?”

She smiled again, began to…”

“Stop. Stop. Not like that.” There was no smile on his face now.

“I think a little gratitude might be called for Marge. Don’t you, Mr. Phillips?” The tall black statue still didn’t move. “See Marge, Mr. Phillips agrees. Take off your dress Marge. Now.”

Wide eyed, not believing what she heard.

Silence.

She turned towards the door, froze and looked at the check in her hand. Worthless unsigned. There was a sniffle. Her shoulders slumped in resignation. She began to slip out of her dress.

“Turn around Marge, I have a little wager with Mr. Phillips.”

It was her best, not quite shabby yet, dress. She had chosen it carefully. And now it was around her ankles. Her face had turned a bright shade of red (as much as a woman with yellow skin can blush)!

She was more than middle aged now, wearing her best support bra and…

“Oh, Mr. Phillips, can you believe those ‘granny panties’?!? What a disappointment. The bra is rather nice. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen one quite that large, have you?”

No answer from Mr. Phillips.

“I think we can dispense with the lingerie. Oh, did I tell you what the money was really for, Mr. Phillips?”

Marge froze.

“She saaaays in her note, its to help her family, save the home, pregnant unwed daughter, yada-yada-yada! Family honor! Same old story. But the truth, Mr. Phillips, is that her son is in prison. I helped put him there! The money is to bribe the parole board. You must be shocked Mr. Phillips! My ex mother-in-law is trying to involve me in a criminal conspiracy.”

“Oh, c’mon Marge, I don’t think there’s a man or boy in that entire town that haven’t seen those tits at one time or another. Whip ‘em out, like when I was 14, remember?”

“Oh, look at those tits, Mr. Phillips! You’ve aged well Marge, but those tits are huge now. Real udders! But still stunning, it’s a good look for you. That bush could use a little work, a nice trim. Do you like what you see, Mr. Phillips?”

Silence continues.

“Mr. Phillips agrees! Oh, no tears Marge. We’re all adults here. Now let’s get that check signed and we can put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

There was a moment of anger on her face now, but quickly came under control. She began to approach again when her son-in-law held up his hand.

“Marge. Dear Marge. I think there is another condition. Mr. Phillips and I still have our little wager to consider. Crawl Marge. Crawl to me, hands and knees. We need to see if your tits hit on the floor when you crawl. Do those nipples drag on the rug? Do they sway or just drag? Let’s see if you get friction burns! Ha, last chance Marge.”

Marge dropped to her knees, like a dead weight at first, then slowly rose… to hands and knees. She arched her back, tried to stretch her arms. It was no good. Her tits dragged along the expensive Persian rug. Nipples making patterns in the knap as she crept along. They stiffened from the stimulation, turned a darker shade of pinkish yellow. She was beyond simple embarrassment now.  Her face was dead, like Mr. Phillips’.

She stopped at her son-in-law’s feet, looked up at him. He grabbed her chin. And raised her to her feet. Took the check and scrawled his distinctive signature.

“Looks like I win the bet, Mr. Phillips. In spite of all her pretensions, housewife, mother, pillar of the church… Just a whore. Anything for the money.” He winked at Marge.

“Ooo. Such a nice ass Marge. Fleshy,” (He slapped her ass, sounded like a gunshot, but Mr. Phillips still didn’t finch) “bet there are men who would appreciate an ass like that. Right Mr. Phillips?” For the first time, there was a smile from the statue. A wide smile. “Mr. Phillips agrees. A big ass like that… when the money runs out, and it will… bring that big sweet ass back here. No doubt Mr. Phillips would enjoy that.”

She ran to her clothes, swept them up, held them against her body (still clutching the check) and ran for the door.

Mr. Phillips moved like lightning, blocking her way. She ran into a stone wall in an expensive suit. Clothing scattering in all directions. She made a grab for the check, missed. It fluttered to the floor, she scrambled for it, clothes forgotten. Dignity forgotten.

Her son-in-law stepped on the check. Waited.

She looked up.

“Margie, whores sometimes get odd notions. You think you’re the victim here. Don’t think that, don’t believe it for a moment. It was all for the money. You would have done worse things for the right amount. And you will.”

“And so, will your whore daughter. Remember that.”

He lifted his foot. She grabbed the check.

“Mr. Phillips, please make a note to have the carpets in here cleaned. I think they’ve become… well, there’s a smell.”

Marge left the office, left the two men. She put on her clothes in the empty waiting room. “That was terrible” she thought. Looking at the check, “But it could have gone a lot worse, though” she admitted to herself. She had the money, that was all that was important.

She didn’t like being called a whore. “Truth hurts, huh Marge?” she thought.



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