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Marge Simpson: Because Bigger Means Better	By : TENEBRE Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 36054 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 3
Chapter 2:
The Invisible Man

Marge couldn't make sense of the dream. There'd been a kind old man she'd met during her dinner with Homer. In last night's dream she'd let him in her hotel room while Homer and the kids were out and he'd talked her right out of her clothes. She remembered guilt racking her conscience as he sat comfortably on her and Homer's bed and took in her naked body from a few feet away. Before the dream was over they made violent love and he brought her so past the brink of surrender that what semblance of her ordeal penetrated the dream and brought her to orgasm as she awoke beside her husband.
She tried her best to resist the temptation to try and reawaken the pangs of desire from before as she slipped away from Homer that night. With the window in the bathroom wide open to ventilate the rest of the rooms the desire to disrobe was overwhelming for her.
She still heard the kind old man's voice in her head, asking that she unfasten the first button of her pink pajama top. Beneath the silk layer her sweat-soaked skin burned red hot with some substantiation of her rising desire and inner tension.
Some inner voice, fearing for her, put it in her mind that she would burn alive if she didn't rip her clothes off, right there, in front of the open window.
Guilt still gripped her as she collapsed onto her hands and knees against the bathroom linoleum, sweat running from her skin like water from a faucet.
And then...
The sound of tearing silk filled her ears and some strange feeling of relief filled her as, from the force behind her, the buttons on her top popped free from their sleeves and were scattered across the floor.
Next came her pajama pants, torn wide from the seat until the silk had pooled around each knee. The sensation of a man's heavy breathing against her bare sex pulled her eyes to the silhouette on the floor beside her own.
As though gleamed from a nightmare, her voice vanished as she felt the pressure of her visitor's cock against her pussy. She tried her best to dodge the assault but his legs hung over her own, pinning her to the floor. Terror oozed through her once he was inside. He was thick and not circumcised. The fully intact foreskin of his member had shaped his cock into a sharp point. Marge felt as though being penetrated by a dull knife. Once, even the slightest inside he crotched over her and she watched his hands move down to land on top of hers.
Her small feminine hands disappeared between two old, thick boned ones.
She wondered if this was the man from her dream. If she was to be raped by the kind man she'd met before.
Thrusting forward Marge's mouth shot open in horror but still she couldn't scream. Slipping deeper inside, his flesh cudgel pulled her insides wide, yet no sound could be squeezed from her throat to dull the agony.
Thrusting back and forth, in and out, Marge became first aware of how much larger her breasts felt. They swayed beneath her to the rhythm of their oscillating bodies. Departing from the pain for a moment she looked down to see where her small b-cup breasts had grown into enormous udders.
But her rapist followed her gaze, reaching up to squeeze her tits. His hands closed around them, molding their mass between thick fingertips as he explored the body of Homer's wife. Rocking together, his pelvis a few inches from hers, she felt where, if fully embedded the end of his cock would rest snugly against her cervix. If terror could force a scream it would've never ended. The prospect of this stranger filling her fertile womb to the brim with his cum suffocated every other thought in her head. Even the fact that her husband slept not a few feet from where she was being raped disappeared.
To the best his grip allowed him he tried to close his hands into fists around each bulging tit. Feeling the pale flesh fill the spaces between each spaced digit, he pulled back, sensing his cock slicing deeper and closer to her warm womb, only to see where the muscles of her back bent at her own inclination to move away. Though pain had convinced her it was impossible, she seemed intent on breaking her own back if it meant escaping his cock.
Not amused or pitying her for her tenacity, he followed her across the floor until his pelvic bone met hers and he felt where her insides ended. The collision of groin against groin had sent, once he thrust forward, her head against the glass door of the shower. Stuck where she could no longer move, no longer dislodge him, he struck up a rhythm, into, out of, and back into her fully dilated pussy.
When her insides went slick with the juice of his precum, Marge thrashed to best of her ability, feeling the tempered glass press tighter and tighter to the bridge of her nose, threatening to shatter it.
And then, feeling something inside his body quiver, something deep in his gut, telegraph the message through his cock into her body, closing his fingers tighter and closer toward oneanother around her jugs, she was sure her breasts would burst beneath her, she felt the first filling ounces of his thick cum rush to her womb. Even with her soul in torment, her body did what it was programmed to do as she sensed the muscles lining her cunt squeeze tightly around his cock, firing nerves in his member that filled him with pleasure that would couple with his sense of accomplishment perfectly.
Despite the agony of her maiming, the first sound to force itself from Marge was one of joyous surrender and her rapist suspected, just as much as she was a whore beneath her clothes so too was she a whore in her very soul. Tears ran from her wide green eyes as her cunt squeezed tighter and tighter around this wonderful thing inside her. It ran like a fountain deep into her, filling every exposed crack and crevice of her insides. Searing, yet somehow, warm and sensual, she could almost feel it just beneath her heart, forcing her blood to boil in her veins. The sense of deviant eroticism was not just in her nerve endings but changing the very chemistry of her brain.
She felt herself becoming wet, her juices licking the taut, veiny muscle of his cock. It felt like a sinewy arm within her, like she was being fucked by the brawny appendage of some muscle-bound juggernaut. She heard the sweet honey of her exultation running from the rim of her pussy, painting the thick stem of the male member. The sound of its thin viscous tears oozing down his shaft and dripping onto the linoleum beneath their two bodies verified some horrible truth about their coupling.
She'd enjoyed her rape.
And then, at that thought, the cords of her neck tightening, her lips cracking as her mouth gaped, the first climax struck her. The second clenching of her pussy around his cock, drew another torrent deep within her. She could only think of how beautiful his cock felt inside her.
She felt where the cum was pouring inside, her womb ballooning to encompass as much of his thick specimen as it could stand. Already she felt pregnant. Already she felt the life he'd left behind growing inside her. Already she could imagine the face that bared no resemblance to hers or her husband on this tiny body they'd pull from her cunt.
The thought was disgusting. Repugnant. But that repugnance further enflamed her desire and she willed herself to squeeze tighter on the oozing cock inside her.
She was beyond normal cognizance of the room around her or what had come before when her rapist pulled himself from her and pulled open the shower door. Turning to the open window he tore from the blinds the cords which coordinated their length and simply strung up Marge by her knees from the shower head.
As she hung upside down, regret finally oozing into her shattered mind, he helped himself to her mouth.
Not aware of her surroundings, perhaps picturing her husband's familiar touch she willingly accepted him into her mouth, sucking and shucking at his length.
Taking some care to pull out before he came, he dispensed himself into a glass he found beside the sink. He laughed at seeing as he filled it near the brim, the faded visage of Huckleberry Hound painted on its side. It belonged to the kids.
Reaching up, and spreading her hips as much as the cords allowed him, he began to pour the thick cum into her pussy. He smiled to himself, feeling so clever in what he was doing. Knowing her family wouldn't wake for several more hours, and by then his cum would have more than enough time to knock this hot mom up.
Before they came to he'd let her down. Already though, trying to look down to her sleeping face he couldn't look past her breasts. They were enormous and beautiful. Putting the glass aside, he kneeled down and took one perked nipple into his mouth.Her flesh was warm and he could see from the closest gaze that they were terribly pale. He doubted this woman had worn so little as a two piece bikini in her lifetime. Pulling the tit deeper into his mouth he let his tongue stroke the supple flesh, tasting youth and vivacity. And then, sucking harder, and pulling tighter tasted something else.
It tasted like milk mixed with honey.
He wanted to sigh with delight at tasting her motherly nectar, but refused to let her tit go. Instead he sucked harder and felt her warm juices pour in a torrent, rather than a drip. When nothing seemed left he switched to the other, back and forth throughout the night. When none seemed left he could hear Marge sigh with fatigue, but then he'd only pull harder and the next gush would come. He felt like a vampire, pulling blood from the woman's veins. Though the more he took the larger her bosoms seemed.
When his stomach was filled, he untied her and left what was left of her on the floor of the shower. Yet, seeing her tits larger than ever, felt his cock grow hard again.
Kneeling down again, he slipped his stiff cock into the cleavage of what he surmised was a forty-one inch chest and began thrusting. She came around in time to see his last gift to her spew over her face and chest in a thick wave of sticky manhood.
Then, placing her, still caked in his cum, beside her husband in the bed, he bid ado. Back out the window, after slipping his cock back inside his jeans. From what remained on the floor of the shower one could imagine some ten or twenty man, one woman gang bang proceeded in its tight quarters. And if seeing how much of each man still coalesced in Marge's stretched pussy, one might imagine none was left for the shower floor at all.
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Marge Simpson: Because Bigger Means Better