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Naked Playthings: A PREQUEL TO BART THE RIPPER	By : TENEBRE Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 23038 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons and make no money from the writing/online publication of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Naked Playthings: A PREQUEL TO BART THE RIPPER
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
"Marge? Is that you?"

In the dim background noise of her mind, Marge could hear the familiar voice sighing with concern.

With a heavy thud, Marge struck the bedroom floor. Looking down, the phone in one hand, her pussy in the other, she saw where her breasts, in their porn star brevity, prevented her face and chin from ever reaching the hardwood.

"Homer?" she pressed her ear to the phone, "Is that you?"

"I thought I heard you scream," Marge blushed with shame.

"I---hit my foot on something before I picked up the phone," she lied.

"Not too hard I hope. Are you alright?" he asked, not being able to see his wife pull from her insides the enormous vibrator.

Marge paused, staring at the giant cock she'd throttled a moment before, "Just get home soon. The things I do when you're away---. Its like I can't control myself any more."

"What do you mean, honey?"

Marge sat up, and staring at her pelvis reeled at the sight of her gash, now stretched to the width of a softball. She felt hollowed out and raw.

She wanted, more than anything, to tell Homer about the caller, about the threats, about everything. And yet as much as she wanted him to save her, she was afraid the man on the phone would hurt Homer if he got in the way.

"I mean...did you find any work down there?"

Homer, despite his missing Marge, smiled, "I think so. They want me down here for a few more days, and then...if things go well...they have a satellite office down there in Springfield. We won't even have to move."

Marge cringed. A few more days.

If only she could find out who was making the calls, then she could stop him from doing it.

But tears welled in her eyes at the thought of even one more day, alone in the house, with the voice on the phone, "Can I talk to the kids?"

Forcing a smile as tears rolled down her face, the insincere gesture combined with the knowledge that Homer couldn't see the effort she was putting to simulating happiness only made her cry harder.

"The kids are back at the hotel," Homer sighed, "This is the first time I've been able to reach a phone since arriving here."

"I love you," Marge said, pausing to grope for what clothes she'd earlier discarded.

Reemerging with her ear to the phone she realized in the time it'd taken her to find them he'd said goodbye and hung up.

She clutched her clothing to her chest and sobbed.

Marge hadn't completely sobered from the ache of desire or guilt when she set out to find the last phone the voice had called from. Having dropped off Maggie with her sisters, she drove her car until the street names were unfamiliar and then stopped at the intersection the star 69 option had relayed her to.

She was at the very edge of town, and it seemed most of the civilized world had begun to disintegrate. Only one of the near by buildings was still in operation.

She stared with a look of disdain she may have not been capable of conveying before. The words in neon flared like handwriting written in a pink flame.

Red Hot Mommas.

Marge turned to face the insides of the phone booth. Inside a phone book sat beneath the phone. An arrow painted in the same neon pink was pointing to the entrance of the establishment.

Marge turned and stared again.

He wanted her to go inside. Was he waiting for her there?

Moments before stepping inside, a picture of herself, Homer and the kids had been sitting in her hand and she'd smiled thoughtfully at it. When the doors had opened it had disappeared back into her purse. The images that arrested her, the naked bodies luxuriating, slinking and stretching on catwalks and chrome stripper poles, the smell of alcohol , of perfume, and even lust filled her senses.

She recognized faces on bodies sitting in chairs, slipping twenties into g-strings, and even undressing. She recognized Lisa's pediatrician, Homer's coworkers and even her own doctor. Regret was asphyxiating as she watched the man who'd given her breast exams fondle a woman who could've been Marge herself if it had not been for her blonde hair and fake tits.

Most of the faces of the patrons were turned away from Marge, and facing the various stages.

More than whether her obscene phone caller was here, Marge wondered how she might blend in. Even from behind them she could tell the audience was entirely men and the staff mostly women.

Moving toward the closest chair she found herself in the eye line of a man standing beside the stage.

Dressed in her typical green dress, Marge's curvy figure was still very evident to the stage manager. He smiled, noticing the modest dress did nothing to dissuade from her enormous breasts, to which her top was barely containing.

If this woman sneezed, he thought with a grin, her tits would explode out the front of her dress.

He knew a girl like that would make a lot of money. Noting the ring on her finger he contemplated over whether she was expecting to find her husband in this place.

No, there was something else. Something desperate and uneasy in her eyes when they roamed the room.

Was she in need of money? A job? Was this her future?

The odors pouring from the depraved acts around her followed Marge through the door marked "Ladies' Room".

Though she could barely breath she could feel the sweat from the women's bodies in the air in her lungs and on her skin.

"Hello---Blue." a voice came from over her shoulder.

Marge had not noticed the door to the room behind her had swung open and from its opening emerged two regulars.

The shorter man of the two smiled at the sight of Marge's supple body in the tight green dress, terror had left her chest to heave and the heaving seemed to make Marge's tits grow with every hungry breathe.

"You know---the entrance for auditions is in the back," the taller man contemplated the shorter one's hungry stare, "Quite a pair on her, isn't it?"

Marge couldn't speak.

The shorter man didn't speak either, though his hands spoke for him.

Marge gasped when the shorter man's hands clutched her breasts.

"I'm sorry about my friend. He's a breast man, and he test drives all the new models."

"Please. No. Stop" Marge sighed as the man's hands gave her breasts a fitful squeeze and another and another before he pulled his face and open mouth into the crevasse of her cleavage. Though the opening at the top of her dress his mouth, nose, eyes, entire face were buried in her eclipsing breasts.

She felt the man's hungry mouth pulling at her skin, the moisture of the kisses wetting her tits as she twisted in his embrace.

Behind her the door opened again and another man joined the first two. Shoving the tall man aside he got in between Marge and her partner. Shoving the second man aside he shot a scornful look their way as a bouncer escorted them out the door and back into the main room.

"Save that shit for the private rooms." he shouted out the door.

He turned his attention back to Marge who had hoisted herself up onto the edge of the sink and was clutching the porcelain nervously.

"Here, Miss. Let me help you."

Marge was a tangle of nerves and the sight of the fat, unkept man with his ghoulish grin didn't phase her for the moment. She was just glad she was safe..

Her thoughts staggered back to Homer, the house, her daughter Maggie, "I need to get---"

The gangly protector moved his hand behind her back and gestured her out the door and past the two who'd earlier intended to rape her. They sat comfortably as Marge was taken past the door labeled "Employee Only".

Failing to notice the words "Dancer Auditions" also on the door Marge sat comfortably on the couch across from the man's desk.

"Are you feeling better, Miss?" the man asked.

"Just to be away.." Marge tried to catch her breath, "..away from those terrible men."

Chuckling softly to himself, he recited the same ultimatum he'd handed many other married visitors for the past four years, "Miss, I'll be blunt. There's very little use telling these types what to do. They'll take what they want."

Marge felt her head spinning, she didn't know what to make of what she was hearing.

"I serve the customer and if the customer wants a Scotch on the rocks, I'll get them a Scotch on the rocks."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You dance I let you go. You refuse I call the cops and with my say-so they'll book you on lewd behavior and public nudity. Your husband can bail you out when he gets back from where ever he's at."

Marge staggered from her seat before collapsing back onto the couch. Homer would divorce her if he knew she was working at a place like this.

What could she do?

She thought of Maggie, Lisa, Bart. her life, her family.

"You can't be serious. I'll---I'll tell my husband."

"Will he believe you over a police report and several on hand witnesses," he watched shock glow in her wide eyes, "Don't worry. You'll learn to love working here."

He felt his cock stiffen at the look of defeat in Marge Simpson's eyes. It was only a matter of time before she'd be sucking and fucking in the private rooms.

Quickly he punched a button on his desk and watched the office door open. On the other side a buxom blonde stared at him and then Marge.

"Janet. Get our guest into wardrobe." he paused, registering the look of disgust and passivity in Marge's terror stricken face, "I'm thinking lonely widow."

Marge was escorted to rack of clothing. Having dispensed with her green dress and underwear she stared into the mirror in her black veils and low-cropped ebony top. She was dressed to morn her husband's funeral, except she'd leave the stage without a scrap of clothing on.

Stepping out in the footlights apprehension shook her as never before.

He was watching whoever he was, wasn't he? she thought as the music began, an acoustic guitar requiem. The obscene phone caller had lured her here and would later pillage what she'd so fought to protect.

When the acoustic guitar gave way to an electric, Marge shivered in the knowledge her routine had begun. Her heart pounded and she stood, frozen to the spot.

"Take it off!" a forceful voice reverberated.

Marge began to sway her hips to the beat of the music. Not believing she gone even this far, she allowed herself to dance the length of the stage. She'd pictured herself dancing alone in her bedroom before a voyeur's hand grabbed her by her skirt and tore the garment away, leaving her in only her top and panties.

The cacophony of cheers at the sight of her ass and thighs caused Marge to stumble, before she regained her footing and resumed the public seduction.

Discarding her top of her own accord she was shocked to see the manager she'd spoken to earlier appear on the stage mere feet away.

"This isn't girl's night out sweetie!" he spat as he grabbed Marge by her neck and spun her around to face her audience and he edge of the stage.

With a quick flick of the wrists Marge felt the mechanism of her bra clasp disengage and the cups slip away from her breasts. Next came her panties, a shredded black number before she was bent at the waist and thrust back into the stage manager's cock.

The pain of being opened so suddenly, so utterly made her screams come effortlessly. She didn't know she was screaming until it'd echoed inside and come back at her. With every thrust she knew he was closer to cumming. She felt her big tits shake beneath her as the men all around her cheered.

Who was next? Who got to fuck Homer Simpson's beautiful wife on the stage of Red Hot Mammas? The obscene phone caller she supposed.

With her body shaking and her pussy soon lubricating the monster cock inside her the strange epiphany that she may be enjoying it dawned on her. And yet it had only just begun.

To Be Continued....

Next

Lisa Loses It & Marge Meets Her Obscene Phone Caller
- 1
- 2
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Naked Playthings: A PREQUEL TO BART THE RIPPER