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He's Like The Wind	By : LordKuyohashi Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 6294 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons, or any related characters, and neither accept nor receive any monetary or compensatory reward for this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
The brakes on the school bus whined as Otto brought it to a stop, rain water sluicing out from the street and flooding the sidewalk. He threw open the door, and arched his head back towards the rows of kids behind him.
“Sorry, little dudes, I tried to put us in a ditch or something before we got here. Better luck tomorrow, huh?”
The kids groaned and grumbled as they stepped off the bus and into the cold, wet air of that particular late-spring day. Lisa and Bart departed last, Bart helping his sister step down over the flooded walkway.
Six months had passed since Lisa had pulled herself out of her own grave; since she had been inducted into the family secret, that her mother was an elder vampire, that her brother had been recently embraced as a vampire. Six months since Lisa had accidentally enthralled Jessica Lovejoy - who waited obediently by the front steps to the school for her Master and Mistress - and turned her into a loyal servant and emergency food ration.
Six months since Bart had impregnated her.
Their mother Marge had been able to persuade Principal Skinner to allow Lisa to attend school while pregnant, and Skinner had spun the utterly unbelievable story that Lisa had contracted a rare, non-contagious illness that had made her gain weight. Thankfully, Springfield being Springfield, the utterly unbelievable lie was utterly believed, and few muttered a word about Lisa’s swollen belly after the initial shock.
Bart helped Lisa up the stairs, her distended belly making it difficult for her to see where her feet landed. Jessica opened the door for her, and Bart guided her inside, placing a hand on her plump, round ass. Lisa moaned at Bart’s touch, wiggling her ass back at her brother-mate.
Grinning at his sister’s seductive wiggle, Bart pulled Lisa to the side, ignoring the other students milling past them in the corridor, and hissed in her ear. “Lees, I need your ass now.” Lisa giggled at her brother’s perverse suggestion, and lead him by the hand, hips swaying as she strode down the hall, Jessica following slavishly at the snap of her Mistress’ fingers. The trio passed Principal Skinner as they walked the wrong way to class, Lisa’s eyes locked on the boiler room door.
“Eh, the bell is about to ring, children; you don’t want to be late for class.”
Lisa growled, and flipped Seymour the bird as they passed him by. Skinner’s face flushed and he cleared his throat awkwardly, a cold dread keeping him from stopping them or speaking up. He turned away, ignoring the sound of the boiler room door opening and closing.
“Just let them go, Seymour.” he muttered to himself, “Mistress wouldn’t be pleased if you got involved.”
Digging into his pocket, Principal Skinner pulled out a handful of fat, black crickets, stuffing them into his mouth and crunching down on the skittering bugs.
Jessica closed the heavy door behind her, turning to see her Mistress float down the concrete steps like a shadow. A shiver of awe ran up the thrall girl’s spine; she was in the presence of dark and bloody gods, and she was honoured to serve them.
Lisa lighted on the floor, and led Bart over to a dusty old table covered in abandoned papers and old styrofoam coffee cups. She stuck her ass out, swinging it side to side invitingly.
“Here it is, Bart, your sister’s big ass. Isn’t this what you wanted, you filthy sister-breeding fucker?”
Bart had stepped out of his shorts as soon as he had reached the bottom of the stairs, his cock bobbing up and down as he approached his presenting sister. He lifted her dress, revealing her bare ass cheeks and dripping slit. Months of relentless fucking had darkened Lisa’s pussylips, making them look considerably darker. With one hand, he strummed at her thick, meaty lips, and with the other, he pulled her dress down, her milk-swollen, grapefruit-sized tits popping free.
Lisa cooed as Bart’s free hand mauled her heavy tit, pinching and pulling at her milky nipple.
“Fuck, Bart, I don’t even care which hole you pick, just slam your cock into me and fuck the shit out of me!”
Bart ran his cock between her plump ass cheeks, whispering into her ear. “Not so loud, Lisa, the whole school will hear you.”
“Let them fucking hear! Let them hear me beg my big brother to fuck the cunt he knocked up!”
Of course, her voice could only barely carry up to the stairs over the thumping and the hissing of the boiler, so the odds of her being heard upstairs were remote at best. Jessica kept an eye on the door leading up to the school proper, her hand pressed against her own throbbing sex as she heard her Masters playing, giggling, pawing at each other.
Bart placed his hands on Lisa’s bulging tummy, pulling her onto his cock as he slipped deep into her scalding hot pussy. Lisa seethed as her brother entered into her cunt, a beautiful electric shiver running up her spine as she was filled with his beloved cock. Soon, the boiler room was filled with the sounds of siblings grunting and moaning, of flesh slapping hard against flesh, and with the smell of heated arousal. Lisa swore as Bart fucked her from behind, his hands groping at her heavy, milk-laden tits. “Oh fuck yes, take that pussy, baby! Fucking own my cunt, fuck it good and deep like a good big brother! Fuck your little sister pussy, Bart!”
Lisa looked back at Jessica, her thrall pressing her hand into her cunt watching her Masters rut like animals. “Remember the rules, Jessica; you don’t cum unless I say so!”
Jessica nodded weakly, making furtive circles on her mound through her panties. “I-I know, Mistress, I’m a good pet! I obey!”
Jessica’s mind had frayed rather heavily in the days after her enthrallment. Becoming obsessed with serving Lisa, learning that her Mistress was both a vampire and engaged in a brutal and sometimes bloody incestuous affair with her own brother, and of course, the hidden truth that she had murdered her own father so she could be with Lisa, had done her mental state no favours. To mitigate the dangers of having an unstable thrall, Lisa had commanded Jessica to not speak unless at school or unless spoken to by a Simpson, and being a devoted thrall, Jessica happily complied.
The poor broken girl watched intently as her Mistress’ milky tits wobbled and bounced with the force of Bart’s thrusts into her gushing twat, juices spilling out onto the cold concrete floor.
Lisa’s eyes glazed over with pure bliss as Bart railed her from behind, one hand clutching barbarically at her tit, the other supporting her swollen belly. Her mouth was agape, threads of drool running off her lip as her brother fucked her brains out. Somewhere above, the class bell rang, and whatever din of students milling in the corridors there had been vanished, replaced by the hiccuping gasps and whines of a brain-fucked vampire princess and her virile lover-brother.
“Ffffuck, Bart! Deeper! I want that cock so fucking deep in me, our baby comes out pregnant!”
Bart let out a guttural rumble as his hips picked up the pace, slamming into Lisa like a hydraulic press, making his pregnant sister jump and moan and shake with every bone shattering thrust.
The sound Lisa made was somewhere between a whining siren, and a shiver, as she clamped her cunt muscles hard down upon her brother’s pistoning cock, collapsing against the dirty table in front of her as her orgasm tore through her body, leaving her a panting, drooling wreck. Bart pumped into her a half dozen more times, stabbing into his sister’s full womb with rough abandon, making sure that every drop reached her innards. Finally spent, he fell against Lisa’s back, massaging her leaking nipples, and kissing her neck.
It took a minute for Lisa to find her strength again, and when she did, she beckoned to her thrall, who had fallen to her knees onto the cold, grimy floor, three fingers jabbing into her own leaking twat. Jessica scrambled to her feet at her Mistress’ command. Without being told, Jessica opened her mouth and moved to clamp it around Lisa’s cum-dripping cunt, only to be halted by a hand pushing against her head.
“Whoa there, Jessica. What are you doing?”
Jessica smiled stupidly, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “I’m cleaning Mistress’ cummy pussy, like a good servant!”
Lisa shook her head, pushing Jessica towards Bart’s cunt-stained cock. “Not today, pet. I want to feel Bart’s seed running down my legs and pooling in my chair when I sit down in class. You’re to clean his cock and swallow what’s left in his balls.”
Jessica nodded excitedly, panting like a puppy, and impaled her face on Bart’s wilting cock, sucking the mingled leavings of the two siblings off the veiny root happily. Once she had cleaned Bart’s cock of Lisa’s juices and his own cum, she pulled away, swallowing the mixture and showing Lisa her empty mouth. Lisa patted her on the head, smiling at her thrall.
“Good girl, Jessica. Now we should hurry up and get to class; we can get away with being a little late, but not too much.”
Jessica stood up, and lead the way upstairs, as Lisa made sure her dress was spotless and her tits and leaking cunt were covered. She gave Bart a quick kiss, and left him to tuck his limp cock back into his shorts.
Miss Hoover had bought Lisa’s excuse that she had a bathroom emergency that made her late to class. Being a grown adult with a partially functioning brain, Elizabeth Hoover was smart enough to recognize a pregnant girl when she saw one, so she didn’t push the issue. It helped that as soon as the thirty-five year old teacher returned to her desk, she furtively pulled a Tic-Tac container full of black ants from her drawer, shook four or five ants into the palm of her hand, and quickly swallowed them.
Bart and Jessica were largely ignored by Edna Krabappel -who had put her head down onto her desk in an attempt to wish away the skull-crushing hangover that was torturing her at that moment- but some of the students had tried to make a big deal of the pair arriving late to class together.
“Hey Simpson,” Nelson Muntz’ nasal voice drew Bart’s attention as he sat at his desk, “You and the preacher’s kid have fun playing hide-the-weasel in the bathroom?”
Bart didn’t hesitate, or think or even measure his words, he simply spoke. “Nah man, I was waiting in line for a turn at your mom.”
“Wuh?” Nelson hadn’t expected Bart to turn his teasing around on him.
“Well, you know how it is, you take a number, you stand around while the other guys use her, your legs cramp up. I was like, number 345 in line, so I thought to myself, fuck this, I’m going to class. I guess Jessica had the same idea, she had number 348.”
Jessica smiled, turning back in her seat next to Bart’s. “Actually, I had number 350.”
Nelson’s face turned beet red, his fists shaking with rage. “The hell did you say?”
Bart turned around as far as he could in his seat, with the widest shit eating grin he could muster, and said, loud enough that other kids in class could hear, “I said your mother’s such a whore that there’s a cue. It’s not even worth it for the money she charges, either.”
Then he quickly looked to Jessica. “Speaking of, does she charge girls more or less than she does guys?”
Jessica shrugged. She liked this game, and she liked playing it with Bart. They were a good team, when they were up to no good. “I dunno, I’ve been paying her in food stamps. What does she charge the guys?”
Oh there’s that wicked girl I had a crush on, Bart thought. “Jellybeans. She says that since Nelson is a growing boy, he needs all four basic food groups - gelatin, sugar, shellac and Red No. Five food dye.”
Nelson bolted to his feet, his face hot and red and contorted with anger. “I’m going to kick the shit out of the both of you little fuckers!”
Mrs. Krabappel’s head jolted up her desk, her bleary, bloodshot eyes focused on Nelson’s outburst.

“Nelson Muntz! Your little potty mouth just bought you two weeks of detention, young man.”
Nelson’s jaw dropped. “What? This asshole-”
“Four weeks”
“The fuck!”
“Five.”
“This is bullshit!”
“And six. At this rate, Nelson, I’ll have to amend your math grade from a weepy face sticker to, ‘now understands what order the numbers go in.’”
Nelson slammed his desk against the floor, grunting in rage, seething at Bart, who only smirked at the stout bully.
“And that little tantrum earned you an all-expenses paid trip to sunny, luxurious the Principal’s office.”
She quickly wrote up a demerit slip and held it out. Mumbling his anger and outrage, Nelson marched to the front of the class, making sure to kick Bart’s leg as he passed - and as he passed, he heard Jessica mutter, “And your mom isn’t even a good lay, either” - snatched the slip from his teacher’s hand, and stormed out of the class, slamming the door behind him, shattering the little glass window and screaming the whole way down the hall.
Once Nelson’s voice had faded, Martin Prince, the chubby little nerd, raised his hand. Mr. Krabappel tried to will him away, but with a tired grunt, acknowledged his existence.
“Ugh, What is it, Martin?”
“Mrs. Krabappel, far be it for me to correct an adult, but when you were issuing demerits to that middle school myrmidon, you jumped from two weeks right to four. What happened to three?”
Edna wiped her hair back, and pulled a stick of gum out of her purse, popping it into her mouth and wincing at the new tequila-wintergreen flavour combination she had just discovered.
“Well, Martin, that was just a test to see if you were paying attention. Good job, extra points to you for spotting that, and I’m deeply ashamed of everyone in this room who missed it.”
Martin accepted this answer - he would have accepted a dog-turd burrito if a teacher had handed it to him - and hummed with self-satisfaction, his hands folded neatly in front of him.
“And as a reward for spotting that intentional mistake, you get the thrilling honour of waking Groundskeeper Willie from whatever industrial solvent he’s used to put himself into a drunken stupor this week so he can sweep up that glass Nelson broke and make sure his desk up to the Herculean task of supporting the weight of an American schoolchild.”
Martin’s enthusiasm flagged, and he doggedly rose to his feet and shuffled out the door, careful not to step on the shattered glass.
The rest of the school day had been rote - lessons half-heard, recess, a lunch that could barely be considered ‘food’, a quick blowjob from Lisa in the boy’s room before Gym, a less quick shared shower with Lisa after Gym, then back onto the bus for home.
As soon as the three of them walked in through the front door, Lisa slipped off her shoes, and dove for the couch in the sitting room, stretching herself out lazily.
“Bart, come sit with me!” Bart kicked off his shoes and sat with Lisa, resting her head against his chest, his hand on her round tummy. Jessica took their backpacks upstairs, eager to get started on their homework, while Marge was in the kitchen, working on an elaborate dinner. She poked her head out of the kitchen, towards the sitting room.
“Kids, don’t get too comfortable. We’re having dinner with the Flanderses tonight.”
Lisa had taken one of Bart’s hands and slipped it under the top of her dress, hissing in strained pleasure as her brother coaxed her milk from her breast, letting it run down her front. “What’s the special occasion, Mom?”
Marge stood in the doorway of the sitting room, a wire whisk in her hand, her hair dishevelled from work.
“Nothing special, just neighbours being neighbourly.”
Bart kissed the top of Lisa’s head, squeezing her tit, feeling her hot milk spray against the palm of his hand.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your crusade to weaken the religious power of the town, does it?”
Marge smirked. “I’m trying something new. We’ve eaten our enemies, we had one so-called ‘suicide’, I thought we’d try killing someone with kindness.”
“So, we repurpose some Hallmark cards into ninja stars, perfect our suffocating bear hugs, that sort of thing?”
Marge chuckled, heading back to the kitchen. “Actually, I need your help, both of you.”
Bart and Lisa were too busy sucking on each other’s tongues, Bart’s free hand sliding up his sister’s dress to play with her bare pussy, to pay attention to their mother’s request. They only flew off the couch in a lather when her voice echoed authoritatively through their heads, both of them damning vampiric telepathy.
I said get your kiesters in here, kids!
“Gah! Jesus! Alright, Mom, don’t go all Scanners on us! Turn down the volume if you’re gonna do that!”
Bart escorted his swollen, waddling sister into the kitchen, one hand on the small of her back, while he licked the other hand, the one that had been playing with Lisa’s twat, clean.
In the kitchen, Marge had prepared trays of muffins. Bart reached for one, only to have a wooden spoon drop hard on his hand, Marge scolding him sternly.
“Oh no, Mister. First of all, I know where that hand has been. Second, those muffins are for the Flanderses. Now go wash up, both of you, and hurry back to help me.”
Bart and Lisa ran into the downstairs bathroom, lathered up their hands and rinsed them off with hot water. It took every ounce of willpower either of them had to not close and lock the door, and just tear off their clothes for another marathon fuck-fest.
Returning to the kitchen, they found Marge placing the muffins into spare Christmas tins. Looking up from her work, Marge beamed a smile to her children, and waved them over.
“Alright you two, grab a knife and help me out here.”
On the table were three long, sharp knives, the sort used for cutting thick cords and wire, and not the type normally used in kitchens. They each grabbed a knife, and, sharing a confused look, stood around awkwardly.
“Um, Mom?” Lisa was the one to speak up first.
“Okay, hang on.” Marge placed the last muffin in the last tin, then picked up the third knife. “Okay, you want to cut in deep, to make sure you cover each muffin. Try not to spill any on the tin, we’ll cover it up with glaze later.”
The kids didn’t move to respond, making Marge impatient, until she realised where she had gone wrong.
“Right, sorry, I didn’t tell you what I was doing. The three of us are going to spike the muffins with our blood, and give them to the Flanderses, thereby enthralling the entire family, and removing them as a threat to us.”
Lisa grinned, digging the knife into her wrist. “Ooh, clever. A whole family of thralls. Do we each get one, or how does this work?”
“We each get one. But we won’t know who gets whom until they eat the muffins.”
Lisa grunted as she cut into herself, black blood running down the blade of the knife and splattering onto the muffins in one of the tins. The dark fluid seeped into the muffins, vanishing amidst the dried cranberries and flecks of shaved orange peel. She giggled as she dripped her blood into the pastries, taking an almost sadistic glee at the thought of enthralling an entire family.
Bart was just a hair more tentative in drawing his own blood. He drew the knife’s blade across the palm of his hand, but the cut was too shallow, and he hadn’t loosened enough blood. Marge took the knife, and with one hard motion, drove the blade clean through her son’s hand, impaling it, and covering the muffins
Bart looked in perverse awe at the knife sticking through his hand, unfazed by the sensation. He pulled the blade out, held the hand in front of his face, and watched with bizarre glee as the gash it had made quickly sealed itself shut. “Oh cool, I’m like the Crow!”
Marge put the knives in the sink to wash, and placed the lids on the two tins.
“I’ll do the last ones, so you two go get dressed for a visiting dinner. That means panties, young lady, and a nursing bra. In fact, I want you to drain your milk. And if you’re going to screw, make sure it’s quick and you clean up after. We don’t need any more bodily fluids than what we’re already bringing.”
The two siblings shared a look, a secret smile, then raced as fast as a pregnant girl and a boy with a raging boner could up the stairs. Marge shook her head and rolled her eyes as she heard the door to one of the bedrooms close.
“How do you want it this time, Lees?”
Lisa was already on the bed, on her knees, wiggling her raised ass to her brother. “Up my chute, Bart. It’s getting too uncomfortable to have you take my cunt, so today I want to finally lose my anal cherry!”
Jessica was sitting at Lisa’s desk, doing her homework diligently, when her Masters came in for another fuck-fest. She let her non-dominant hand slip from the desktop, and pulled her panties aside, stuffing her fingers into her cunt as Bart made Lisa coo and giggle, his long devil’s tongue shoved into her tight, virgin asshole.
“Thrall,” Lisa’s voice was cold and commanding, and Jessica turned to face her beauteous Mistress in all her venal glory. “Come here and drain my milk. I need my tits empty for tonight.”
Jessica didn’t speak, but her bright eyes betrayed how excited she was to serve her Mistress. She put down her pencil, and climbed onto the bed, laying underneath Lisa’s swaying body as Bart shoved as much of his cock up her ass as he could. Lisa’s tits were swinging back and forth above Jessica, who quickly latched her lips onto first the left nipples, sucking and gently chewing on it to draw out the milk, swallowing the warm sweet nectar that spurted forth, then the right once the left had been sufficiently drained. Lisa grunted and moaned as Jessica tongued her leaking tit-spigots, the twin sensation of being suckled and sodomised at the same time making her nerves stand on end. She rammed her ass back into Bart, fucking herself against his fat pole, trying to earn his hot seed spattering inside her guts.
Bart didn’t last long. The sound of Jessica noisily draining his sister’s tits, along with the incomprehensible tightness of her anal chute, drove him over the edge, and he exploded deep up Lisa’s ass, clutching at the sheets on her bed as he filled her up, almost to overflowing.
Her task of sucking down all of Mistress’ milk complete, Jessica was then ordered to clean Bart’s cock, and lick up the hot, gooey sperm leaking from Lisa’s asshole, two chores she jumped to perform. Her tongue scooped Bart’s creamy load from Lisa’s tight sphincter with gusto, her moans of delight vibrating through Lisa’s ass and making her shiver. She hummed her pleasure as she swallowed Bart’s load, then turned to clean her Master’s wilting cock, careful not to bring him back to full hardness. She enjoyed the tangy flavour of Mistress’ cunt on Bart’s cock, and took pride in how well she cleaned her Masters after they had sex. Once Bart felt he had been cleaned enough, he pushed Jessica off of his meat, and pulled Lisa in for a deep, all-consuming kiss.
“Kids,” came Marge’s most urgent-sounding tone, “you should start to get ready soon!”
The siblings parted reluctantly, and as Bart closed the door behind him on the way to his room, he gave one last glance to Lisa, seeing her pull Jessica into a kiss, licking her thrall’s cum-coated tongue, both girls moaning intensely.
Lisa pulled away from Jessica, grinning wolfishly at her servant. Jessica’s eyes were glazed with submission, almost with lust.
“Do you wish to feed from your worthless toy, Mistress?”
Lisa grazed her teeth teasingly along Jessica’s neck, her fingers digging into the other girl’s assflesh. She paused, almost as if to bite down, then stopped herself, whispering into her thrall’s ear.
“Not tonight, Jess. But while we’re out, I want you to fuck your cunt on my bed. You’re not to cum, just edge yourself continuously until I give you the command to orgasm. Can you do that for me, Jessica?”
Jessica lit up with a brilliant smile. “Oh yes, Mistress, I can do that. I’ll be a good servant, I won’t let myself cum at all, you’ll see!”
Lisa kissed Jessica’s nose, making the poor girl swoon, then went over to her window, and opened it wide, pushing the curtains aside. “If everything goes well tonight, I should be able to see you following my orders from the Flanderses’ house, so you know I’ll be watching.”
Jessica shivered, from both the cool Smarch evening wind blowing through the window, and the idea that her Mistress will be watching her abuse herself. Jessica bounced onto the bed, watching as Lisa slipped into her best dress, a tight black number with frills that she struggled to pull over her baby bump. Pulling the straps of the dress onto her shoulders, Lisa wiggled her ass, trying to fit herself into the tight dress. Satisfied with the fit, she moved towards the door, only to stop as if she had just remembered something, then turned back to her dresser, pulled out a pair of white panties, and pulled them on. Lisa did a spin, her dress flaring up and showing off the tight white cotton pressed against her plump, supple ass and the cleft of her sex, then with a giggle, she kissed Jessica on the cheek, playfully grazed her fangs against the girl’s cheek, and skipped out the door.
Marge was at the front door in her best green dress, bending over to help Bart with his bowtie. Lisa glided down the stairs, literally, and lit at the bottom, slipping into her shoes.
“Isn’t Dad coming with us?”
Marge murmured. “Homer, are you sure you don’t want to have dinner with the Flanderses?”
She already knew the answer, Homer had made himself beyond perfectly clear.
Homer was on the couch in the living room, wearing his reading glasses and going over the back of a box of Fruit Roll-Ups with rapt attention. “I would rather shoot myself in the foot with a rivet gun, babydoll.” His voice was cheerful and casual.
“No, Lisa, he isn’t coming with us.”
She finished tying Bart’s tie, then stretched herself out, working a kink out of her back. “But that’s just as well. We should always have at least one thrall standing guard over the lair. Remember that, kids, okay?”
Marge took a breath, handed each child a tin of muffins, picked up the two remaining, and opened the door, leading the kids next door. Standing in front of the Flanderses front door, Marge attempted to juggle her two tins while also ringing the doorbell. Lisa, seeing her mother’s plight, pressed the button for her, and stood back to wait. Bart’s hand slipped under her dress, cupping her ass and giving it a soft squeeze.
“Stop it, Bart. We can play later.”
Bart chuckled, slipped a finger under Lisa’s panties to probe her tight hole, then lift his hand out, sucking his sister’s tang from his fingers.
The door opened, Maude Flanders standing in the foyer in her sunlight yellow sweater.
“Marge, kids, you’re here!” She looked around, seeing that someone was missing. “No Homer tonight?”
Marge’s mind worked quickly. “No, he sends his regrets. But Maggie has a slight fever, so Homer’s staying with her tonight.”
Maude made a face of sympathy. “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, next time, maybe. But let’s get you three inside, it’s getting chilly out this time of year.”
The three Simpsons stepped inside the home, and Maude took their coats as they slid off their shoes. Ned was sitting in the living room, reading the paper, while Rod and Todd were on the floor, quietly listening to a hymn on the radio at low volume. Ned looked up to see Marge and the kids, and smiled.
“Well hi dilly-ho, Marge Simpson and brood! We’re so glad you could make it to the Flanderosa, hope you brought your appetites!”
Ned jumped up from his chair, gave Marge a hug, and patted the kids on the head.
“No Homer tonight?” Ned’s concern was sincere, just like everything else about the man.
Marge repeated the excuse she had given Maude, who had poked her head out of the kitchen to give them all a five minute warning that dinner was just about done. Marge ducked into the kitchen, offering any help she could, while Lisa and Bart tried to blend in with a normal family, sitting in the living room and being uncharacteristically quiet.
Nelson Munz’ rusted grey bike came to a soft halt in front of the pink house. The lights were on, and a cruel scowl crossed his lips. Detention had meant that his mother couldn’t take his bike to her night job at the strip club; her inability to work had angered her boss, who called her up and fired her on the spot. Bart Simpson and that Lovejoy bitch had cost Nelson’s mother her job, had destroyed their livelihood, and he was going to make that spiky-haired little fucker bleed for that.
As he approached the front door, he opened his vest, pulling out the lockpicks he kept at hand. He used them for what he called ‘grocery shopping,’ sneaking into the houses of the more well-to-do and taking what they didn’t deserve but what he wanted. Lamps, shoes, toothbrushes, toys, all the things his mother couldn’t or wouldn’t buy. He’d even taken actual groceries from time to time, when his usual lunch of drywall sandwiches and peanut butter smeared on a playing card was insufficient.
Carefully, he fit the picks into the lock, and began working them into the tumblers, when the door lazily swung open. He stared in shocked surprise - the family didn’t even bother to lock their doors at night?
Holding onto his seething hatred, Nelson crept into the house, staying low, staying quiet. The TV was blaring in the living room, some action movie with explosions and gunfire and swear words. Nelson silently closed the door, and slipped into the shadows of the darkened sitting room, sticking close to the wall, inching towards the living room. He peaked around the threshold, and saw Bart’s fat father, sleeping deeply on the couch, drool running down his chin, the TV blasting noise not five feet away from him.
Turning back towards the front foyer, Nelson stealthily ascended the stairs, his feet spread wide apart to avoid making the floorboards creak. A light from one of the doors at the top of the stairs caught his attention. Was it Bart’s room? He had no idea, he had never been inside his house before, but simply being there made his anger more intense. They had a piano. They had electric lights, and portraits of their smiling family on the wall. They had a sink in the kitchen, and two couches, and one table just for breakfast and one just for dinner, which meant they were so rich they could afford to have at least two meals a day! And they deserved none of it. Bart had all of this, and the little bastard didn’t appreciate any of it! The inequity of it all further enraged Nelson, and without thinking, he marched like an elephant towards the door with the light bleeding under it, threw it open, his teeth gritted, his fists clenched and ready for violence.
He didn’t even stop when he saw, not Bart, but the Lovejoy bitch, laying on a fancy bed that even had pillows, her clean underwear hanging off of one ankle, her hand pressed against her slit.
If Nelson had been thinking straight, he might have done something horrible to Jessica, something unforgivable in her half-dressed state. But Nelson was more anger than intelligence on even his best days, and right now, all he saw was the other half of all his sorrows. Jessica bolted upright, tried to cover herself, tried to say something that Nelson didn’t hear. In a fury, he pounced on her, fists hammering down on her face like rain, ignoring her screams for help. All the rage at life’s oppression of him came out in one long, pugilistic tantrum. He watched as her face bloodied, her lips and nose running red, tears splattering about as he struck her again and again. He hated her with a perfect hatred, and he was going to make her feel every ounce of his hate.
Jessica tried to protect her face, tried to push Nelson off of her. Brief thoughts of fear that he was going to rape her after he had beaten her flashed across her mind, rising up in bursts, then dying down as another fist hit her. She cried and screamed for him to get off of her, her hands pushing against his face, nails raking through his skin, clawing at his eyes. Her vision blurred with tears, flared with blows; her breathing was thick and warm and stopped up by a flow of blood breaking loose. Behind Nelson, she could see her father, tears in his eyes, but wearing a smug expression of vengeance. She was getting what she deserved.
Then a rush of wind. Nelson made a noise, then somewhere there was the sound of meat hitting something large, a soft thud, then another, then whimpering.
It took her a second to realise the beatings had stopped. Nelson wasn’t hitting her anymore. Opening her eyes a crack, waiting for the tears to run out so she could see again, she saw that Nelson wasn’t even there anymore.
Homer stood by the bed, silent, his eyes dark, his fists clenched. He was staring off out the open window. Jessica sniffed, then choked on the blood running down her throat. Homer, not saying a word, picked her up, ignoring her half-nudity, and carried her into the ensuite in the master bedroom. He placed her into the shower, still half-dressed, and turned on the water, adjusting the dials until the water was a calming warmth. Jessica shivered as the warm water ran over her body, her jaw throbbing in dull agony, watching her blood swirl down the drain. She ran her tongue over her teeth and winced, spitting out a molar. The sight of her tooth in her hand, the red cloud circling the drain, the pounding in her head, all of it made her realise that what had happened was real, and she broke down, unable to stop the hot, burning tears. Homer stood there, watching the broken girl sob in the shower, not speaking, not emoting, only watching.
Then he turned and left.
Outside, in the backyard, Nelson Mutz looked up at the black, starry sky. He dreamt that he was getting some vindication on the rich kids, the snobs who looked down on him and made his life hell. But it must have been a dream, because he was sleeping outside in his backyard again. Mom must have brought home another “weekend Daddy” for him.
But wait…his backyard didn’t have a tree in it. His mom wasn’t rich enough to afford plants. They couldn’t even afford weeds.
He tried to turn his head, a sudden dull pain stopping him. His head was locked in place. He tried to push himself over, tried to roll over, but his body wouldn’t listen. Something was wrong.
The lights came on. Now he was scared - his house didn’t have lights. White halon painted a wide circle around the house in front of him, bright pink walls on display. He knew this house. It was Simpson’s house.
He went to beat Bart Simpson up. That’s right. But…then what happened?
The backdoor opened with a creak, and a large, round figure stepped out with purpose, a shovel in his hand. Nelson tried to move his head to take in all of this silhouette, but could only strain his eyes upwards. The figure stopped just short of him.
“Still alive?” The voice was cold and dead, without emotion. “Too bad for you.”
Nelson’s mouth was dry, a sour taste in the back making his eyes water. “Pl…please,” he croaked out, “h-help me.”
Hadvar Svenson looked down at the ugly, twisted boy at his feet. The boy’s neck was folded at the wrong angle, his back twisted and broken. Tears soaked into the soil beneath the boy, and a bundle of broken tree branches lay at his head, torn off as the boy slammed into the tree after Hadvar had thrown him from Lisa’s window. Hadvar walked past the boy’s field of vision, leaving Nelson to call for him weakly. Nelson stopped making noise as he heard the sound of soil shifting, moving, being thrown about. As he stared at the pink circle of wall caught in the spotlight of the Simpson household, a rail-thin figure padded out into the yard, sniffing at the ground. The figure approached Nelson, and he felt something rough and wet caressing his cheek, a hot breath reeking of canned dog food filling his nostrils.The dog, a skeletal greyhound, circled its own tail, then lay in front of Nelson, blocking his view of the house, as the fat man dug his grave deeper.
In half an hour, Marge’s thrall-protector had completed a hole that would have taken a normal man hours to dig. Climbing out of the grave, Hadvar silently approached the sleeping dog, bent down, and took its face in his hand, covering its nose and snout shut. Santa’s Little Helper kicked and struggled to get away, whimpering as it ran out of air, then slowly stopped, its breathing slowing to a crawl. Content that the dog was unconscious, Hadvar lifted the dog up, standing in front of Nelson’s broken body. He raised the dog overhead, then brought it down hard on his knee, a wet, sickening crack signalling that he had broken its back. The dog’s body fell lifelessly from Hadvar’s grip, rolling on the ground limply. Hadvar then grabbed Nelson’s ankle, the boy numb to the bone-crushing grasp, and dragged him along the dewy grass. Nelson murmured his protests, begged and weeped softly for help, tried to will his body to move, to grab at the grass to anchor himself to safety. Hadvar ignored him, and Nelson suddenly found himself face down in the dirt, not even the light in the backyard to guide him. He sobbed into the wet, stinking soil, as more dirt rained down on him. He heard it sprinkling on his head, unable to feel it, and tried to make his voice louder, tried to make himself heard.
“God, I’m sorry! Don’t do this! Somebody help me, please!”
Within seconds, his mouth filled with dirt, muffling his screams and pleas. He clenched his eyes shut, tried to make an air pocket around his face by pushing the dirt out of his mouth with his tongue. He needed someone to hear him, someone to save him. Bart’s father was a psycho!
Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he pull himself up, or feel his legs?
Soil stuck to Nelson’s face, snot matting dirt to him in thick patches. He couldn’t tell if the moisture on his face was tears or wormtrails, and he tried to scream louder, but only succeeded in swallowing an ounce of soil.
Hadvar looked at the hole he had dug. The boy had been covered, his wailing and begging silenced. Jumping into the hole, he smoothed out the floor of the grave, then climbed back out, rolling the broken corpse of the family dog on top of Nelson’s. Looking down at the dead animal, Hadvar filled in the rest of the grave, patted the soil down, then went inside, returning seconds later with a bag of grass seed. He reached into the bag, and tossed handfuls of gossamer seed onto the disturbed soil, only returning to the house when he was satisfied that he had covered it completely.
In the basement, Hadvar threw his dirty clothes into the washing machine, then climbed the stairs naked. He returned to the ensuite, Jessica still cowering under the warm water spray. She looked up, seeing Lisa’s father-but-not-Lisa’s father unclothed, his cock dangling limply just above his knees. Panic-stricken, she tried to push herself deeper into the small shower, only for the large man to pull her out by the arm, wrapping her in a soft black towel and drying her off.
“Your clothes are wet. Go throw them in the hamper, then put on something of Lisa’s.”
Jessica stared dumbly at the floor, then at Lisa’s father-but-not-Lisa’s father as he stepped into the shower, washing off the layer of dirt painting his skin. Uneasily, robotically, Jessica peeled off her wet blouse, dropping it into the nearby hamper, then she wandered out of the ensuite, back to Lisa’s room, where she slumped into a heap at the foot of the bed, sobbing into her arms.

Dinner had been herbed chicken with potatoes, salad, and carrots served with a sauce of melted butter, brown sugar and cinnamon that even Bart had to admit was pretty amazing.
Amidst a chorus of stifled burps of appreciation and the gurgling of satisfied stomachs, the two families chatted while Rod and Todd cleared away the dinner dishes, and Maud brought out the desserts - the four tins of muffins that Marge had brought.
“Hm…I don’t think we have enough for everyone, Marge. Oh look, Neddy, these ones have our names on them, yours and mine!”
Marge smiled, “I hope you like them. It’s a new recipe I’m trying out - cranberry-orange muffins, made with black decaffeinated coffee. I know Maude doesn’t like the boys to have sugar, so I tried to make them as bitter as I could.”
Ned perked up, and pulled off the lid of the tin that bore his name in broad strokes of black marker. “Well butter my keister and call me a Kaiser roll, if bitter herbs are good enough for the Jews in Egypt, thank you Marge? But aren’t you having any?”
“We have more than enough at home, if Homer hasn’t eaten them all.”
“Mom, they’re healthy. Dad won’t even go into the kitchen as long as they’re in the house.”
“As for not having enough, I think we’re all stuffed from Maude’s amazing dinner. Truly, Maude, that was outstanding. I may have to steal your recipes from you, that sauce might just get my boys to eat carrots.”
Maude giggled, and took one of her muffins from the tin, taking a big bite and letting the soft pastry melt in her mouth. Marge smiled at the sight of the two good Christian neighbours devouring the bitter baked goods.
Okay kids, here’s how this works. The more they eat, the more suggestible they’ll become. Now, there isn’t enough blood in the muffins to turn them into thralls, but there should be enough to make them basically hypnotised slaves for a short period of time. You’ll have to drain them a bit, then make them drink directly from your veins to make them full thralls.
Lisa sighed, watching the Flanders boys in the kitchen as they scarfed down their own muffins.
Mom, how will we know which one of them eats whose blood?
You’ll feel it, Lisa. We can sense humans who have our blood in their veins. The one you’re drawn to the most will be your thrall. Just remember, no killing. We don’t need more bodies.
Lisa smiled, and turned back to the Flanderses, watching Maude and Ned lick the crumbs off their fingers. Maude suddenly stopped, as if she had run out of breath, her hand on her head.
“Whoa…I think I ate that too fast. I feel a little…light headed, Neddy.”
Ned’s eyes glazed over, his hand limply falling to the table. The kids looked back into the kitchen, seeing Rod and Todd staring off into space.
Marge stood up, followed by the kids. “Alright you two, get them somewhere private and do your thing. Remember, leave them alive. I mean it.”
Bart and Lisa smiled at one another, then skipped into the kitchen. Tod and Todd looked stoned, wavering in place as if a gentle breeze were blowing across them.
“Hey guys,” Bart started, “why don’t you show us your room? I bet you got all sorts of fun things in there.”
“Nope,” Rod’s voice was mechanical and dreamy, “Daddy says we can only have fun where he can keep an eye on us, so he knows we’re not having too much fun.”
“Riiiight…well, we’re going to your room anyways, so you’d better come with us or we might…I dunno, take the hospital corners off your bedsheets.”
Bart and Lisa raced upstairs, the boys sluggishly following after them. “Noooo, not our precious hospital corners!”
Marge smirked as the kids vanished upstairs, then turned her attention to her dazed hosts.
“Ned, Maude, stand before me.” Her voice was dark and commanding. Like puppets on strings, Maude and Ned rose to their feet, and staggered around the table, stopping in front of Marge. Marge chuckled to herself, then lunged for Ned, fangs flashing.
Upstairs, Bart and Lisa took in the drab conformity of the boys’ bedroom. The walls were bare and dull, the floor clean of all clutter. Books sat neatly on bookshelves, clothes folded and tucked into their proper drawers.
“Okay, first thing we do when we own these dorks, we make them mess this place up. Clean bedrooms are creepy as fuck.”
Lisa giggled and turned to see Rod and Todd sleepily stagger into the room.
“Well boys, how about we play a game?”
“But what should we play, Bart?” Lisa played along, knowing full well what was about to happen?
“Hmm…let’s play, Who Can Enthrall a Dork the Fastest!”
The boys didn’t even have time to scream before the Simpson kids sank their shark-like teeth into their flesh.
Maude only distantly registered the sounds of a struggle coming from upstairs. She was too engrossed with the cold, bitter fluid flowing down her throat, a dark wave of pleasure running down her spine. She felt safe and protected and loved, and her eyes locked dazedly with Marge’s.
Marge. Beautiful, sensual Marge. Maude loved Marge. Loved knowing her, loved seeing her, absolutely loved sucking on her arm. Her pale, cold skin, her glowing red eyes, those needle-like teeth stained red with…something. A soft, needful buzzing settled in Maude’s forbidden lady parts, and a strange thought crossed her sleepy mind: I want to sleep between Marge’s thighs. Maude’s thoughts turned to Helen Lovejoy and her adventurous tongue, slipping into Maude’s hidden clefts and valleys during what was supposed to be their bible study. Maude missed Helen greatly, missed the heat of her breath on her intimate parts, missed the tang of Helen’s sweet nectar, missed mashing their folds together as they climaxed.
God ffffffuck I miss lesbian sex, she thought vaguely.
Ned had slumped into a chair around the dining table, black blood dripping off his chin, red blood seeping down his neck and staining his thick green sweater. His sallow skin puckered in the cold air, shock settling in. His head lifted up limply, seeing his wife suckling at Marge’s long, pale arm.
Marge. Marge Marge Marge. Margemargemargemargemarge.
How glorious she seemed. How dark and terrifying and beautiful. Tears came to Ned’s eyes, fearful that if he looked away from Marge Simpson, that he’d never see beauty again. He giggled airily, a strange sound, thinking about how much he’d like to have Marge tear his heart out and eat it before his life leaked out of him completely. He’d let her do it, too. He’d let her do anything. He’d beg her to do anything. So long as he could be useful to her.
Marge dropped her arm from Maude’s sucking lips, the pale, haggard woman whining as her bloody treat was taken away from her.
“No! Please, I need it! I need-”
“You need to obey, Maude.”
Maude looked up at Marge as if she had been slapped. Marge’s words slowly settled in her brain, and she nodded, a stupid grin stretching her lips.
“Yes, of course, I need to obey. I need to serve you, my Mistress! How can I serve you, Marge?”
Marge thought for a second, then turned to Ned. She grinned wickedly. “Alright. Let’s set the ground rules, the both of you. Who am I, Ned?”
“Hmm? Why, y-you’re Marge Simpson, our n-neighbourino!”
Marge cocked an eyebrow, and Ned shrunk down like a beaten dog. That was not the correct answer.
“I m-mean, you’re our Mistress, who commands our lives and can order our deaths!”
The grin returned. “Good boy. When the Flanders clan is at home, you will worship your Masters. You will remove all crosses, images of Jesus, anything connected to your old religion. They offend me, and I will not have them in my presence. You will dig a hole in your backyard, throw the offending objects into the hole, then piss on them, then you will burn them all and bury the ashes. Do you understand?”

Ned nodded. “Yes Mistress, we’ll destroy all the blasphemous material in the house. You are the only god we need!”

Marge pulled Ned to his unsteady feet, and kissed his nose, making him swoon.

“Again, good boy. Also, when you are outside of this house, or if you have visitors that are not Simpsons, you will act as you did before you were awakened to our glory and divinity. You will pretend that you still worship the false god Jesus. You will even believe that you worship the cursed son of the Bethlehem whore. But in our presence, in my presence, you will serve and obey. Do so well, and you shall be rewarded.”
“You got it, Mistress. We’ll be the best dang-doodilly servants you could ever want!”
“Excellent. Now…your first service…I want you to fuck Maude right here, right in front of me. I want you to debase yourselves before your new goddess!”
It took a second for Marge’s command to settle in, before Ned pulled off his blood-stained sweater, the shirt underneath, and his undershirt, revealing his sculpted, muscular frame. If Marge had been impressed with muscles upon muscles, she might have been tempted to rape Ned right there herself; instead, she watched with cold detachment as Ned unbuckled his pants, his thick, long cock springing out. Marge’s eyes went wide - Homer was bigger, but not by much, and certainly not as thick. And Ned was uncut, a cock style she hadn’t seen in centuries.
Maude had already stripped off her clothes, planting herself on the dining table, her legs spread wide open. Marge could see the heavy carpet of auburn hair draping Maude’s glistening pink cunt.
“Ooh, Maude, you slutty little minx! I had no idea you let your lawn get so overgrown!”
The air became heavy with the musk of Maude’s arousal, and Ned stood up, fitting himself between his wife’s legs, and pushing his monster cock into her. Marge watched with fascination as her new toys rutted and fucked away like animals, similar sounds coming from upstairs.
Smirking, Marge placed a hand on the small of Ned’s back, guiding him to pump into his wife harder, faster, deeper. Maude flopped back onto the table, grunting and moaning as Ned drove into her. Ned’s eyes were wide and glazed, his body acting on its own, his ass pistoning back and forth as he filled Maude’s fuzzy cunt with his throbbing cock.
Marge pressed the heel of her hand against her aching pussy, imagining what she would make Homer do to her when they got back home.
“That’s right Ned, make this slut know her place. Fuck her good and deep in front of your Mistress, show me what filthy little fuckers the Flanderses really are!”
Ned grunted as he ploughed Maude on the table, watching her slightly sagging tits bounce and wobble as he rammed her twat like a machine.
Upstairs, Lisa and Todd were inches from each other, their lips almost touching, their hot breath blowing across one another’s face. Behind Lisa, Bart was thrusting into her tight, hungry asshole, balls slapping against her cunt with every forward push. Across the bed from her, behind Todd, Rod was doing the same, sodomising his brother like a maniac. The boys had taken little convincing to fuck each other, eagerly peeling off their clothes when Bart and Lisa commanded them to.
Lisa caressed Todd’s face gently, smiling at the slight boy getting rooted out by his own brother.
“Does it feel good, Todd? Do you like having your brother fuck you like a whore?”
Todd nodded, his movements stilted and unsure.
“No, Todd, say it. I want to hear you say it.”
His breathing was shallow and laboured, stuttering from every thrust of Rod’s thin, long cock.
“I-I l-l-love ge-getting fucked b-by my br-brother!”
Lisa arched an eyebrow. He wasn’t done yet.
“L-like a h-ho-whore! I love getting fucked by my brother like a whore!”
Lisa smiled, and kissed Todd deeply, rolling her tongue against his. Her new thrall was grunting and groaning as he pushed into his brother’s ass, Rod’s hands on Todd’s slender hips. Lis reached under Todd, cupping his tiny ball sack and fondling him, feeling his pricklet leak into her palm. Bart slapped her ass, making it sting, making her yelp and jump and surge back against his hard, invading cock. She was in bliss, getting ass-fucked by her brother, watching their new thralls fuck like cellmates in love. Her cunny tingled and dripped onto Todd’s bed sheets, begging for attention that never came as she focused on flexing her anal muscles on Bart’s dick, milking him into her guts.
She moaned into Todd’s mouth, coaxing the boy’s tongue into her mouth. He was an inexperienced kisser, but she’d change that. Perhaps she’d breed their new thralls to Jessica, that might be fun. But right now, she wanted to watch these boys fuck. Hell, she wanted to watch Bart fuck these boys. The thought of her brother, her mate, her fucking Man, screwing these two brothers made her holes convulse and quiver, and she collapsed into a squealing heap as her pulsating sphincter flooded with Bart’s hot, thick baby goo. From her lower vantage point, Lisa could see Todd’s tiny cock sway back and forth from Rod’s thrusts, and with a stupid, giddy smile, she reached up and played with his cocklet, jacking him off. Bart pulled out of Lisa, his cum running out of her asshole in thick torrents.
“Baaaart, come pound my cunt! I want them to see how you bred me all those months ago!”
Bart sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I thought it was too uncomfortable for me to fuck your pussy, Lees.”
She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs as wide as she could, her shimmering pussy glistening in the moonlight. “I can take it. I want to take it. Come and fuck me, darling. Fuck your evil, blood-sucking sister-bride while our new pets watch us.”
Bart’s grin shone in the moonlight almost as brightly as Lisa’s soaking wet cunt. He dropped to his knees, clamping his mouth onto her weeping cunny, sucking at her juices, driving his tongue into her depths, working it deep into her love tunnel. Lisa writhed and wriggled on the bed, reaching up to fondle Rod’s balls as the brothers fucked, trying to coax his cum into Todd’s anus. Lisa’s eyes crossed as Bart flicked his long, serpentine tongue against her G-spot, making her shiver and jump on the bed. Her hand closed hard around Rod’s nuts, crushing them, making him cry out in pain as she almost destroyed his balls with her superior strength. Bart pulled away, his long tongue taking a beautiful, torturous forever to slide out of Lisa’s body. He then stood up, and in one motion, impaled her on his cock, making her shriek and shiver as he fucked into her.
“Ah fucking fuck! Yessss, take that pussy, Bart! Don’t worry about the baby, they’re tough like their Momma!”
Bart fucked Lisa with renewed vigour, his sister pulling herself up under Todd to lick at the slender boy’s stiff nipples, moaning as she gyrated against Bart’s dick.
“Ah shit, Todd, I’m cumming!” Rod grunted with every shove of his cock into his brother’s tight, juicy ass, until his nuts tightened up and he sprayed his seed into the younger boy’s intestines. Todd collapsed into a panting, squealing heap next to Lisa, his Mistress caressing his flushed face, kissing him.
“Good boy, good boy. Brother-cock is the best, isn’t it?”
Todd nodded, and slowly rose up from the bed, sinking to his knees and cleaning Rod’s cock with his mouth. Lisa hummed at the sight of the two brothers together, her fingers strumming at her clit as Bart fucked her brains out. She pulled her brother in close, wrapping her legs around his waist and lifting her pelvis up to match his fucking thrust, pounding herself against his cock until she exploded against him, a syrupy stream of fluid blasting out of her cunt and splashing on Bart’s belly.
“Holy shit, Lisa, you fucking hosed me!”
Lisa giggled. “Ah fuck, sorry baby. You felt so good in me, I just had to squirt. Shit, keep it going, I want you to fuck me all night!”
Marge cleared her throat from the doorway, smiling at the scene before her. “Sorry kids, but I think we’ve made our point here. We should get back home, it’s a school night.”
Lisa pulled herself up, pressing her body against Bart, humping away at his invading cock and wrapping herself around him like a backpack worn on his front.
“But Mooom-”
“No buts, sweetie. Say good night to your thralls, give them some easy commands, and let’s go.”
“Hey Mom,” Bart smudged his thumb against the corner of his mouth, letting her know that she had something on her face. Marge daubed at her lips, pulling back a smear of semen mixed with blood. She licked her thumb clean, and giggled. “Whoops. I, um, I sort of had a light snack from Ned’s dick after he fucked Maude. I guess I got some of his cum as well as his blood. Come on, you two. Good night, Rod, good night Todd.”
The Flanders boys half-turned to the doorway, “Good night, Beloved Countess!”
Bart and Lisa, still entwined together, clumsily followed after their mother, Bart slinging their clothes over his shoulder, his cock pushing into Lisa’s snatch with every step, making her coo and swoon.
The three left the Flanders house. Lisa had by now disengaged from Bart’s still erect cock, his seed spilling out of both her holes, both of the Simpson kids utterly nude for the brief walk home. When they left the house, Ned was eating Maude’s pussy like a thirsty man diving headfirst into an oasis pool.
A few steps from their front door, Lisa turned to Bart, and pulled him into a deep, sensuous series of kisses.
“I love you Bart. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too, Lees.”
“No, you silly donkey-dicked bastard, I’m in love with you. I want to fucking marry you.”
Marge cleared her throat, trying to get her kids into the house before someone spotted the two naked children making out on the sidewalk. “Kids, we can discuss your impending nuptials inside.”
Lisa chirped and squealed at her mother’s words. “Do you mean it, Mom? Can Bart and I get married? How would that work, I don’t imagine we’d have a church wedding.”
“Inside, young lady, and we’ll discuss it. You’re both overstimulated. I think we all need some goo–”
She froze as she opened the door. At the top of the stairs stood Homer, stock still, stern and silent as the grave.
“Homer? What’s wrong?”
Homer descended the stairs, his eyes cold and grim.
“Mistress, there was trouble.”
Marge’s eyes went dark. She turned to the kids, who had just now walked into the house. “Kids, go upstairs and get ready for bed.” Lisa started to protest, wanting to continue to talk about a wedding, but Marge anticipated this and cut her off before she could say a word. “I mean it, kids, go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Lisa dejectedly trudged up the stairs, only bolstered on when Bart slapped her bare ass, giving her a sly and knowing wink.
Once they were out of sight, Marge dragged Homer into the darkened sitting room.
“Hadvar. What happened? Why are you awake? Where’s Homer?”
“The oaf sleeps, Mistress. I am awake because I was needed. An intruder breached the sanctity of the lair. He attacked the Little Princess’ pet. I dealt with him.”
Marge crossed her arms over her chest. An intruder. A thousand panicked and paranoid thoughts ran through her mind. A rival elder? The Hunting Lodge?
“Who was it?
“I did not know. A boy. The Prince’s age. Ugly. Fat. He wore a vest, and had the nose of a swine.”
“That sounds like Nelson Muntz. Where is he now?”
“Buried in the backyard. The penalty for breaching the lair is death, Mistress. I did not forget.”
“Was it painful?”
“No. I threw him out of the Princess’ window and into the tree. He was paralyzed. He was alive when I buried him. I also buried the dog, to throw off corpse-sniffing hounds should the police come.”
Marge murmured in worry. “Bart won’t like that. He loved that dog.”
“He will get over it. The lives of dogs are even shorter than the lives of men, which are as nothing before the lives of the Kindred. I decided it was a necessary sacrifice to mitigate the threat of police discovery.”
“Where is Jessica now?”
Lisa had only just closed the door behind her when she heard a light whimper come from the corner of her room. Turning around, she saw Jessica cowering in the corner, huddled into a small heap, hugging her knees.
“Oh god, Jessica? What happened?”
Jessica wailed, and Lisa rushed to her side, holding her thrall like a mother holding her child. Jessica melted against Lisa, sobbing and sniffling.
“M-Mistress, I’m suh-suh-sorry, I didn’t o-obey!”
Bart knocked on the door, Marge coming up the stairs in a hurry.
“Lisa, I heard something, everything okay?”
Before Lisa could answer, Marge pushed her way into the room, and to Jessica’s side.
“Mom?”
“We had an intruder. Your father dealt with them, but Jessica was attacked. Sweetie, are you hurt?”
It took Jessica a few seconds to remember, but she eventually looked up at Marge, red, puffy eyes, and nodded. Her face was beginning to bruise already, and Marge looked at the girl with motherly concern.
“He hit me so much. I-I…I was bleeding so much, my mouth, and my nose, and-and-and I lost a tooth.” She looked to Lisa, the tears flowing freely. “It was Nuh-Nelson, Mistress!”
At the mention of Nelson Muntz’ name, Bart growled like a jungle cat on the prowl, his eyes glowing hot white. “I’ll kill him. I’ll tear his fucking head off and beat him to fucking death with it.”
Marge scooped Jessica into her arms and carried her to the bed, sitting with her, cradling her, rocking her back and forth. “No you won’t Bart.”
“But Mom, he-”
“Nelson won’t be a problem anymore. And you’ll never see him again.”
She kissed Jessica on the head softly, comforting the battered girl. “Your father made sure of that.”
Lisa stood up, uncertain she had heard correctly. “Dad? D-did Dad…did Dad kill Nelson?”
Marge gave her daughter a stern, steely look. “Your father is a thrall, Lisa. Thrall’s protect their Masters and their lairs. Any intruder into a vampire’s lair forfeits their life by their trespass. Don’t weep for Nelson. His own stupidity killed him.”
Lisa was silent. In the span of minutes she had gone from excited at the prospect of marrying her beloved brother, to having her entire view of her father shattered and burned. Homer couldn’t have *killed* Nelson, he was just a big fluffy teddy bear. Wasn’t he?
Jessica sniffled against Marge, and even Bart’s heart ached for the sad, broken girl.
“She’ll need you tonight, Lisa. Give her some blood to help her heal, and take care of her. Both of you, she’ll need both of her Masters to help her recover. Can you kids do that?”
Lisa didn’t move for a while. She was still processing the information that her father had killed Nelson. Bart stepped forward, rubbing Jessica’s back gently.
“I’ll help, Mom. Jessica and I have our issues, but nobody deserves what Nelson did to her.”
Jessica looked up at Bart, sniffling, and forced a weak smile. Bart’s hand caressed her cheek, wiping away a tear, and she kissed his hand in gratitude.
Inspired by seeing her thrall and her brother being tender together, Lisa lunged forward, and wrapped her arms around Jessica, kissing away at her tears.
“You’ll be okay, Jess. We’ll protect you. You’ll see.”
Marge closed the door behind her as she left the kids for the night. The sound of cutlery jingling in the kitchen alerted her to Homer’s return to his body. Gently, wiping away at her own tears, Marge went downstairs to the kitchen, and found Homer at the breakfast table, digging into a pint of rum-raisin ice cream. He looked up, beaming a loving smile at Marge.
“Hi, honey! How were the Flanderseseseses? You didn't kill them, did you? Because I’d want to be there for that sort of thing, you know.”
Marge smiled weakly. Hadvar was gone, back to sleep inside Homer. She loved her protector, her burly Viking soldier, but since creating the Homer identity two centuries ago, she had also come to love his gentle, if bumbling, alternate persona.
“No, they’re alive, Homie. They send their love.”
“What did you make them do? Something humiliating, I hope.”
“I made them fuck in front of me.” Marge squirmed, the image of Ned railing Maude in the dining room still fresh in her mind. “It gave me some ideas, Homie. Care to come upstairs and try them out with me?”
Homer swallowed the mouthful of ice cream he had just licked off the spoon, then tossed the spoon in the sink, the ice cream in the freezer, and carried Marge up the stairs, giggling the entire way.
In Lisa’s room, Jessica lay between her Masters, the meat in a comfort sandwich. She clung to Lisa like she was a life preserver, Bart curled against her from behind. Lisa stroked her thrall’s hair, cooing to her. She had fed Jessica some of her blood, with Bart offering some of his own, and already the bruises had faded somewhat. Jessica sniffled weakly, whimpering against her Mistress.
Lisa had slipped a hand against Jessica’s sex, rubbing small circles around the thrall’s bare, sticky sex. Jessica moan at Lisa’s touch, humping against her Mistress’ hand.
“I’m sorry, Mistress, I wasn't able to play with myself like you commanded. I didn’t obey you.”
“Shh, shh, it’s alright, Jessica. Just enjoy Mistress’ hand on your pussy. Would you like to have Bart’s cock?”
Jessica looked behind her. Bart was awake, stroking her arm. She reached back, wrapping her fingers around Bart’s shaft, slowly and clumsily stroking him to full hardness. She forced a smile, and Bart caressed her hair away from her face. “You’re doing fine, Jess. If you want or need anything else, you just tell us.”
Jessica snuggled against her Masters, feeling safe again. She pressed her face against Lisa’s neck, humping her hand while jacking Bart off, the three of them slowly drifting to sleep.
As Jessica mumbled peacefully in her sleep, Lisa simmered with quiet rage. Nelson had hurt someone she held dear. She had grown to consider Jessica not just her thrall, but her friend. And if she couldn’t kill Nelson for hurting her friend, she’d slaughter everyone who ever loved that hideous little troll-boy. Lisa wrote a list in her mind of the people she would have to kill.
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He's Like The Wind