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Love Is In The Air	By : LordKuyohashi Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 18572 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Marge Simpson loaded the last box of knick knacks into the trunk of the family car, a collection of mementoes and pictures and things her sister Selma and niece Ling had collected over the years. Selma’s twin, Patty, had been…well, minimally helpful in loading Selma’s things into the car, but her partner Ruth had been more amenable to helping move Selma and Ling’s stuff out.
Patty had been upset ever since Selma told her that she and Ling would be living with Marge and Homer for a while. Patty had taken it personally, accusing Selma of abandoning her, of being bored living with her sister. For over fifty years, the two had been inseparable, and despite Patty moving in her girlfriend and Ruth’s daughter Laura, she still acted as if she would be left all alone.
Ruth had grumbled when Patty made that accusation, and an argument was started, with Ruth claiming that Patty didn’t value her presence in the home, and Patty breaking down crying, saying that eventually Ruth would leave her and she’d be alone again.
Homer, smothered by the awkward atmosphere of the apartment, had been the one who suggested that he and Selma take the first load of belongings home, then Marge could drive the car back to pick up the rest. His reasoning was that since Selma seemed to be the spark that brought out Patty’s anger, and since Patty didn’t like Homer at all, it would be best to remove the two outliers first, and Marge always seemed to have a calming influence on her sisters anyway.
“Just like how you convinced me to get over sleeping with Selma, honey.”
Homer Simpson, dear reader, has the brains of a shoe.
Patty was utterly repulsed when Selma confirmed that, yes, she had sex with Homer, and that, yes, the sex was amazing, and that, yes, her desire for more sex with Homer was a driving factor in her decision to move out. Marge had fought to assure Patty that she not only knew about Homer’s affair with their sister, she fully endorsed it. Patty was having none of it, and hid in the bedroom she shared with Ruth, refusing to come out.
Marge had driven Homer and Selma back to the house to unload the first load of boxes, then drove back alone to pick up the rest of Selma’s things, wiping away tears at every red light. Marge hated when her family fought, and although she loved the idea of having Selma stay with her family, looked forward to reconnecting with her older sister, inside her heart was breaking that Patty couldn’t see past her own insecurities.
Before she left the apartment with the last load of boxes, she had asked Ruth if things would be okay with Patty.
“Sure, Marge,” Ruth told her, sadly. “She has these moments, lately. She accuses me of cheating on her, saying I’ll leave her…she doesn’t think anyone will ever truly love her. I don’t know what your mom did to you guys, but the old age home was too good for her.”
Marge didn’t say anything as she got in the car and drove back home. She only tried to keep herself from breaking down at the idea of her sisters arguing. Her parents had presented the facade of a loving, stable home, but between her mother’s perfectionism and her father’s stoic, “manly” unavailability, coupled with the tragic death of Marge’s schizophrenic brother Arthur, Marge was well aware that the Bouvier household was a house of cards just waiting for one improperly closed door, one discarded sock outside the hamper, one smudge on the window away from a screaming match to end all screaming matches.
She swallowed her concern as she pulled up to the house, seeing the front door ajar and angry voices coming from inside.
Once the car had rolled to a stop and Marge had killed the engine, she ran inside, to find Maggie screaming at Homer, while Lisa was trying to calm her sister down. Bart and Ling had taken refuge in the kitchen, while Homer stood by the couch in the sitting room, trying to defend himself from Maggie’s wrath.
“Maggie, sweetie, please, it’s not–”
“Bullshit, Dad! Aunt Selma has her tits out! How could you do this to Mom?”
Marge murmured at the mention of her name, and with motherly command, drew attention to her presence.
“Just what the heck is going on here!?”
Maggie jumped out of her skin at the sound of her mother’s voice, and after a few seconds of digesting Marge’s being in the room, threw herself into her mother, eyes red and puffy with the tears of betrayal.
“Oh god, Mom, I’m sorry, don’t look!”
Maggie tried to turn her mother away from the scene in the sitting room, but Marge was resolute and immovable.
“Maggie, honey, what’s wrong?”
Her youngest pulled away, and Marge saw the bleary sorrow in her big blue eyes. She darted a furtive look from out the corner of her eye to Homer, who looked devastated and sad. Selma had pulled her top back up to cover her breasts, and the other kids had settled into the kitchen, murmuring amongst themselves.
Maggie glanced back at her father and aunt, daggers of venom in her eyes.
“I caught Daddy cheating on you with Aunt Selma. Right in our house!”
Homer took a step forward, around the couch, and Marge could see that his massive bulge hadn’t yet gone down all the way.
“Honey, if you’ll just let me-”
“Stop it! I’m not stupid, Dad! I know what I saw! You’ve done some shitty things to Mom, but this?”
Marge rubbed Maggie’s back soothingly, as if she were a colicky baby, cooing to her daughter in gentle tones.
“It’s alright, Maggie. Homer, why don’t you go make sure I didn’t forget anything at Patty’s, hmm?”
Homer opened his mouth to protest, but gave in, his pride deflated. Maggie pulled away from Marge, hiding in the dining room in disgust as her father opened the front door and stepped into the cooling evening air. Selma started after him.
“I should help with that.”
Marge shook her head, and pulled her sister further into the foyer hall by the arm, her voice a calm whisper.
“No, Selma, I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you and Homer being here are causing Maggie some pain, then you need to be elsewhere while I talk to her. And if the two of you are going in the same direction, it’ll only make her suspicious that you’re going off to fool around some more. Wait until Homer is gone, then…I don’t know, pick up some booze from the liquor store or something. I have a feeling we’re going to need the hard stuff tonight.”
Selma looked at her little sister sadly. She had never meant to cause any kind of pain by being there, but Marge was right - her presence was hurting her niece and for now, she had to be somewhere else.
Homer slowly pulled out of the driveway and vanished into the night. Maggie wasn’t sure he would come back, and was even less sure if she cared. A minute later, she spied Selma through the dining room window, walking in the other direction. Her aunt had cast a hooded glance back at her, tears in her eyes, but Maggie only gave her a scornful frown.
Marge stepped into the kitchen, where Bart, Lisa and Ling were sitting in silence.
“Alright, before I talk to Maggie, you guys give me the Cliff Notes version.”
Lisa shook her head. “Hey, I just got here myself, I know what Maggie knows. Dad was on the couch and Aunt Selma was polishing his knob.”
Marge turned to Bart. “Bart?”
Bart sighed; “Ling and I had just finished our shower, we were - “
“Wait, you and Ling?”
Ling turned beet red again, nodding excitedly. “Um…yeah…sorry, Auntie Marge.”
“For what, sweetie? I’m not Bart’s girlfriend; Lisa is, and she likes when he fucks other girls.”
Ling gulped down a load of air. Lisa smiled at her cousin assuringly, as Bart continued.
“Anyway, we had finished our shower, we thought you and Dad had gotten back home…Mom, I swear, we thought it was you giving Homer a blowie.”
Marge murmured. “I had to go back to Aunt Patty’s for a second load of boxes. I sent your father and your aunt back here to unpack the first load.”
“Which Dad did, right into Aunt Selma’s tonsils.”
Marge was not amused at her son’s jibes. “Alright, thank you for telling me what happened. Now, you three go upstairs to your rooms.”
“Mom, we’re not-”
“You’re not little kids anymore, I know. But this is delicate, and Maggie will need space and privacy to process all of this. So vamoose, all of you. And no screwing around, your sister is fragile enough right now without having to hear bed springs squeaking.”
The three of them - Bart, Lisa and Ling, slinked upstairs without much protest. Lisa stopped by the dining room doorway to comfort Maggie, but seeing her sister withdrawn into herself, shaking with rage and confusion, Lisa realized that she didn’t have the words Maggie needed to hear right now.Thinking better of making a bad situation worse, Lisa only turned, shaking her head, and trudged sadly up the stairs.
“Maggie honey, come in here a minute,” Marge called out from the kitchen. “There’s some things we need to discuss.”
Maggie was on autopilot as she entered the kitchen. Marge was sitting at the table, hands folded in front of her, and behind her, the coffee maker was chirping and droning, filling the decanter bit by bit. Marge had a couple mugs on the table, ready to be filled for what was going to be a difficult discussion.
“Have a seat, sweetie.”
Maggie robotically dragged a chair away from the table, and plopped herself down onto it.
Marge cleared her throat. “Okay…so…I imagine you have some questions.”
“What?” Maggie’s voice went up a register or two, dripping with confusion and incredulity.
“About what you saw. What…Homer and Selma were doing.”
“Mom, I swear, I saw them screwing. Or getting ready to, at least. Dad had his dick out, and Aunt Selma had her ti-”
Marge raised a hand to stop her, her voice calm and consistent. “I’m not saying you didn’t see it, honey. I…I know you did. I know you’re not making it up, or confused…well, you probably are confused, but you weren’t seeing things. When you tell me that your father and aunt were messing around on the couch, I believe you. It’s important that you know that.”
Maggie cocked an eyebrow, trying to understand what was happening right now. Her mother had screamed her head off for much, much less, and infidelity should have made her absolutely livid at Homer and Selma. And yet…she seemed almost…accepting. Hell, she seemed almost…zen about the whole thing.
“Mom…are you okay? Are you in shock? I know I am, we can-”
Marge smiled, and shook her head. “No, Maggie, no, I’m not,” she sighed, her shoulders drooping. “I’m not in shock. And I’m not surprised. And I’m not angry. In fact, I…I’m happy that your father and aunt are getting along so well.”
Maggie’s eyes went wide, tears running in thick trails down her cheeks. “Mom, what are you saying?”
Marge stopped for a bit, then turned in her chair, and poured herself some coffee. “Do you want some, hon?”
Maggie shook her head energetically. “Mom, seriously, what is going on here? All the naked people in town today, nobody seems to give a shit that the Flanderses are boning each other, and now you find out that Homer and Selma are fucking and you act like someone slipped you a Qualuude.”
Marge stirred in a spoonful of sugar, and sipped at her coffee. “Oh. So you know about Rod and Todd. Yes, well…they seem to be enjoying themselves, at least.”
She placed her cup down, and coughed into her hand. “Alright, Maggie, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I knew your father and your aunt were having sex. I’ve known since last night, when I saw them in bed together.”
Maggie went limp against her chair. She grabbed at the table, trying to keep the world from spinning out of control.
“Wh–how–oh shit.”
Marge offered her hand to her daughter, hoping to stabilize her. “It’s alright, sweetie, I’ve already talked about all this with your father and your aunt. We’re okay. I’m okay. Your father and I are okay.”
Maggie wiped at her eyes. “How can you be okay with Dad cheating on you?”
“Because he isn’t cheating on me. He has my permission. We’ve…opened our marriage up to Aunt Selma. She…well, you know how lonely she’s been. And she’s been so much happier since last night. I don’t know if it’ll last, but for now, she’s in a good place.”
The kitchen seemed to swoon and blur. Maggie rose to her feet, clutching at the table. “But…they hate each other!”
Marge smiled. “They certainly weren’t very friendly, were they? But, ever since…right, they’ve been nothing but sweet to one another.”
Maggie swallowed the lump in her throat. She shook her head. “This is...this is fucked up! So what, you and Dad are swingers now?”
“Oh god no. No, I’m still exclusive to your father. But he’s free to sleep with Selma if and when he wants.”
“On our fucking couch!! I’m never going to be able to sit in that room again, Mom!”
“Oh sweetie, if you avoided walking into a room in this house that someone has had sex in, you’d be trapped on the front step, unable to set foot through the front door.”
Maggie wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Oh god, Mom, I didn’t need to know that you and Dad christened every room in the house!”
“I don’t know why you’re acting like this, Maggie, you didn’t have any problem sleeping in the treehouse last night, and that place was practically painted white.”
Maggie gagged. “Oh god, Mom, tell me you didn’t fuck Dad in the treehouse where the neighbours could see you!”
“Of course not, Maggie. It was Bart and Lisa that fucked in the treehouse.”
Maggie stood up again, like a deer frozen in the headlights. “I’m sorry, Bart and Lisa did what!?”
Marge took a sip from her mug, and added a bit more sugar. “They fucked. Good god, those two are insatiable. Well, Lisa, mostly. Something woke up in your sister, she’s become a hungry little brother-fucking slut.”
Maggie staggered back a step, slumped against the wall, and slid down to the floor.
“No…no way, they wouldn’t…”
Marge stood up from her chair, walked hurriedly around the table, and kneeled at Maggie’s side, wrapping her arms around her spiraling daughter.
“Oh honey. I thought they would have told you. You were with them today, weren’t you?”
“Lisa never said…no, she said she had a boyfriend. And…and Bart said he had a…oh god, they meant each other, didn’t they?”
Marge murmured and sighed. “Oh honey. It’s alright. I know it’s a bit strange, but they aren’t hurting anyone. They aren’t fighting or bickering, the only noise complaint we’ve had in the last month has been because your sister isn’t a quiet fuck.”
Maggie coughed on that idea, almost laughing. “Month? They’ve been…oh god, what the hell happened to this household while we were away?”
Marge helped Maggie back up to the table, rubbing her back as if soothing a sick child.
“A lot, it seems. Come on, I’ll fill you in on some of the details.”
Maggie slumped forward, her head buried in her hands. And underneath her despair and ennui, she had this nagging little itch in the depths of her crotch that was becoming a bit of a nuisance.

The ceiling fan wobbled and shook in its foundation as it spun, casting flickering shadows on the wall and stuttering reflections in the window. Bart was laying on his side, staring out the window, listening to the hushed, frantic voices downstairs. Maggie’s response to Homer and Selma - and here is where Bart took a moment to roll that sentence around in his brain a bit, Homer and Selma. It felt a bit like saying "Starring Pauly Shore and Hitler", or, Presenting Lay’s New Sour Cream and Pustule Flavoured Chips, it was two concepts that didn’t belong together.
He clawed his way back to his train of thought. Maggie’s response to Homer and Selma had stunned him. He had forgotten that some people might view Springfield’s new happy-go-lucky attitude as strange, or even wrong. And a few months ago, he’d probably have agreed. But now…now when he thought about his new relationship with Lisa, and with Terri, and…he supposed with Ling, he didn’t see anything wrong with any of it. Lisa wanted him to get her pregnant, and Bart supposed there might be some medical issues with that, but it’s not like the Simpson genes were pristine and superhuman to begin with, so it wasn’t too likely that having a fifth finger or no overbite would make too much of an impact, really.
But now he was left thinking about how things had turned out, and he wasn’t at all comfortable with the effort.
His door opened a crack, and Lisa walked in, sitting on the edge of the bed. Bart rolled onto his back, and spotted Ling standing just inside the door, listening to the conversation taking place downstairs.
Lisa placed a hand on Bart’s chest, trying to comfort his uncertainty.
“You okay?”
Bart sat up, digging his elbows into his pillow as he propped himself against the wall.
“Yeah, I…actually, I don’t know. I don’t know what surprised me more, Homer and Selma hooking up, or Maggie’s reaction to all of this.”
He absently looked at his feet, distracting himself while his mind worked some things out.
“No, I think I do know, Maggie surprised me more. Homer getting his dick wet in Selma, that was out of left field, sure, but…I think I can accept it.”
Lisa nodded, leaning against Bart’s chest. “Yeah, when the hell did that happen?”
“It was last night while you guys were out.” Ling chimed in, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “It had to have been. Maggie said she heard your parents fucking like frat boys last night, but I think it might have been Uncle Homer and my mom.”
Bart gave Ling a look of almost brotherly concern. “How are you holding up, cuz? You must have gotten as big a shock as the rest of us.”
Ling smiled weakly, shaking her head. “Not really. I sort of thought something weird was up this morning, when she said we’d be staying here for a while. She hates Uncle Homer - or she did, I guess - there’s no way she’d volunteer to sleep under the same roof as him.”
Lisa’s hand reached out for Ling, inviting her to sit on the bed with the two of them. Ling stepped into the room, over discarded piles of laundry, and sat at Bart’s feet, a hand on his leg.
“So how do you feel about our Dad and your Mom?”
Cheeks puffed up as she blew out a sigh, Ling played with her hair childishly. “I dunno. I mean, I’m glad she’s not arguing with him or anything, and…she looked happy down there. I mean, downstairs, not down at…you know, her knees, sucking his…although I suppose she might have been happy there, too.”
She chuckled nervously. “Sorry, it’s all so weird for me right now. I’m still getting over the tingle from…um…” She looked at Lisa, her eyebrow cocked.
“It’s alright, Ling. I know you two had sex. I’m cool with it.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally. Although, next time, if you guys could let me watch, I’d really enjoy that.”
Ling fidgeted awkwardly, her face turning soft red and her cheeks flushed with heat. “I dunno about that…I don’t know if I’d want someone else seeing me…like that.”
“The lady at the restaurant saw us through the window,” Bart pointed out. By now, Ling’s hand had found its way up his thigh, dangerously close to his bulge, and she had no idea how it had gotten there.
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between someone catching me with the longest, fattest cock I’ve ever seen not attached to a racehorse, and actually inviting someone to come and watch me get stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Lisa didn’t even bother to stifle her laugh, flopping against Bart in hysterics. “Ah fuck,Ling-Ling, you paint such a pretty picture with yout words.”
Ling frowned. “You know I hate that nickname, Lisa. Makes me sound like a fucking panda bear. And I got enough of that shit in grade school, inbred little peckerheads teasing the Chinese girl with the white Mom.”
“Hey, don’t knock the inbred, Ling.” Lisa chided her cousin with a playful glimmer in her eyes, “I play my cards right, all my babies will be inbred.”
“I’m sorry, Bart and Lisa did what!?” The voice from downstairs was frantic and shocked, and upon hearing Maggie’s proclamation, Lisa sighed.
“Well, she knows about Bart and me, now.”
“Come on, Lees, we both knew she was going to find out sooner or later.”
“Yeah, but I would have liked to have eased her into it, not just drop it on her like that. She should have heard it from us…once we knew she’d react…well…not like this.”
The trio sat deathly quiet for a while, listening to the buzz of voices downstairs, when Lisa finally stood up, stretching her arms upwards. She winced in pain, her hand going to her abdomen. Bart cocked an eyebrow, noticing her discomfort.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I got some ink while I was out with Maggie. Got some other ornaments, too, but I’ll show those to you later, when everything heals.”
Bart nodded, and settled back into his pillow. Ling chewed on her lip, her eyes still fixed on Bart’s crotch.
“So…what are we going to do?”
Lisa leaned against the wall casually, watching her cousin fight the urge to grope her brother.
“For now? I say we do nothing. We give Maggie time to get used to how things are, then we pick up right where we left off, with Bart filling our tummies with his babyglue.”
Bart scoffed, “You think you can go without for that long, Lisa?”
Lisa grinned at the challenge. “God no…going an hour without your magnificent cock is going to drive me crazy. Which is going to make finally getting it so fffffucking good, baby.”
“I don’t think I could do it,” Ling said softly. “I mean, I was barely able to keep this dick out of my mouth on the cab ride back here, no fucking joke.”
Lisa grabbed her cousin by the wrists and pulled her from the bed, spinning her around in a playful waltz. “Well, hon, until we get the Maggie-sitch squared away, we’re both going on a meat-free diet. Don’t worry, I’m sure it won’t be for more than a day or two.”
A sparkle of genius flashed in Lisa’s eyes, and her smile broadened. “Which means that when we finally get that hot, sweet load from Bart’s cock, it’ll be so ffffucking thick and heavy that it’ll paste our faces like a fucking glue truck exploded all over us.”
Ling looked over to Bart, her eyes filled with hungry lust. She licked her lips at the idea of thick globs of cum splattering her face. “Oooh, that does sound good.”
Before Bart could make a comment, Marge’s voice came up from the bottom of the stairs.
“Kids, could you come downstairs, please?”
Lisa sighed and pulled a reluctant Ling after her as she went into the hall, Ling’s starved gaze still fixed on Bart’s joystick. Bart followed after, eyes glued to the two swaying asses before him as they walked down the stairs. Bart was certain they were doing it on purpose, and he reached out, cupping their jiggling posteriors and making them both squeal at his touch.
Once they were all downstairs, Marge led them into the kitchen. Maggie was nowhere to be seen, a single cooling cup of coffee sitting on the table.
“Where did Maggie go?” The concern in Lisa’s voice was palpable.
Marge positioned herself by the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the night sky.
“She…um…she’s locked herself in the basement. After I told her that her staying with Aunt Patty wasn’t a good idea, that they’re going through some things over there, and Maggie outright refused to stay with the Flanderses, she decided that she needed some space to think, and the basement was where she decided to go.”
Lisa moved to the basement door, only for Marge to spin around, putting a hand out to stop her daughter.
“Lisa, don’t. If she needs time, we should just give it to her. We can’t expect her to just…work through all of this on our schedule.”
Lisa froze in place for a minute, then stepped back.
“So what are we supposed to do until she gets over whatever her issues are?”
Marge growled her disapproval at Bart’s insensitive question. “We’re going to try and act like the family Maggie remembers, until she lets us know she’s okay with the rest of it.”
She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the taste. “Which means, for the time being, no hanky-panky. No sex in public, no bed-demolishing orgies; in fact, it’s probably best if you guys hold off on the sex for the time being, let her get used to the idea. And I’ll have to explain it to your father and Selma when they get back.”
Lisa sighed, while Ling stepped away from Bart, leaving his hand to grope empty air.
“Yeah, we had already come to that conclusion ourselves. We’d already agreed to go on a sort of communal celibacy thing until the whole Maggie situation is sorted out.”
Bart hopped up an inch, reaching for his phone as it buzzed loudly in his pocket. “Ah shit! Hang on!”
He checked the call, typed something out, then slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Speak of the devil,” he said, “I was just thinking we'd have to let Terri know about the new situation, and she goes and texts me.”
“What'd she say? She is coming back sometime, right?” Lisa barely concealed her anticipation to see her and Bart’s mutual fuckbuddy again.
“She said she’s spending the night with her folks, she’ll be back tomorrow evening or so. And that her sister Carrie and their dad are screwing.”
Lisa wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, sorry, nope, Daddy-daughter is still an ick to me.”
“And yet mother-son doesn’t bother you.”
“What can I say, I am a complex and sometimes inconsistent person.”
The front door opened up, and Homer walked in, a small bag stuffed with clothes dangling from one hand, three pizza boxes stacked in the other. His eyes were sunken and fallow, sadly and quietly slipping off his shoes.
“Hey guys, I’m back. I brought dinner, if anyone’s hungry.” His voice was small and downcast, to match his mood.
Marge rushed to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. She smiled reassuringly to her husband, who sighed sadly, shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Ruth found a few of Ling’s things in Laura’s room. How is she?”
Marge frowned, and led Homer to the kitchen, taking the pizzas from him as he struggled to pull his jacket off.
“She’s…having a difficult time with it. She just needs some space to think things over, I’m sure it’ll all turn out for the best in the end.”
Marge placed the pizzas on the table, and pulled out the plates and pizza cutter. As the family set about getting the table set, the door opened again, and in stepped Selma, carrying a bag from the liquor store.
“You’re local booze guy is a thief and a creep! He tried to stiff me on the good stuff, then said he’d lower the price for a blowjob!”
Homer helped Selma carry the bags inside, their eyes meeting, sharing a mutual melancholy at the evening’s events.
“How’s the little squirt holding up?”
“I dunno, I only just got back myself. But not well, from what I gather. Did you go to Moe’s?”
Selma shook her head. “I wouldn’t drink anything that soiled-sock gargoyle had to sling. I have a guy who sees to all my mind-numbing intoxicant needs. Or I did, before he thought he’d get his withered beef jerky cock anywhere near my mouth.”
As Homer and Selma carried her wares into the kitchen, Marge tried to coax Maggie from her seclusion.
“Honey, we’ve got some food up here if you’re hungry.” Marge spoke softly through the basement door. Maggie’s soft, wounded voice came through, barely a whisper.
“Please, just leave me alone.”
Sadly, Marge turned from the door, and with a melancholic sigh, she sat down at the table.

In the basement, Maggie curled up next to the old couch Homer kept saying he’d throw out one day, pulling a threadbare old blanket over herself. Her mind was swimming with horrific thoughts and dread feelings, her stomach struggling to stay upright as she digested what her mother had told her about her brother and sister. From her eavesdropping at the door, she had inferred that Bart had fucked Ling, as well. Her Ling! Her best friend, her cousin!
The…the first girl she had ever loved. Bart had fucked her!
And worse, so much worse than that, Ling had fucked Bart! Her Bart!
She shivered, bunching the blanket up to her neck, and leaned back on the old couch, slowly drifting to sleep, hoping that she would wake up in her bed, and that this whole day was only a truly bizarre dream.

After dinner, Selma sat in the treehouse, staring out the window and blowing a trail of silver smoke, her cigarette clenched in her fingers. The treehouse shook and creaked as someone climbed up the rickety ladder, and Lisa popped into view, wearing a thin sweater to stave off the cool night air.
“Hey kiddo.” Selma turned from the window, and crushed out the cigarette on the window sill, blowing out any remaining embers. “How are things inside?”
Lisa took a seat next to her aunt, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Hm, still quiet. Awkward. I think everyone had gotten so used to all the loving going on in the house, that now that it’s stopped, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”
“Yeah,” Selma sighed, “I know how it felt when my love life dried up. I thought I’d go crazy without a cock in me every weekend.”
“How’d you deal with it?”
Selma snorted. “Honey, I didn’t. I let myself go. I got fat, I stopped shaving, I smoked like a chimney, I stopped caring about myself. And let’s be honest here, not taking care of myself didn’t help with my prospects for - hmm, I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you, actually. It feels weird talking to my niece about how I coped with not getting dicked down every week.”
Lisa stretched herself out on the floor of the treehouse, arms over her head. Selma could see up the leg of her shorts that she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Bart and I first fucked in this treehouse. The second time was on the couch in the living room, the third was on a blanket in the park. I’ve had him in all my holes, he’s fisted me, just yesterday he popped my forbidden cherry while I ate out our mutual girlfriend. And I am fucking obsessed with having his babies.”
Selma gaped in shock at her niece's candour. “Why are you telling me all this, Lisa?”
Lisa sat up with a reassuring smile. “It’s just sex, Aunt Selma. Maybe it used to be a big deal, but now, everyone’s fucking everyone else. Superintendant Skinner and Regional Comptroller Chalmers got fucking married. And Skinner’s the Daddy in that relationship. And precisely nobody said a thing about it. Reverend Lovejoy performed the ceremony with his cock buried in the organist’s throat.”
Selma’s eyes went wide. “What the fuck is happening to this town? It’s like a zombie movie, but instead of everyone wanting brains, they all want to fuck their brains out.”
“My point,” Lisa sat up, folding her hands into her lap, “is that talking about sex is pretty much Springfield’s second favourite thing to do, these days, after actually having it. You won’t scandalise me, or offend me by talking about your sex life, or former. Or former former, seeing as you’re now getting some.”
Selma coughed out a slight chuckle. “Oh god, don’t tell me you want details of me and your dad.”
From the face Lisa made, Selma deduced that this wasn’t the case. “Oh hell no, please. If anything, I’d like fewer details than I already have. It might be a bit hypocritical, but Daddy-Daughter sex is the one thing that just grosses me out. That, and bathroom stuff. Any other incestuous pairing I’m fine with. Brother-Sister? Naturally. Mother-Son? Mom has a permanent open invitation to ride Bart whenever she sees fit. Hell, if you ever want to take a swing on his magnificent love-vine, you go right ahead and fuck him. Via con Dios, and all that. But please let me live in ignorance as to my father’s skills as a lover. It’s bad enough my room shares a wall with theirs. I already know too much.”
Selma laughed out loud. “Yeah, I had to fight back the urge to claw my eyes out when I realised I had slept with your father. Booze was involved, you see. I had no idea who I was…well, you said you didn’t want details. I think he had the same reaction.” She pulled out another cigarette, and lit it. Lisa noticed that this one was more pungent than her usual brand, the smoke more purple. Lisa smiled. So Aunt Selma is a toker, she thought.
“But,” she continued, “thinking about it, it all seemed so silly. We fucked. We enjoyed it. We wanted to do it again. God, that man is amazing. I suddenly get why your Mom has been with him all these years.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s the only reason.”
“Hmph.” Selma held the smoke in, only letting it out in thick plumes when she had to. “You wouldn’t really let me fuck Bart, would you?”
Lisa bit her lip, smiling as she descended the ladder back to the ground, not saying a word.
Selma turned back to the window, watching the stars as she billowed curtains of sweet purple haze.

Maggie’s fingers pulled at the thin blanket draped over her chest, trying to hold off the chill that had settled in the basement, to no avail. Slowly, awakenedness stirred in the young woman, her eyes sluggishly opening. She shifted her position upright, rubbed at her eyes, and staggered to her feet. A hot pressure in her depths warned her that she had to use the bathroom, and so, she padded gently up the wooden steps to the kitchen, undid the bolt on the basement door, and opened it only a crack, seeing that the lights of the house had gone out. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, Maggie looked around, taking in the dark and silence of the household. The LCD clock on the microwave showed the time, 3:45 AM. She padded silently into the nearby downstairs bathroom, closed the door behind her, and, relying on her memory of her own house, navigated to the toilet in the dark, not wanting to bother with lights right now.
Having finished and washed her hands, Maggie stepped back into the kitchen, a vacant, cramping gurgling coming from her stomach. She hadn’t eaten at all today
Opening the fridge, Maggie grabbed a few slices of pizza, and a beer, one of Selma’s brand, the Canadian stuff that had the decimal point before the zero. Sitting in the dark, she ate the pizza, cracked open the beer, and sucked it down in less than a minute.
Bart and Lisa are fucking.
She needed more beer. Grabbing another can, she leaned against the sink, draining this one only slightly slower than the last.
Bart. And Lisa. Are fucking.
She winced at the idea that refused to leave her head. More beer would kill that brainworm, though. A third can cracked open, another greedy swallow that killed the beer in seconds. She let out a belch that made her regret the pizza, then grabbed three more cans. Selma must have gone all out for the booze tonight. Last night, she corrected herself.
The fourth, fifth and sixth beers did nothing to scrub the knowledge that her siblings were having sex from her mind, but they did make her sleepy. And the idea of returning to the cold basement appealed to her not at all.
She stepped lightly into the front foyer, hearing the sotto drone of Aunt Selma’s snoring rising up from the couch in the sitting room. Carefully, carefully, she climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing to keep her balance. She staggered to the right once she reached the top of the stairs, soft moonlight pouring into the hallway from Bart’s open bedroom door.
Bart is fucking Lisa. Lisa is fucking Bart. That’s not right.
Something made her look into Bart’s room; perhaps it was a desire to see where the silver blue light guiding her through the hall was coming from, perhaps it was a desire to stare at the brother who betrayed her with their sister. And their cousin. And god knows who else. But there she was, standing in the doorway of his room, scowling, angry, drunk and hurt.
And there he was, supine, sleeping, his bed sheet his only garment, his lifted knee casting a shadow over the rest of his body.
What’s so fucking special about my stinky, stupid older brother, anyway? What makes him so popular with the ladies?
She stepped into his bedroom, uneasy on her feet, and glared at his unconscious form.
Same stupid spiky hair as always. Same lean muscle. Same stupid face with his mouth that always did the dumb things.
Maggie’s eyes scanned over his body, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath. Something twitched under the sheet, just under the inky shadow of his knee, something large.
What was that? A snake? No, a chipmunk!
Maggie gently dropped to her knees by the bed, watching Bart’s stupid face and his mouth of dumb things as her hand slipped like a ghost under the sheet. Her fingers made contact with something silky smooth and hot as hammered steel, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. She slowly lifted the sheet over her hand, revealing his huge, thick cock.
Maggie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her brother’s dick. Keeping an eye on him, she nervously picked up the shaft of pure meat. She examined it, watch the veins throb in rhythm to his heart. She peeled back the foreskin with her thumb, revealing his fat, purple knob, her nostrils hit hard with the heady, somewhat sour smell of sweat mixed with the mistakable scent of cock. She watched her brother’s cockhead throb and pulse with studious fascination, as if she were finding the secrets to life hidden in Bart’s beautiful cockhelmet. Once she had learned all she could from the tip of Bart’s dick, she shifted her attention to the large, hairy balls resting between his legs. She wasn’t able to lift his nuts up to investigate them without waking him, so she only poked them lightly with her finger.
Ffffuck, Bart is hung.
In her drunken state, Maggie hadn’t realised that she was drooling. But she had noticed that Bart’s throbbing tower of meat had stiffened to it’s full glory in her hand, hot and steely and pointing upwards like some grand monolith standing in silhouette against the moon.
Bart let out a murmuring sigh in his sleep, and even from a few feet away, Maggie could smell the sour stench of beer on his breath. He was as drunk as she was, if not moreso, which explained why he hadn’t woken up when his baby sister handled his cock.
The sight of Bart’s erect cock mesmerised Maggie; all conscious thought fled from her mind, escaping her brain in a cloud of bad pizza and too much beer. It stood their, pulsing, throbbing, taunting her with its heat, its rigidity, daring her to do something about its proud and obstinate refusal to not go inside Lisa or Ling.
“Yrr a vurry bad cock, Mistah Pee-Niss.” Her voice was a guarded whisper, slurred by the beer fumes rattling around in her skull. “‘Sbad enough you go in my sister, but you go in my Ling, too. She’s my Ling, not yer Ling.”
Maggie licked her lips, her bleary eyes focused on that pulsating purple cherry on top of Bart’s magnificent cock-sundae.
“Someone should teach you a lesson.”
She leaned over, tongue extended, and gave Bart’s knob a long lick. She rolled her brother’s taste around in her mouth, trying to decide if she liked it, when she went in for a second lick, this one longer than the first. She hummed her satisfaction at the taste of Bart’s cock, and slipped her tongue under the rim of his fat cockhead, savouring each inch of his piece. Soon, she had placed her whole mouth over the tip of Bart’s dick, running her tongue along its underside, breathing in his heady musk. It wasn’t until her tongue touched the trickle of precum that was leaking from her new treat that she realised what she was doing. She pulled away, disgusted at the taste, watching in awe as her brother’s fluids dribbled down his shaft. A few wet smacks of her lips, and she forced her mouth back onto the knob, pushing herself further down Bart’s cock, determined to get as much of it into her as she could. It wasn’t comfortable at all; she almost gagged when the tip touched her uvula, and she almost coughed as it breached her throat, but Margaret Evelyn Lenny Simpson was no quitter, and she was going to punish this wicked, naughty cock if it killed her. So she imagined she was swallowing a big sausage - which she absolutely was - and opened her throat, letting her brother’s glorious cock slide into her, her face going lower and lower towards his belly with every passing second, until she had finally pressed her nose against the wiry hairs carpeting his abdomen.
She tried gulping the solid cock, massaging it with her throat muscles, but recoiled in shock when the first trickle of her brother’s precum touched her tongue. She smacked her lips, trying to determine if she liked the taste of her brother’s seed. It was…an interesting flavour, not too salty, not too bitter. It kind of tasted, faintly, like pineapple. She decided she rather enjoyed Bart’s spunk, and slipped his meat back into her mouth, sucking him with renewed vigour, her head bobbing up and down along his length, spittle foaming as she drew her lips along his shaft.
A distant tickle made Maggie squirm as she swallowed Bart’s beef-sword, and it wouldn’t go away no matter how much she rubbed it. With the tingle came a liquid heat that spread out from her core, up her belly. Pulling her face off of Bart's tool, Maggie stood up, shimmying her butt out of her pants, stepping out of them and climbing clumsily onto the bed, hovering her pantie-clad cunt over the offending organ. She pulled her panties aside, tried to keep her balance as she squatted over Bart's cock, and slowly lowered herself, shivering as his gooey knob made contact with her sweltering cuntlips. She cooed as she pulled herself open, spreading her pussy with her free hand, stabilising herself by holding onto the foot of the bed with the other, and sinking onto Bart's erect dick.
She seethed as her brother slipped inside her, winced when he pressed against her maidenhead. She tried to pull up, but slipped in her drunken stupor and dropped all the way down, letting out a pained yelp as her brother's rod impaled her and stole away her virginity. She stopped breathing, tears forming at the edges of her eyes, as she lay across Bart's chest, trying to dislodge his monster from her aching, burning kitty. Every move made her flinch, and after a few minutes, the pain had melted into a buzzing pleasure every time she shifted herself along Bart's cock. Soon, she was bucking against him, rubbing her belly against his, humping her butt up and down in a stilted, almost comical attempt to milk his balls dry.
In moments she found her rhythm, riding her unconscious brother like a bull, pulling at her sweat-soaked shirt until her smooth, flat tummy was exposed, moonlight shining off her glistening skin. Her entire body burned as she fucked herself against Bart’s body; desperate to cool herself, she finished peeling off her soaked shirt, the cool night air making her nipples jut out and her skin pucker with goosebumps. She ground herself on Bart’s cock, hissing as his girth stretched her out, her long, thin fingers reaching down to play with her stiffened clit, her breathing ragged and hiccuping with every bounce. Flashes of coloured light danced across her vision as she pounded him into her cunt, the veins of his cock rubbing against her inner walls, her cervix pummelled by his steely length. Finally, as she bucked and frotted on her brother, she stiffened like a board, inhaling sharply, before a gush of fluid drenched his abdomen and she fell limp across his body, panting and heaving.
She didn’t know when she came to again, or long she had been unconscious. When she opened her eyes again, the sun had only just started coming up, the sky outside still grey with sleep. She looked up at her brother, confused as to how she had gotten there, unsure of what she had done, and when the memories of her late night ride on his lovehammer came back to her, she only smiled, curled up into his chest, and dozed off to sleep.

It was two hours later that Marge woke up. The sky was now it’s usual golden shade for this time of year. She slipped into her morning robe, tied the sash, and as Homer brushed his teeth and ran warm water over his face to wake himself up, Marge started downstairs to make breakfast. The kitchen tiles were cold that morning, but it was a refreshing kind of cold. Marge listened to her sister in the sitting room, snoring slightly on the couch, and remembered Maggie in the basement. She knocked on the basement door softly, but loud enough to be heard on the other side.
“Maggie, honey? Did you want some breakfast?”
No answer.
She can’t go without food forever. Even if she’s uncomfortable with our situation, she still needs to eat.
Despite knowing that Maggie had locked the door, Marge tried the knob anyway, hoping that her daughter had used the bathroom at some point and perhaps had forgotten to lock the basement after returning to it. To her surprise, the door opened without a struggle, and Marge ventured down into the chilly basement, wooden steps creaking as she passed down. She looked towards the ratty couch in the corner that Homer had consistently forgotten to take to the dump, an old taupe blanket half-wadded and set to the side. But no Maggie. Marge looked around the room - under the stairs, behind the giant head of Xtapolapocetl, the Olmec God of War, behind the stacks of boxes and exercise equipment and various items from Homer’s many get-rich-quick schemes, but still, no trace of Maggie.
“Maggie? Sweetie, where are you?”
No response.
Marge took the stairs two at a time back to the kitchen, frantic at her daughter’s disappearance. Homer was in the fridge, cracking open his first breakfast beer, when he saw his wife’s panicked expression.
“Marge? What-”
“I can’t find Maggie. She’s not in the basement.”
Setting his drink down on the counter, Homer calmly put his hand on his frenetic wife’s shoulder, trying to soothe her.
“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions. It’s cold in the basement; maybe she just went upstairs to sleep in her room. Have you looked there?”
Marge was shaking with fear. What if the family’s new circumstances had been too much for her baby girl and Maggie had run away?
“No, I-”
Marge stopped herself, took a deep breath, and nodded.
“I just…okay, let’s go look. You’re right, Homie, I just thought…it doesn’t matter.”
Taking her husband by the hand, Marge led the way upstairs. As they passed the sitting room, Selma stirred awake, pushing herself up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Marge turned right at the top of the stairs, peeking her head into Maggie’s room. The bed was made, the sheets turned down waiting for Maggie to crawl under them, but was undisturbed. She was nowhere in sight. Marge slumped against the doorframe, trying to hold on, trying to tamp down the rising panic, when Homer’s voice softly whispered to her from across the hall.
“Marge honey, over here.”
She turned to see Homer standing by Bart’s door, which was opened only by a sliver. Looking in, pushing the door open slowly and quietly, revealed the tableau of Bart, awake but lying in his bed, an arm around his sleeping, nude baby sister, her legs draped over Bart’s thigh, blood streaking his soft cock and staining his sheets. He was reading a book quietly, when he looked up at his parents, smiled, and put a finger to his lips, shushing them.
“Don’t wake her. I think she tired herself out.”
Marge stood in the door, confused. “How did this happen?”
Bart shook his head. “I dunno. I guess she woke up sometime in the night and crawled into bed with me. I slept through most of it - thought I was dreaming about Lisa, honestly - and when I woke up, here she was, all tuckered out.”
He set his book aside, brushing the hair from her forehead. “I probably should have known it wasn’t Lisa when her cherry popped, honestly.”
Maggie stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She sighed, curled her fingers against Bart’s arm, and looked up at him, embarrassed but smiling lightly.
“Hi.” Her voice was breathless. She noticed their parents standing in the hall, watching their children, and tried to pull the sheets to cover herself. “Shit. Um, okay, this isn’t-”
Marge beamed at her kids; “It’s alright, sweetie. We get it.”
Behind Marge and Homer, Lisa had emerged from her room, yawning, when she noticed the crowd forming at Bart’s door. “What’s going on?”
Marge turned, shaking her head, and went downstairs, followed by Homer. Lisa peered into the room, seeing Bart and Maggie together. With a wide grin, she leaned against the doorjamb.
“Well shit, Mags, look at you now. Taking a ride on the family dick, are you?’
Maggie hid her face in Bart’s arm, trying to disappear into her brother’s bed. Lisa grabbed at Ling as their cousin passed by in the hallway, motioning her to the new couple. Ling stared slack-jawed at the scene. Bart, suddenly the centrepiece in this drama, felt his cock stiffen against Maggie’s thigh. He nudged at Maggie, trying to bring her out of her shell.
“Hey, they’re only teasing you, Maggie. Trust me, neither of them have any place to judge you.”
Maggie peeked from under the mountain of sheets she had built for herself, before lifting her head up and setting her chin down on Bart’s chest. Lisa stepped into the room, and kissed her sister on the head, stroking her back.
“How do you feel, Maggie?”
Maggie sniffed, making a pouty face. “Sore. Happy. And a bit stupid. I made such a fuss yesterday, didn’t I?”
“Little bit, yeah. You okay now, though?”
She nodded, almost looking like a child with her messy hair and big eyes. Lisa looked down at Bart’s exposed erection, seeing the virgin blood streaking the shaft.
“Holy shit, Mags, you were a virgin?”
Maggie shifted as Bart sat up, looking at his cock. “Oh shit,” he swore. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, I had to lose it sooner or later.” She rolled off the bed, standing up and stretching her arms overhead. Standing on her tiptoes, she winced in pain, her hand shooting to her abdomen. A slight trickle of seed ran down her leg, much to her embarrassment.
“Uh-oh. I guess I should take a shower, clean myself up a bit.”
Lisa ran her fingers through her own hair, an idea coming to her. “I think I’ll join you. I could use a good wash, myself.” Her gaze fell on Bart. “You coming with us, Bart? You’ll need to clean off that pecker of yours, after all.”
Bart picked up on Lisa’s hint, and rose up from the bed. He turned to Maggie, offering her his hand, helping her around his bed. “You okay with that, Mags?”
Maggie, blushing, stepped over the pile of her clothes laying on the floor, before pulling herself into Bart’s body, leaning on him, her breasts pressed into his side.
“Mmm, yeah, I’m fine.” She looked to Ling, holding out her hand to her cousin. “Care to join us, Ling?”
Ling thought for a second, then shook her head. “Nah, I’m good for now, Mags. I sort of monopolised his cock yesterday, so I should let someone else have a ride. Besides, four people in one shower might be pushing maximum capacity, especially with my huge bubble butt.
“But I like your bubble butt.” Bart and Maggie boke spoke at the same time, creating a strange echo effect that left the three Simpson siblings giggling. Ling turned red, and broke out into a smile, turning around and shaking her ass for her cousins as she walked downstairs for breakfast.

In the kitchen, the adults were sitting down for coffee and low-fat bacon when Ling walked in, stretching her arms. She wrapped herself around a seated Selma, kissing her mother’s cheek before grabbing a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself a cup.
“So what’s the news up there, is Maggie feeling any better?” Selma was tapping a joint into an ashtray she had brought from home. Ling noticed she was sitting closer to Homer, her breasts threatening to spill out of her robe.
Ling stirred in more sugar than was healthy, blowing the steam off the top of her mug before taking a furtive sip. “Seems so. She was a bit bashful, with everyone watching her, but she got over that quickly. She’s in the shower right now with Bart and Lisa.”
“Are you okay with that, sweetie?” Selma took a drag, letting out a cloud of purple smoke that made Ling’s eyes burn and her head swim.
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m hardly Bart’s girlfriend. Lisa got there first, and they’re all trying to figure things out. Besides, I told them that four people in a shower was asking a lot, especially with my big butt.”
“Hey, a lot of guys like big butts.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Mom. Bart ate mine out yesterday.”
Marge placed a plate of bacon on the table in a rush. “Alright, enough sex talk for now. Sit and eat, but leave enough for the other three lovebirds. They’ll be hungry when they’re done screwing their brains out.”
“They better not use all the hot water, either,” Homer grumbled. He was still sore to discover that six cans of beer had disappeared from the fridge, but he hadn’t said anything for fear that he might have drunk them in his sleep and forgotten.

Maggie pushed Bart against the shower wall, her lips pressed to his as the hot spray of the shower rained down over them. Lisa sat in the corner of the cramped shower, watching her brother and sister make out as the steam filled the bathroom, her fingers dancing along her wet cunt. Maggie pulled away from the kiss, biting at Bart’s lower lip as she stroked his cock, cleaning her maiden blood from his rigid staff. Bart slapped his hand over her small ass, pulling her into him, his freshly cleaned cock resting between her smooth, milky thighs. Lisa grunted as she slipped two fingers into her soaking gulch, panting at the sight of Bart humping against Maggie, his cock sawing between her legs. The two siblings rolled over, Bart pinning his sister to the wall, Maggie wrapping a leg around his waist, the steam filling the air with the hot, raw scent of her arousal. The siblings kissed again, and Lisa moaned as she shuddered, her first orgasm of the day crashing through her. Bart’s hand slipped down to Maggie's thigh, pulling it higher to grant himself more access, and with one hard thrust, he was back inside the tight, warm embrace of his sister’s pussy. Maggie let out a shrill yelp as Bart stuffed himself into her depths, wrapping her arms around her big brother and burying her face in his neck, whining and moaning with every pump into her freshly broken-in cunt. As Maggie jostled and shuddered against Bart, her eyes locked with Lisa's watching her older sister mercilessly frig her own cunt. She reached out to Lisa, fingers outstretched, eyes pleading. "Lisa, please!"
Lisa stepped to Maggie's side, kissing her baby sister's hand, then her lips, Maggie slipping her hand under Bart's arm to play with Lisa's cunt herself. Lisa moaned, flexing her hips against her sister's teasing fingers.
"Wh-when Bart's done with me, I want to see him *eek!* see him fuck you." She clawed at Bart's shoulder as he lifted up higher, letting her drop onto his tool. "I want to see how my brother and sister love each other. Then we can suck his cum from each others' pussies."
Lisa was taken aback by her sister's depraved suggestion. "God, Maggie, I had no idea you could be such a slut! What happened to the girl who hated the idea of siblings fucking?"
"That frigid bitch died a virgin the moment I saw this amazing fffffffucking cock!"
Bart thrust into Maggie, slapping her against the wall with every push. "I get it now, Lees. I get why you fuck him. Why ling fucked him, why Dad and Aunt Selma fuck, why Rod and Todd fuck. I finally get it!"
She spasmed as her cunt slammed shut around Bart's dick, massaging his load from him. "It's about love, I get that now. You love him. Ling loves him. Oh fffuck, Bart, yes! Fuck that cunt, love me like the whore I am!"
Bart grunted and swore as he fucked into Maggie in long, deep thrusts, until he went rigid, Maggie shivering and shuddring in his grasp, an overflow of cum spilling out of her cunt and washing down the drain. Bart clutched at Maggie's ass, giving himself more leverage as he pushed more loads into her hungry hole, her cervix opening up to him as her womb flooded with a torrent of incestuous seed.
Maggie panted and cooed as Bart disengaged from her tight cunt, cum dribbling down her legs. She smiled to Lisa, her eyes wild and wicked, and nudged Bart towards their sister. "Your turn."
Biting her lip, Lisa turned around in the shower, bending over and spreading her ass, revealing the puckered pink hole hidden by her full cheeks. "Mmmm, here Bart. Let's see just how kinky our baby sister is. Let's see if she'll eat the cum out of my asshole like a good girl."
Smiling, Bart stepped up behind Lisa, slowly easing his cock into her ass, making her squeal as he split her guts with his girthy meat.
Ten minutes later, the three of them came downstairs, towelling themselves off, but remaining naked. As Bart led the girls downstairs for some breakfast, they passed the sitting room, where Selma was riding Homer like a stallion, her heavy sagging tits flopping around as she bounced herself on his cock. Passing by into the kitchen, Bart smirked, shaking his head. "Good job, Dad."
Lisa said nothing, only skipping to the kitchen awkwardly, her hand held up to her aching, fucked-out ass. Maggie watched her aunt and father fuck like teenagers, rubbing her cunt absently, all objections to their pairing now long forgotten. She licked at her lips, finding a dollop of cum left over from her clean-up job on Lisa's asshole, and lapped it up quickly, turning back to the kitchen.
Ling was washing her dishes in the sink when the siblings walked in. Turning to respond to the footsteps behind her, she giggled to see the three of them completely nude, skin flushed form the steam and the sex, her eyes glued to Bart's limp cock as it bounced between his legs with every step.
"Well damn, I guess we're all going naked today."
"Yep." Maggie chirped up, eyeing her cousin's plump ass. "Wanna join the fun, cuz?"
Ling wiggled her ass playfully. "Maybe. I might wear a shirt; still not a fan of showing off my untits."
Lisa poured herself some coffee and grabbed some bacon off the plate on the table. "Untits? What are untits?"
Ling sat down, nodding towards the sitting room where her mother's screeching grunts and the repeated hammering of a fat cock into a fat cunt rang out. "My Mom has tits. Auntie Marge has tits. You have tits. Even Maggie has tits."
Maggie shook her perky tits proudly. "Hey, I have nothing to be ashamed of. My girls are a nice size!"
"Yeah, but I got nothing. Flat as a board, and good for a screw. Untits. So flat, I've practically got innies."
Bart reached over, slipping his hand into the loose sleeve of her pyjamas, caressing her nipples. "I like them anyway, Ling."
Ling gasped as her cousin played with her nips. "Oh fuck Bart."
Lisa placed a hand over Ling's own, smiling at her comfortingly. "It's alright, Ling. There's nothing but love in this house. We'll love even your untits." Ling gulped nervously, her face turning red. "Besides, if Bart knocks you up, maybe they'll grow a bit."
This idea broke down her walls. With a hissing moan, Ling stripped off her pyjamas, tossing them into the hamper in the hall and giving Bart full access to her chest. "What the fuck, right?"
Maggie groaned at the sight of Ling's bare chest, and sank in her seat. Ling jumped up as if she had been bitten.
"Ah! Hey!"
In surprise, Lisa had spilled her coffee on her hands. Quickly mopping up the spillage with a cloth, she sucked the coffee off her fingers. "What was that about?"
"Alright, which one of you beautiful perverts is playing footsies with my pussy?"
Maggie giggled, then sat up straight. "Sorry, Ling. I've been wanting a feel of your puss since, like, fucking Copenhagen."
"What?"
Maggie swept her wet hair out of her face, her face turning red. "Fuck yeah, didn't you know? Girl, it took all the will-power I had to not sneak into your bed when we were in Europe. I thought you'd hate me if I made a move, being cousins and girls and all. But I've wanted to taste your sweet cunny since...well, fuck, since puberty, I guess."
You could have knocked Ling over with a feather. "Fucking hell, Mags, I had no idea."
"Yeah, that was the point of keeping it a secret. But now, now that I know being cousins isn't a barrier for you, what the fuck, why not shoot my shot. The worst that can happen is you tell me you're strictly dick-only. Big whoop, we move on, we fuck Bart, if I need to indulge my vagitarian side, I'll munch on Lisa for a bit. Made her squeal like a little piggy in the bathroom earlier."
Ling thought for a second, then slumped in her chair. A second later, Maggie was squirming in her seat, humming to herself while Ling giggled playfully. Bart peeked under the table, and sure enough, Ling's leg was outstretched, her toes playing with Maggie's wet, cum-dripping hole.
"Damn. I could sit here and watch this all day."
Lisa finished off her coffee. "Well, why don't you call Terri, see when she's coming home, and we can plan a proper welcome home for her. I'm thinking, a sex picnic. We set a blanket down in the backyard, sandwiches and potato salad and a fucking orgy for all the neighbours to see."
Bart looked up at his lust-filled sister, her eyes clouded with desire. "Fucking hell, Lisa, I love your depraved mind."
"That's too bad, your going to miss it when you fuck my brains out. Now, go call Terri. If she needs incentive to hurry home, tell her she's got two all-new pussies to play with"
Bart grinned, then left the table to get his phone. As he passed the sitting room where Homer was unloading his fat balls into Selma's womb, he looked back into the kitchen to see Ling and Maggie making out, Lisa frigging both of their cunts like a madwoman.
At the top of the stairs, he passed Marge, putting a stack of folded bed sheets in the linen closet. Marge looked up from her chore to see her naked son, cock bobbing as he approached her.
"Hi sweetie. Everything alright with Maggie, now?"
Bart stepped in behind his mother, holding her close to him from behind, nuzzling her neck. "Everything's fine, Mom. We're planning on having a fuck-picnic later."
Marge murmured at the feel of her son's hard cock pressing against her ass. She snuggled against him, encouraging his attention.
"You know the deal, mister man. You want to play with Mommy, you have to get more experience under your belt."
"I have a harem of four girls, do I need to fuck every woman in town before I get a chance with my own mother?"
He wasn't pouting or complaining, his tone was playful and sincere. Marge scowled at him, pulling away from his embrace.
"I'll decide when you're ready for the big show, sweetie. Just be patient. Is your father done breeding your aunt?"
Bart stopped and listened as Homer let out a loud groan that echoed throughout the house, followed by Selma's raspy voice. "Oh ffffuck, thank you Jesus!"
Bart nodded, "Yeah, sounds like they're-" He was interrupted by the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, backe dup by more moaning. "Oh. I guess that was just round one then."
Marge sighed, "Well at least he has another hole to pour his cum into. I love your father, but honestly, my asshole could do with a vacation from his massive cock. Let him wreck Selma for a bit."
She gave Bart a kiss on the cheek, and finished putting the laundry away. Bart turned back to his room to get his phone.
"Hey Bart?" Bart stopped and turned back to his mother, who pulled her dress down, her large, firm tits popping out, swaying back and forth invitingly. "Here's a little something to tide you over until you do get to fuck Mommy's tight cunt."
Bart smiled, his cock arching upwards, as he vanished back into his room. Marge picked up the laundry basket and headed back downstairs, tits still out. As she descended down to the foyer, she wondered if she should just go nude today, when she decided to take some time off from her chores to watch her husband and sister fuck for a while.
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Love Is In The Air