Bart the Ripper II: Mothersnuffer

BY : JayDee
Category: +S through Z > Simpsons
Dragon prints: 18974
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Bart the Ripper II: Mothersnuffer


Description: Ten years into the future, Bart Simpson returns to teach Marge a brutal lesson in rape, torture and death.

Content Codes: M/F, rape, int, nec, tort, bond, snuff, inc, ws, scat

Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don’t own any of Matt Groening's characters and make no profit from this story. I do not find Lisa the eight-year-old girl sexy, but in a few episodes she and Bart have been portrayed as adults and this version is hot. This story features Bart Simpson as a twenty-year-old serial killer. Please read the story codes above to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content.

Additional Credit: This first Bart the Ripper was entirely inspired by a user who no longer wishes to be associated with this kind of material.

Marge had woken up to Homer’s desperate thrashing. It was dark in the bedroom, lit only by the glow from the street, but she saw him clutching his throat. She tugged the cord on the beside light and was horrified to see the blood pouring heavily through Homer’s fingers from his cut throat. The blood splashed her nightgown and her face. She saw the panic in his eyes as he gurgled, unable to scream.

"What did you do to yourself, Homie?" she cried, "I’ll dial 911! Keep the pressure on!"

Turning to the bedside phone Marge instead saw Bart, her twenty-year-old son. He had changed in prison, grown muscular and brawny at his six feet of height. He punched Marge in the face as hard as she could. The glove on his left hand protected his knuckles as they smashed into Marge’s face over her left eye. The sudden shock of pain and the force of the blow knocked Marge out cold. The bluehaired housewife fell back against the bed’s headboard, eyes rolled up.

Homer’s struggling had weakened; the bed was drenched in his lifeblood. Bart would have tortured and hurt his father a lot more if he didn’t think it kind of faggy. Instead, the old man got off easy. A lot easier than Lisa was going to. Bart reached into his bag for rope, and then Hogtied Marge. The rough rope bit tightly into Marge’s wrists as he pulled them back behind her, and secured them tightly to her ankles. He selected a large blue ball gag – to match her hair – and slid it into her mouth.

Bart worked quickly, securing the straps around Marge’s head as a vile smell filled the room. Homer’s bowels had voided into his pajama pants. She was still unconscious as he pulled his dad’s pants down and spread the fat man’s legs. Gripping the rope that bound Marge, Bart manhandled her between Homer’s legs so her face rested in his worm-infested shit. He hoped she wouldn’t suffocate, but wasn’t too bothered yet. His primary target was Lisa.

"I’ll be back later, Mom!" he told her, as he briefly admired the vivid purple swelling already forming on her face.

Bart left to kill Lisa. After a little while Marge awoke to the sounds of loud music from the basement, and almost masked muffled squeals. She recognized Homer’s crotch through one eye, although she couldn’t see his face over the large curve of his belly. The strong smell of shit filling her nose was almost enough to make her retch; it was only the blue haired matriarch’s iron will that kept her stomach steady. Homer was dead. Lisa was being hurt. Marge cried and shivered in the filth, before resolving to try and escape.

Bart’s knots were bad, and even though the rope was tight, Marge felt a little give because of that. So she twisted and pulled even as the rope rubbed painfully into her skin and shit dried on her face. She worked hoping to save Lisa, and maybe avenge Homer. Marge’s hope died when the music did. She started crying again, limp on the bed. She knew in her heart that her firstborn daughter was dead.

Down in the basement Bart slept, satisfied with Lisa’s utter destruction. The bitch had squealed on him for murdering Sherri and Terri, so their spirits could get together in the afterlife and compare notes now. He dreamed of the girls’ souls retaining the mutilations done to their bodies and it made him happy. He wondered if they’d meet the other girls, the ones he hadn’t gone to prisons for. The ones Lisa hadn’t known about.

Marge hadn’t slept, and one wrist was almost loose. She steeled herself again; ten years older and weaker than when Bart had been her special little guy, but Marge’s body was still fine. Her hand came free, aching with pins and needles as blood flowed properly again. The strain of the hogtying was just on the one shoulder now along with her legs, and it hurt more. Marge reached for the phone by the bed, pulled it off the hook and…

…no dial tone. Bart had cut the line. Marge wouldn’t have been able to speak while gagged, but the cops would have come anyway, both to check out the silent call and steal fresh baked cookies. Marge concentrated on the ballgag straps, but her fingers were slippery with sweat and the strap buckles were very stiff. It was no good. Marge went to working on her other wrist, hoping to get it loose so she could twist her legs around and untie her ankles.

That was how Bart found her, hours later, exhausted, and still trying. Marge didn’t even hear him on the stairs until he stepped back into the bedroom and yawned. He was naked, but covered in dried blood. Marge was shocked by the size of Bart’s cock, even limp and with bits of Lisa’s brain sticking to it. Bart had considered leaving Marge for a couple of days before finishing her off, but with much of his red hot rage and incredible lust slaked on Lisa’s unwilling body he was thinking clearly enough to realise that the cops might turn up sooner rather than later looking for him.

Marge began pleading with Bart, begging him to leave her alone. Her high voice was muffled by the ballgag though, and he couldn’t understand a word. Laughing, Bart mimicked it back at his Mom. He tangled his hand in a big clump of Marge’s long blue hair and pulled her off the bed. Marge gripped Bart’s wrist with her free hand at the sudden scalp pain, and so landed heavily on her breasts. She grunted around the ballgag as Bart ignored her hand and twisted her onto her side.

Marge slapped one handed at him as he tore off her nightgown. She didn’t want to be naked in front of her evil murderous son, Bart. Bart didn’t give a damn what she wanted, and ripped the flimsy fabric in his strong hands. Marge’s breasts were bigger than Lisa’s, and bore the scars from where she’d accidentally had breast implants put in, then taken out, ten years before. There was much finer scarring from five years previously when Marge had had new implants put back in. Bart’s cock rapidly hardened as he groped his Mom. The shocked betrayal in her red, puffy eyes was incredibly arousing.

"Okay, Mom, let’s go down to the basement where Lisa’s hanging out…"

Bart’s laugh had no human compassion at all as he stood up again and took a fresh grip on Marge’s hair. He dragged her across the rough carpet of the bedroom, and down the hallway to the stairs. It was a risk throwing her down; she might suffer an instantly fatal injury. Bart just couldn’t help himself. He positioned Marge at the top of the stairs, away from the banister, and kicked her in the cunt.

The explosion of bruising pain in Marge’s cunt was bad enough to cut through the sudden adrenalin rush of almost taking to the air. She slid down the stairs face first, smacking her breasts against each step on the way. Earlier model implants would have burst under the abuse Marge’s tits were taking, but Marge’s held firm as she bumped down to the bottom. Bart jerked his shaft as he watched her go, and punched the air when she reached the bottom alive and groaning. Bart followed up by dragging Marge to the basement steps and carefully lifting her down.

"Don’t get the wrong idea, Mom. I’m not going easy on you, I just decided I want to make sure you make it alive down here. Can you see how badly I fucked Lisa up? Can you see my jizm leaking from her eye? I raped Lisa’s brain and now I am so hard thinking about what I’m going to do to you, Mom."

Marge almost passed out in shock at the inhuman violence visited on Lisa. She hoped that her daughter had been dead when the brutal mutilations had been visited on her body, but Marge knew what her evil son had done to Sherri and Terri and she knew they’d lived through most of it. The stench of shit and death was too strong in the room, and again Marge almost vomited around her ballgag. Bart left Marge on the rough workbench, splintered wood pressing against her sore body. He didn’t care about her one loose arm as he looped thick cord around the ceiling beam.

There was no longer any innocence in Bart, no compassion, mercy or conscience. Marge wondered if he had succeeded in selling his soul to Satan after all. To a godfearing woman like her, Bart’s acts seemed like those of a demon. Bart cut through the rope remaining around Marge’s wrist. He thighs screamed at the sudden release of pressure, and she was helpless to fight back as Bart tied her wrists to the rope hanging from the beam. He’d got it just right, and Marge was forced to stand on tiptoes to relieve the strain on her shoulders even slightly.

Bart cut loose the ropes around Marge’s ankles tied together, not concerned about her trying to kick him. If she tried too hard, he figured, he could always smash her legs like he’d done to Lisa. Bart’s only remaining decision was whether to fuck Marge in the front or the back, as he wasn’t sure he’d stay hard for both. He figured sodomising his Mom might be best, as at her age her cunt was likely to be past it. On the other hand, raping his Mom’s pussy, the source of his life, held an attraction all of it’s own.

A furious knocking at the house’s front door stopped Bart just as he was reaching for Marge’s MILF ass. Marge raised her head, hope blazing in eyes she’d thought forever dulled by the sight of Lisa’s mutilated body. She called for help, but once again the ballgag muffled her cries almost to nothing. Bart grabbed a bloody knife and ran back up the stairs, trying to remember how Homer talked.

"Uh, D’oh, who is it?" Bart called through the door

"Mr Simpson! Chief Wiggum. Bart’s broken out of prison, there was a riot and they only just realised he was out. Have you seen him?"

"Uh, no Chief, but I was about to call you. He rang up and said he was going to meet his accomplice, uh, Martin and leave the state."

"Martin? That Prince punk… I always knew he was too smart to be good! I’ll have a SWAT team round right away!"

Bart chuckled at the sound of the police dashing off outside, cars tearing off. Springfield had to have the stupidest police force in America. Then again, Bart had heard his former next-door neighbour, Laura Powers, had grown up and sold out to become a cop. Maybe he could track her down, fulfil his dream of killing a pig. He was whistling cheerfully as he walked back down to the basement. Except for whether to stick it in her cunt or ass, Bart had already planned out exactly what else he wanted to do with his Mom before he had brought her down to her place of death.

The muscular young man lifted up two cables, connected under the bench to something Marge couldn’t see. Electric tape wrapped around large sharp-teethed crocodile clips that were attached to the ends. Bart had cannibalised one of Homer’s projects and Marge realised what he was going to do with them as he came towards her. Bart shoved his mom’s kicking legs aside easily and clipped the cables to her large nipples. They were too tight, and pierced the sensitive nubs almost immediately. Little red drops formed on yellow skin as Marge screamed into the ball gag.

Bart pulled another crocodile clip cable out as Marge writhed and screamed, but he gripped her left buttock hard with the other hand. Marge looked down just in time to see Bart clipping the cable to her swollen clitoris. The beam Marge was tied too shook, sending dust down to the floor of the basement, as she struggled freshly. Everytime she lost her footing her shoulders wrenched painfully upwards under her weird. Marge’s bleeding nipples seemed like a low bass throb to the sharp high pain of her clit.

Bart’s laughter cut through the pain. Marge still had trouble with the concept that it was her own son who killed those girls, who killed his sister and her beloved husband. Her own son who was hurting her so badly that she was sure the pain could get no worse, right up to the moment Bart flicked a switch. The juice flowed in Marge at far higher level than any safe kinky BDSM play level. The smell of burning flesh reached Bart almost immediately while Marge’s piss arced darkly yellow down to the floor.

Marge thought her breast implants were going to explode. It seemed as if her whole body was wrapped in a burning shroud, which slowly shrank and crushed her. As her body jerked one of the cables pulled off of Marge’s left breast, taking a charred Nipple with it. Bart groaned with arousal at the highly erotic sight of Marge’s big-breasted electrocution dance. He wished he had an electric chair to strap her into as the fun ended; the remaining cables melted through within seconds of each other, and Marge fell limp. Blood dribbled down her wrists towards her shoulders where she’d rubbed them through.

The Simpson matriarch’s awesome tits jiggled rapidly as her heart hammered erratically in her chest and she breathed through her nose. Her skin was darkly flushed and covered in sweat. Bart burned his fingers on the hot metal as he tugged loose the clip on Marge’s clit. Most of the charred flesh came away with it. The damaged nerves were sending a tsunami of pain signals to Marge’s brain, so that when Bart pulled her legs around his hips she didn’t feel him penetrate her until his balls slapped into her ass.

"Mom, you’re so wet! You filthy fucking whore!"

Bart’s big dick hammered Marge’s cunt so hard it was as if he was trying to get his whole body back to the womb he was born from. The filthy mother fucker was so happy he’d picked her cunt after all. Bart bit into Marge’s nipple-less breast, tearing away a bloody chunk of semi-cooked meat and swallowing it whole. Marge was completely helpless, unable to stop her son from raping her harder and harder. She was praying in her head though her faith was sorely tested. The rape was agonising, tearing Marge’s pussy with Bart’s ungentle strokes and roughly rubbing her destroyed clit.

Bart pulled down on Marge’s blue hair, forcing her head back painfully. He wasn’t sure if he was more aroused by his Mom’s pain, or the sheer pleasure of knowing he was fucking her blue-dyed pussy with his fat cock. As he looked down and saw his Mom’s blood streaked on his shaft he lost it, thrusting up hard and blowing his load into her. She recognised his grunting animalistic climax for what it was, and hope it signalled her pain would soon end. Bart held his Mom almost tenderly close as he fired every drop of incestuous sperm deep into her core.

As he pulled out, he lifted a knife and sliced through Marge’s wrist ropes in the same motion. She landed hard on her ass, and screamed at the sudden additional pain of a broken coccyx. Bart didn’t even realise as pulled Marge’s face to his semi-hard cock and rubbed bloody spunk and pussy juice all over it. He had almost suspected he might feel guilt or regret after raping and torturing his own Mom, more than for his sister or cutting Homer’s throat. Instead, only satisfaction.

Marge felt Bart release his grip on her hair, and rolled into a foetal ball of pain. Her long blue strands floated in the pool of urine she’d sprayed during her torture, and filled her nostrils with the strong smell. She couldn’t understand why her butt hurt so much after everything else, as her shattered coccyx throbbed painfully. Bart left her sobbing in the filth as he looked for a new blade to try. He found one near Lisa’s head, and brought it back to Marge. Bart kicked Marge in the lower back hard once, twice and a third time.

Marge screamed once more into her ball gag, and tried instinctively to reach back and protect herself. As she opened her body up, Bart lent down and stabbed the blade deep into her soft belly, just above her semen-oozing cunt. Marge felt the blow as if she’d been punched, and then grabbed Bart’s arm as he started to slice through her stomach. Blood poured around the blade as Bart used his superior strength to cut a large section of flesh from Marge’s belly. He peeled it away with his fingers even as she tried with desperate strength to hold it back.

Anatomy wasn’t Bart’s strong point. He didn’t know the correct names for the slippery steaming viscera he pulled from Marge’s stomach, or which organ was which as he pulled them loose. Marge Simpson was on her back by then, mutilated breasts still shaking, as Bart gutted her with his bare hands. Through the red mist of agony Marge might have considered how strong her boy had grown. To Bart’s surprise after so many orgasms in the hours before, his sore cock began to grow hard again as he tugged out the last of Marge’s intestines.

Bart began stroking his shaft softly with one hand as he scrambled for the knife with the other. Marge was in shock and almost dead as he began to stab her big breasts. Bart’s arm came down faster in a frenzied assault, blood, fat, clear pieces of the implants flew out on each backstroke of the knife until Bart tugged dropped the knife from spasming fingers, and managed to pull Marge’s face close to him again.

Marge’s eyelids seem to flutter a final time as he squirted watery semen into her bloodshot eyes. Bart finally found a little regret, but only that he couldn’t carry on torturing Marge, or Lisa. His legs were shaky as he got to his feet, but they supported him as he pointed his soft shaft down at Marge’s face. Bart added a final degradation to his Mom, as he played his stream across her slack lips, and the bright blue ball gag.


The slaughter of Marge, Lisa and Homer Simpson made national news. The media circus went on for weeks, and the multiforce manhunt received reported sightings of Bart from Canada to Peru. Even Springfield’s finest bucked their ideas up in the hunt for the vicious, sadistic serial killer. Officer Laura Powers unearthed numerous leads with the aid of more competent officers than her usual colleagues, and the only thing that stopped her locating Bart single handed was that he found her first…


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Author’s note: I would like to re-iterate that I have absolutely no sexual interest in the child versions of Bart and Lisa.


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