House in the Hills 2

BY : Jeffrey Opstik
Category: +S through Z > Simpsons
Dragon prints: 9164
Disclaimer: I do not own The Simpsons and make no money from the writing/online publication of this.

Across the center of the room there was a sudden spray as Marge's panties were torn away. Her slick honey landed on the ecstatic faces of her audience as she swayed her hips sensually. 

With every flair of her hips to one side the space between thigh and groin opened, exposing a narrow runway strip of pubic hair and hot pink pubus. The slick lips of her pussy opened and closed in sync with her hammering heart. In its quick fluttering and aroma the men could sense her quickening arousal.

With her hair down, swaying, her back arched, sweat wetting the swaying orbs of her breasts, she soaked in the admonishment of her audience. Never before had she been so full of herself or overflowing with complacency. 

Where had Homer's faithful wife gone to? Or Bart and Lisa's dowting mother?

Marge watched her husband's every eye disappear and the faces of her the strangers replace them. Though before she could not conceive of submitting, she no longer needed to believe it was only her husband watching to go on. Deep inside she could feel the satisfaction building, the warm fluttering desire between her legs. She had never danced for Homer before and never would. 

Marge, the exotic dancer, was a gift to the men of this town. The alpha males that took what they wanted and stole without apology now owned the body of Marge Simpson.

A groan of embarrassment beckoned her back when one course palm slid up her calf to her wide apart hips. More followed and Marge could only dance where the sea of hands compelled her to. She had no warning of the other body that'd moved up the table behind her. 

Though with her arms still above her head, holding the scaffolding beneath the ceiling her breasts were unguarded from the hands of her partner, when he squeezed them and pulled her back into his thick cock.

The sound of her screams as she was first opened up to take in more of the wide shaft were melodic and sensual to the ears of the men in the room. Signs of her consignment, submission and complacency. There was not just the terror that she could not contain the veiny cudgel that had speared her but that there was more to come afterward, and her still-fertile womb would overflow with cum by the time she returned home.

Her faceless lover bent her over to thrust deeper. Marge's once ecstatic mews of lust turned to self-pity as she grew closer and closer to the impact between ass against pelvic bone. Deep inside her she could feel the weighty meat of his cock throbbing. His heart pounded, not just in him but her too. An athlete's heartbeat, a footballer, as he fucked the coach's wife beneath the stands at halftime. 

Suddenly Marge was sixteen years old, a cheerleader, getting fucked by Jimbo Jones' dad, the quarterback, on her one year anniversary of dating Homer.

One day she'd married Homer, they have a house and three kids. But for now, when cheerleading practice let out, her body belonged to the star quarterback. 

Of course she'd never followed through with it. Though a part of her lusted for the man, she was too committed to Homer Simpson. She loved Homer. She only thought of Paul Jones.

This was how Paul's cock might've felt inside her. The stretching of her faithful and monogamous pussy. The rippling waves of sensation when his veiny length stroked the walls of her cunt. The whelming pressure in the fountain of his cock deep inside her. Her sweat soaked nudity bouncing. Her sexily, disingeniunely pleading for him to stop. The voice of the slut in her head telling her to let him finish, let more come. She'd led them on, she'd flaunted what god had given her and defaulted her virtue to every cock she'd made hard in coming here.

"No! Stop! Please! Pull out! I'm not on the pill!" she could feel him expanding inside her, the well of his seed rising inside him.

He groaned and came. Marge reached down, trying to push him away as she felt the cum flow out of him and fill her womb to overflowing.

But he held her tight as laughed at her panicked screams.

With a quick shove she fell from the table and landed into the crowd, several men catching her legs and arms, holding her prostate nudity at waist height.

"And there's more to come after that." her rapist laughed from above her.

The two men holding her by her hips pulled her wide as the man who reminded her of Grandpa Simpson stepped forward.

When he arrived at home, Marge was in the bathroom. Her sobs giving Homer little reassurance that he could berate her for sunbathing naked earlier. He went to bed too worried to ask what might've occurred between her leaving for and arriving at their home.

Even with the guilt in seeing the amassing puddle of cum in the bathtub, Marge's pussy was on fire. She could hardly contain the impulse to stroke her clitoris on the way home. The car ride the man she dubbed grandpa had given her was five minutes of sitting beside him and rubbing her hips together for friction.

If Homer could've seen his sweet Marge, her thighs splayed, anus gaping, pussy dripping, he might've fainted. This was neither his innocent Marge nor a victim of gang rape.

This was a slut, pure and simple.

Marge was reminded as she came again, her fingers seizing at the bulging nub of her clitoris, of the repeat performance they made her promise to. 

She'd be back before her and her family left.

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