Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

He's Like The Wind	By : LordKuyohashi Category: +S through Z > Simpsons Views: 6258 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
Lisa Simpson had already been awake when her mother pulled the covers off of her bed; she hadn’t remembered waking up, simply being aware of not being asleep anymore.
“Come on, Lisa, time to rise and shine.”
Marge was grey and monotone this morning. She pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. Lisa squealed as if she had been kicked, rolling into a ball and turning away from the sun, her eyes aching from the intrusion.
“Come on, sweetie, your aunts will be here soon to look after you and Maggie while your father and I are out.”
Lisa groaned out her protest, but a matronly slap to her butt herded her to the edge of the bed, groggy and confused.
“Young lady, where is your nightgown?”
Sitting up, wobbling unsteadily as if about to fall over at any minute, Lisa lifted her head. The light of day was still too intense for her to open her eyes all the way, so she could only look at her mother through a squint.
“Muh whu?”
“You shouldn’t sleep in the nude, honey, it’s getting a bit chilly outside now.”
Marge picked up a pile of laundry from the floor, making sure nothing spilled out of her grasp, turning from her confused daughter towards the door.
“Well, hurry up and get dressed, breakfast is waiting for you downstairs.”
Lisa only stood there like a zombie as her mother walked quickly out of the room. A few seconds later, she vaguely thought she heard the drone of the washing machine, and like a puppet on a string, she trudged sluggishly to her dresser, lethargically pulled open a drawer, and produced one of her red dresses.
She didn't remember walking downstairs, or sitting at the breakfast table. If she didn’t have the taste of blueberry waffles and orange juice in her mouth, she’d never have known she had eaten breakfast at all. Everything seemed so distant and grey and slow from her perspective. When people spoke, it was as if they were underwater, or a million miles away. She knew her parents were worried - her brother Bart had disappeared a few weeks ago, sometime after Milhouse. Since he had been gone, Lisa had felt as if her life, her world had slowed to a crawl. It was especially bad in the mornings, when she was certain he was still there, waiting to cause mischief, only for him to never follow through, his insults undelivered, his pranks not performed, the general rank smell of a young boy lingering only faintly in the air.
Patty and Selma had come, Marge letting them in, then turning to yell upstairs at Homer to get dressed. They were going down to the police station for something - Lisa was sure they had said what it was, but she was having difficulty remembering what it had been. As Mom sat on the couch, talking with her sisters about something important, Lis found herself walking upstairs to her room. Her father had passed her on the stairs, tugging his arms into his shirt frantically, neither paying the other any mind.
Something ached on her body, some undefinable pain she only faintly was aware of. She walked to the bathroom, hearing the front door close downstairs and the car engine turn over, and found herself standing in front of the shower.
Somehow, her dress was tossed on the floor, and she was under the cold spray of the shower. She didn’t remember getting in, or turning the faucet, but there she was, numb, hazy, dreaming. Again a sharp pain nearly pulled her back to her senses, and her hand began sliding over herself, seeking out the source of the ache.
Nothing on her neck or back, as far as she could tell. Her stomach had no answers, nor did her arms or legs. Further south her hand probed, until she touched her labia, and pulled her hand back, a sharp sear of pain telling her that she had found the problem. She quickly ran a handful of shampoo through her hair - she hated being in the shower and not washing her hair, it always came out feeling rough and dry - and stepped out, drying herself off with a towel, picking up her dress, and loping back to her room.
Downstairs, Selma and Patty were watching television, Maggie babbling incoherently to herself. Lisa wouldn’t be disturbed. She closed her bedroom door, opened the nightstand drawer, and lay on her bed. Pulling a hand mirror from the drawer, she propped herself up on her pillow, spread her legs, and held the mirror so she could see her genitals more clearly.
They were a soft pink colour, bald, with only the slightest wisps of hair coming in. Juggling the mirror in one hand, she pried herself open with the other, and looked at where her phantom pain was coming from.
Right there, off to the right side of her inner thigh, were two small wounds, like bite marks. She furrowed her brow, confused. When had something bitten her? She tried to remember, tried to see in her mind’s eye when she had last felt pain, when anything had gotten close to her privates, but the last few days had been a foggy blur. Her memories were dim and distant, and sounds she had heard were spoken as if in a cave, noise drowned out by its own echo.
There was a knock at her door, and someone, possibly Lisa herself, invited whomever it was to enter. Aunt Patty poked her head in, turning away shyly when she saw Lisa sitting there, mirror to her crotch. She said something, distorted and mumbled to Lisa’s ears, that sounded like an offering of lunch.
Lunch? Lisa had only just had breakfast. Hadn’t she? How long had she been sitting there, staring at herself in the mirror?
She grunted something, there was a vague memory of movement, of a shift in scenery, and the taste of bologna and mustard, and she found herself back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, unthinking, unremembering, simply staring.
More noise downstairs, doors opening and closing, footsteps on carpet, on tile, footsteps climbing the stairs. Something opened the door. Lisa turned, her head numb and buzzing with nothingness, to see what looked like a hollowed-out, haggard scarecrow parody of her own mother, eyes reddened and teary and hair frayed, poke its head into her room and mutter something about dinner, about Bart, about being loved. Lisa didn’t say anything, couldn’t hold onto a thought long enough to even process what had been said to her, and turned her gaze back up to the ceiling.

She must have closed her eyes. When she became aware of anything again, it was dark out. Her stomach ached and murmured, and Lisa remembered that she hadn’t eaten since lunch. In fact, she felt oddly clear-headed, compared to the fog she had been in earlier. As she stepped out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen, she noticed that her surroundings seemed more clear, the sounds crisper, despite the darkness and silence of a sleeping house. Carefully she climbed down the stairs, mindful not to step where she knew it would creak, awakening her sleeping family.
In the kitchen, she blearily looked around. She flipped on the lights, winced in pain at the invading light, and quickly switched them off again. She navigated around the table and chairs, depending on her memory of the kitchen, and opened the fridge, seeing only a few base elements of food, and a pizza box..
Mom must have ordered out again.
Marge hadn’t cooked a meal in weeks, not since Bart had vanished. As Lisa scooped a cold slice out of the box and sat at the table in the dark, she listened to the sounds of the night - crickets chirping in the grass, the odd car passing by, the hum of the fridge. Finishing her cold dinner, she gently slid her plate into the sink, careful not to drop it, and climbed back up the stairs.
She stopped in front of Bart’s room, unoccupied for weeks now, staring at the door as if she could imagine him still inside. She could hear his voice, his harsh laughter at some juvenile prank, or the sound of his belch as he shotgunned a soda in under five seconds, or how he’d call after her that Itchy and Scratchy had started and she was missing it.
She wiped at her eyes, stepped forward, and turned the knob. Her mother had kept the room closed since Bart’s disappearance, certain that he would want it to remain untouched, exactly as it had been when he was home. The carpet felt grimy to Lisa’s bare feet, and she stepped on something plastic and sharp. Biting her tongue, she kicked the unseen caltrop aside, and quietly closed the door behind her; the room smelled of Bart, and she took in a deep breath, before carefully making her way to the bed.
The moonlight offered a little visibility to the room, softly diffusing through the curtains and illuminating Bart’s desk and its attendant clutter in ghostly silver light. Lisa rolled onto her stomach, inhaling her brother’s scent from his pillow, trying to bury her need to sob over his absence. Trying, and failing. The well of emotions overtook Lisa, and she pushed her face deeper into her brother’s pillow to muffle her crying. She had seen Marge trying to remain stoic, trying to hide her worry and sorrow over her Special Little Guy’s disappearance, trying to keep it together for her children’s sake, and Lisa had seen the wear it had put on her. Lisa wasn’t anywhere near as strong as her mother, not yet, not at her age, and the pain became too much for her to hold back. The tears came, and with them, soft sobbing masked by a missing boy’s pillow.
The smell of Bart gave Lisa some measure of comfort, and after a few minutes, her tears stopped, replaced with a sort of melancholic aching deep in the pit of her stomach. She rolled on to her back, clutching the pillow, now soaked with tears, to herself, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her wounds down below, towards her privates, ached still, more dully than before but still noticeably, and she reached down to tease the stinging welts on her labia, seeking to ease the pain torturing her.
Or so she told herself.
She’d never have admitted it to herself, but the bite marks on her privates didn’t hurt at all. In fact, as her fingertips brushed against the puckered gouges in her flesh, she cooed at the warm, tingling sensation that washed over her. Combined with Bart’s scent in the air, her entire body seemed to buzz with electricity, the current running through her dancing and pulling with every strum of her little cunny, like the arc of lightning trapped inside a Tesla sphere being drawn to fingers against the glass.
Taking a deep breath, Lisa planted her feet flat on the bed, and spread her legs, hiking up her dress and gingerly exploring her slit with her fingers, careful to avoid the bite marks. A whispered groan slipped from her lips, and she shuddered as her fingers found her button, circling it, massaging it, until it stood out proudly from her slickened cleft. Her despair and sadness seemed to dissolve into primal giddiness as her fingers played along her netherlips, gently pushing them open, tracing along the opening. She closed her eyes, inhaling Bart’s scent, and falling deeper into herself, at least up to the first knuckle.
Lisa was lost in her self-exploration when the tapping sang out. Tap Tap Tap. Like a crow pecking at the window. She hadn’t heard it at first, she had a pussy to frig after all, but about the third or fourth round of tapping, she realised that there was a will, an intelligence, behind the sound, and if not answered immediately, it was likely that it would wake the household, which simply wouldn’t do to maintain her furtive vaginal examination.
Pulling her hand out of herself, she swung her legs over the bed, adjusting her dress, and pulling the curtains away from the window. Outside, the black silhouette of the trees stood out against the inky purple-black sky, only faint patches of illumination scattered along the streets from street lamps. A gnarled branch from the tree in the backyard swayed in the cold autumn wind, a bony twig tapping against the window. Only the wind.
“Dammit.” Lisa’s curse surprised even her. She couldn’t remember when she last spoke, but it felt like it had been ages. Her voice was dry and cracked from disuse, and at the realisation that her boogeyman had simply been a windswept tree branch, she slumped her shoulders in a release of tension, and turned on her hee towards the door.
I’d better get back to bed. I must still be tired, my brain is playing with me now.
As she stepped around the scattered toys on the floor she knew were there in the dark, something made her freeze right down to her soul.
“Lisa.”
She blinked in the darkness, uncertain that she had heard anything. Her hand found the doorknob, but again, she froze from turning it.
“Lisa, it’s me.”
She turned back to the window, a fearful chill running down her spine and making her shiver in primal unease.
Outside, stooping on the tree like a black gargoyle, hunched a familiar silhouette, taller than her by a few inches, and stockier, and crowned by a telltale halo of spiked hair.
“B-Bart?”
Despite the dark, Lisa somehow knew that the shadow smiled when she said his name, a smile that, although unseen, must have been too wide to fit on a human face. It’s entire body seemed to relax at having been recognized, and a pair of glowing red embers opened a few inches above it’s phantom grin. Lisa clutched at her chest, her fingers digging into her dress.
“Lisa, open up. I’m freezing out here.”
Lisa wanted to scream for her mom, to wake the whole house and tell them that Bart was home.
No you don’t. You want to open the window. It’s cold outside and he needs to get warm.
“Bart, where have you been? Mom and Dad have been worried sick about you!”
“Ssh, ssh, I’ll tell you all about it, Lees. Just open the window so I can climb in.”
Lisa thought for a bit, uncertain about all this. Was she still dreaming? Was this some mad, desperate hallucination? Why hadn’t Bart used the front door, or called?
You’re overthinking it, Lisa. Your brother is home. Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you going to let him in?
Shaking her doubts from her head, she leaned forward, pushing the window up with a grunt of effort, and slipping a schoolbook under to prop it up. She stepped back a bit, and Bart poured into the room like liquid shadow, standing before his sister.
“Thanks. See, everything’s alright now.”
“Bart, what happened to you? You just- and Milhouse, he-”
A hand lifted, and Lisa went quiet.
“Milhouse is already home, Lees. Or he should be, by now.”
Lisa turned to the door. “I should get Mom and Dad, they have to see you, have to know that you’re alright.”
She froze again, in mid stride. This time, she knew something was wrong.
“Let’s not wake them, Lisa. Let’s surprise them, hm? Besides, I really came back for you.”
Lisa’s stomach dropped, and a small voice, small and ancient and wise, spoke up in her mind, telling her to shout out, to run, to scream.
You don’t want to make a sound, little sister. Mom and Dad have been so tired lately, so worried and exhausted. Let them sleep.
“Bart,” she pushed her fear aside and willed herself to speak, “What’s going on?”
The air around her chilled, far more than the wind outside would have allowed for, and a cold hand fell on her shoulder.
“I just want to talk, Lisa. I just want to talk, and see you, and…”
She turned to face him. She hadn’t wanted to, but it seemed her body had stopped asking permission. She could see him more clearly now, away from the drowning shadows of the outside, his face half-veiled in moonlight. He seemed paler, more gaunt, his smile vulpine and slick, his eyes hungry and red.
“Bart, please, I just want to go to bed.”
“Mmm,” the smile widened, somehow. Lisa wanted to look away, to not see that smile anymore. She wanted to run and hide under her bed until this entire nightmare was over.
But mostly you want to wrap your arms around him to make sure he’s real, and never let him go.
Lisa only stared blankly at her brother, as her new thoughts took root and blossomed in her mind. Almost mechanically, she threw her arms around Bart’s neck, and clung to him needfully, unsure of just why she had done that. She looked up at him, confused and scared, and her mind went limp staring into two distant lamps.
“There we go, Lees. I feel better already. Nice and warm, right?”
No. Bart wasn’t warm. He was stone cold. So cold, in fact, that touching him, holding him, burned Lisa in some ephemeral way she could barely understand. Her reptile brain screamed at her to run, to hide, to scurry and scamper and flee from a predator like the scared little rabbit she was.
She didn’t listen.
That’s right, Lisa. This is fine. This is good.
Lisa closed her eyes and sighed. Her worry and fear melted away, her reptile brain fell silent. Bart, slipped an arm over her shoulder, pressing her closer to himself, and with his cold, free hand, lifted her gaze to his. Dull red eyes bore into her soul, and she felt herself fall away, distant and hazy but above all, safe and happy.
She only moaned stupidly when his hand reach for her ass.
“Hm, someone was being bad, weren’t you?”
Lisa blinked dumbly. “Huh?”
“I could hear you all the way outside, Lees. What you were doing before. And in my room, too. Bad girl, playing with yourself in your own brother’s bed.”
Suddenly Lisa’s face felt hot. She tried to pull away from Bart’s chest, but found herself stuck in place.
“Nooo, I wasn’t-”
Don’t lie. Never lie. Always be honest. With me, with yourself. Tell me the truth.
LIsa stammered for a bit, until the new thought took root.
“I couldn’t help it, Bart. I’ve been so…I’ve felt weird ever since you-”
“And you thought you’d jill yourself off while I was gone? How often have you done it, Lisa?”
“...Just the once.”
Liar.
“No, I swear, it was only the one time!”
Her face went slack as something familiar and forgotten flashed across her vision. She tried to focus on the memory, distant, brief and fleeting that it was, but felt only shame, as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Which, in a way, she had been.
That’s right, Lees. You’ve done this before. You know that. I know that.
Lisa’s ears burned hotly, and she swallowed nervously.
“I-I’ve…done it - “
“Done what?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command to be completely honest. Lisa knew that. Somehow, she knew it.
“I’ve played with my–I’ve fucked myself - every night.”
“In my bed?”
“No, only sometimes in your bed. I…I like your smell. It m-makes me…”
She shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me say it.”
“You have to be honest, Lisa. You have to tell me.” The red eyes bore a hole through her, cutting down her defences.
“...It makes me wet. Your smell, it makes me horny, and I can’t help myself, I just have to…have to…oh god, Bart, what’s happening to me?”
Bart smiled, and sat on his bed, pulling his sister into his lap. “It’s alright, Lees. Just go with it. Just tell the truth, and you’ll be fine. Tell me what you need.”
As he said this, as his voice filled Lisa’s brain with soft, velvet fog and warm pink thoughts, she shuddered into his embrace. His hand slid down her stomach, pressing into her bare and sticky mound.
“Oooh, Bart…I…I need….oh god…”
“Say it, Lisa. Tell me.”
Lisa’s breath caught in her throat. She turned her head to look at Bart, unaware that she had hiked up her dress and was rubbing herself against her brother’s hand. Her thoughts were hazy and disordered, driven by primal want.
“I…oh…your hand, Bart. Bart…of god.”
“This?” He pressed his hand into her cleft harder, causing her to shake. “What about this hand, Lisa?”
“Fffff…don’t make me say it, please. Just…”
“Tell me.” His voice was cold and had a deep echo to it, as if it were resounding inside the vast and empty airplane hangar that had become Lisa’s mind.
“Ha-harder, Bart. Do it harder.”
“Do. What?”
Lisa’s head flopped against her shoulder. Her strength had left her, her body limp and pliant, her mind following suit.
“Fuck me with your hand. I need it. God, I need it.”
Bart grinned again, sharp fangs flashing. Lisa thought she should be afraid, and she was - but only that he would deny her what she had requested. Bart stood, lifting his sister as effortlessly as lifting a doll, and laid her on the bed. He climbed onto the bed, looming over his sister like the spectre of death, gliding his fingers across her lips, down her chin and the valley of her throat, between the slight mounds of her breasts, down her stomach, to her waiting, willing slit. He caressed her mound, watching her throat flare at his touch, paying special attention to the artery pulsing along the side of her neck. He licked his lips, and with a dry, horrid chuckle, teased a finger into her cunt.
Lisa bit her lip hard as her brother’s cold digit penetrated her depths, arching her back upwards as she gasped in shocked arousal.
“There we are. You feel so warm inside, Lisa. How does it feel to you?”
Lisa struggled through the pressure in her pussy to form a coherent thought, a seething hiss escaping her clenched teeth.
You want to answer, Lisa. You want to be honest.
“It feels good, Bart! It feels good when you finger my cunt”
Bart smiled, dipped his head low, and ran his tongue along Lisa’s slit, eliciting a shiver that ran through Lisa’s very core.
“Mm, you taste so sweet, Lisa.” He moved up her body, sliding his tongue between her lips, sharing her flavour with her. Tears ran down her cheeks, confused by all of this, by Bart’s return, his actions, her submission, all of it. Despite her confusion, however, she found herself accepting her brother’s invading tongue, sucking it into her mouth.
Bart drew back, his tongue trailing a thread of saliva from Lisa’s mouth, his eyes hungry.
“If you think my finger feels good, you ain’t seen nothing yet, Lees.”
Bart fidgeted with something out of Lisa’s view, her gaze captured by his burning red eyes. She rolled her tongue around her mouth, still tasting her brother’s kiss, her own tang. She had a spark of an inkling about what he was doing, and her fear at the prospect kept her frozen on the bed, legs splayed, pussy on full display, her body betraying her to her terror.
Bart shifted his weight on the mattress, bracing himself against the wall with one hand, slipping Lisa’s ankle onto his shoulder with the other, then aimed himself at her depths. She inhaled as he pushed against her, and she heard the wetness of her pussy give way as he filled her up with his cold, throbbing cock.
She wanted to scream as her maidenhead tore and hot stinging pain flared up from her pussy. She wanted to cry out, to shriek, to moan, to beg him to stop, to beg him for more.
No, Lisa, you want to stay quiet. Waking Mom and Dad will end this wonderful feeling, and you don’t ever want this to end, do you?
Lisa quickly shook her head at the voice inside her mind, a dopey grin on her face. She gasped as Bart pushed himself deeper into her, and began thrusting his hips back and forth, making the bed sway in time to his motions.
Bart’s mouth went slack as he fucked his sister deep and hard, his sour breath burning her nostrils, smelling of wet soil and rot. His eyes flared bright red again, his chuckle hollow and soulless.
“Serve me, Lisa. Just like this. Just do what I say, whatever it is, and you will be rewarded. Suck my cock, ride it, give yourself to me, down to the last fucking drop, and you will be rewarded.”
Lisa didn’t respond, couldn’t, the only sound she was capable of making was a giddy, dizzy giggling gasp as her cunt stretched and tightened and milked her stone cold brother’s rock hard cock.
Worship this body, Lisa, and you shall have little lives. You may feed on the little lives. Serve me well, and eternal life will be yours; then you may feed on larger lives, important lives.
Lisa stared fearfully into the embers of her brother’s eyes, the room around them falling away into nothingness, only the beating of her heart, the wet slapping of their sexes mingling, and the omnipresent echo of Bart’s voice occupying her world.
Somewhere between the voice in her head, the fucking, the terror, the confusion, somewhere in the midst of all that, poor little Lisa Simpson went, for lack of a better word, utterly bug-munching mad.
She let out a sharp, harsh cackle, her eyes wide and streaming with terrified tears, bucking her hips back up at her brother’s thrusting. Images of the two of them entwined, rutting, fucking like savages, filled her mind, and the memories came flooding back,. She, beneath him, cackling insanely as she gave herself to him; he, cold and grim and veiled in shadow and death, taking her, breaking her, then stealing away before the sun came up, carrying with him her memories and madness so that she might be whole during the day, only to return the next night to drive her insane all over again, and always with the promise that on his next visit, he would leave his sister a horny, insane wreck.
Lisa understood. At last she understood. She was only prey before this monster that wore her brother’s face. A simple, fearful mouse, in the shadow of a great and terrible owl, its talons poised to claim its prize.
She threw herself up at Bart, burying her face in his neck, gasping as he fucked into her over and over, every thrust of his hips shattering what little was left of her mind. She frantically kissed his face, rutting back into him, clinging to him like her life depended on it.
“Yes! Yes, Master, take me! Fuck me! I live to serve! To worship your body! Make me your slave, Master!”
Bart smiled, and pulled Lisa into a kiss. She had broken his command to be quiet, but then, she always did, and he’d take care of the rest of the family before he left. For now, he wanted to enjoy his broken doll of a sister, shifting himself into a seated position, watching her bouncy brainlessly on his cock.
Lisa gyrated and ground her cunt against her brother’s body, soaking him in her juices, her head thrown back as her world spiralled out of control. Everything was beautiful and terrifying, shattered pinks and exploding greens flashing before her eyes. She could hear music she was fairly certain didn’t exist, and hear the chiming of bells as she slipped deeper into madness. As her pussy clamped down on Bart in one final spasm, she felt herself being pulled back to reality, Bart drawing her to his chest. She came as she saw fangs glistening in the moonlight, the reek of his breath, and a sharp, ecstatic agony in her throat. A wet sucking sound filled her ears, and she felt a sweeping cold run over and through her body. As her world lost all colour and warmth, she let out a pained gasp and crashed hard into a body-wracking orgasm that saw her brother and his bed drenched in her juice.
Spent, Lisa went limp, her body drained of all its energy. Bart laid her on the bed, crossing her arms over her breast, and stood up.
“Good girl. You’ll be a wonderful thrall, Lisa. And someday, you’ll be a beloved companion. But first, your reward.”
Bart put his left wrist to his lips, and bit down hard. He grunted at the pain, and Lisa thought she had heard meat tearing. Her eyes fluttered, half awake, and saw only a blurred world. Something dark moved above her, and something wet and cold and rancid fell upon her lips. Instinctively, she licked at the wetness, wanting to gag on the bitter, thick taste, but lacking the strength to do so. A coldness ran through her, and her strength seemed to slowly return. The room became lighter, as if the night had been peeled away, and sounds far off seemed to become clearer. Bart stood back from the bed, and for the first time all night, Lisa could see him clearly. Still a few inches taller than she was, he seemed paler, thinner, his ears seeming to be more pronounced, his eyes sunken and dark. Her fear was gone, now replaced with a serene love. She wanted to hold her brother, not only in her arms, but between her thighs. She wanted to ride him, to pleasure him. She licked her lips, and heard another tapping at the window. Before she could look, Bart seemed to float to the window, and quickly snatched something out of the air. He returned to the bed, holding his curled knuckles like a cage, and presented it to Lisa.
“As promised, my thrall, my sister, my queen-to-be, your prize. The first of many.”
He opened his hand, and Lisa smiled at the damaged moth fluttering about on his palm, trying to get away to safety on scaleless wings. Quickly, she snatched the moth from Bart’s hand, and stuffed it in her mouth, crunching down on it without hesitation. It tasted foul, bitter, possibly poisonous, but the small spark of life released by its sacrifice surged through her body, and she moaned with delicious contentment.
“A small life, Lisa. For now, the only ones you are permitted to take. Spiders, beetles, flies, these you may eat. Serve me well, and you may have larger lives - cats and dogs and birds. And one day, soon, you may have the important lives - virgins and harlots alike. We will march through this town, and reduce it to a graveyard, you and I.”
Lisa smiled. She didn’t understand all of this -
Liar.
Very well, she understood some of this. She swallowed what was left of the moth, and sucked her teeth clean, feeling with her tongue the small fangs that seemed to be forming where once before her bicuspids stood rooted. She leaned into Bart, snuggling her head against his shoulder.
“You make me forget, Master. I don’t want to forget. I want to remember everything. Every thrust, every kiss, every ounce of pain as you sink your teeth into me and kill me night after night.”
Bart sighed. “You have to forget. It’s the rule. Once, a great one fell to ruin because he didn’t make his thrall forget. She lead his enemies to his door, and they slew him. But when you have been made like me, you will remember. You will remember, and you will rejoice, and we will wear the scalps of those who derided us as funny little hats.”
He thought for a second, then added, “We’ll probably have to eat the Flanderses and the Lovejoys first. The pious ones are always a pain in the ass.”
“Hmm…can I keep Jessica, make her serve me as I serve you?”
Bart grinned widely. “You’re going to be fucking sensational, Lisa.I can’t wait to see what kind of hell we can raise in this town.”
He brushed the hair from her eyes, and she fell back into a dead faint, as if someone had cut the strings of a puppet. He lifted her without effort from the bed, and carried her, through the shared wall connecting the two rooms, to her own, laying her down and covering her with her blanket. Watching her sleep restfully, Bart stooped down and stole another kiss, before dissolving into the shadows, leaving her naked, fucked out, and asleep.

He stepped out of nothingness amidst the cold, dewy grass of the backyard. Bart was satiated again, both his libido, and his hunger, and stretched his arms over his head in a wide yawn.
“So this is why she’s naked every morning.”
The voice was rough but loving. Bart turned in the moonlight to see his mother, Marge, floating a few inches off the ground, a black curtain of blood shimmering in the moonlight, running from her lips, down her chin, and covering her bare breasts. Bart bowed, as if to royalty.
“Mistress.”
“Oh, cut the bullshit, Bart. Let those fossils in the Houses pay me those empty tokens. I’m not your mare, I’m your fucking mother.”
Marge licked some of the blood off her chest, savouring the taste. “I overheard you and Lisa planning to eat the Lovejoys. You won’t have to worry about Helen, at least. I think we’re going to get some bad news from the Reverend in the morning. Something about a freak barbecue fork accident.”
Bart grinned at his ghoulish mother, and ran a finger between her crimson-black painted tits, sticking the bloody finger in his mouth to suck it clean.
“Mm, well, you can’t deny she had good taste.”
“Like hell she did, she tasted of Valium and barely-repressed lesbianism. And you, young man. When are you coming home? I’m not so good an actress that I can keep up the haggard-mother routine. I understand the need for a fledgling to spread their wings, take a few vagrants, sire a few thralls - my god, if you knew what I got up to during the Depression - but you belong at home. We’re the only ones that can keep you safe.”
“Is this my mother speaking, my mare, or my Beloved Countess?”
“All three of them, you little shit. Having a wild fledgling running around enthralling schoolchildren is just asking for one of the Hunting Clubs to take notice of our little town, and I doubt they’ve forgotten the shellacing I gave them back in Prussia. We don’t need you bringing vampire hunters down on us just because you can’t keep your fangs in your mouth.”
Bart’s cocky effulgence faded. “Oh.”
“And on the matter of you enthralling your sister–”
Marge opened her mouth to castigate her young son, but stopped short, her expression softening from scorn to love. “Well, alright, you’re doing fine there. Do you really have to screw her, though?”

The grin returned to Bart’s face. “No, but it is fun.”
Marge smiled matronly to her son, then nodded to him. “Alright, young man, one more night on your own. But I want you back home for good by the end of the week. You still have school, and I’m getting tired of pretending to be grieving my ‘missing’ special little guy. And, your sisters miss you, too.”
A thought occurred to her, and her smile vanished for a moment. “You haven’t done anything with Maggie yet, have you?”
Bart made a face, as if his mother had just suggested the vilest thing imaginable. “God no. Even I would never break the rule about enthralling a baby. I mean, eternity changing diapers? And how do you control a mind that barely even exists, anyway?”
Marge smiled again, her fangs flashing in the moonlight. “Good boy. Now, go have your fun. I still have to shower all of what’s left of Helen Lovejoy off me before your father wakes up.”
Bart bowed again, before folding himself into the form of a small bat, and vanishing into the night sky. Marge sighed, licking some of her breakfast off of her lips, and turned back to her house, floating like a morning mist towards the back door.

Lisa Simpson had already been awake when her mother pulled the covers off of her bed; she hadn’t remembered waking up, simply being aware of not being asleep anymore.
“Come on, Lisa, time to rise and shine.”
Marge was chipper and sweet this morning. She pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. Lisa squealed as if she had been kicked, rolling into a ball and turning away from the sun, her eyes aching from the intrusion.
Lisa groaned out her protest, but a matronly slap to her butt herded her to the edge of the bed, groggy and confused.
“Young lady, where is your nightgown?”
Sitting up, wobbling unsteadily as if about to fall over at any minute, Lisa lifted her head. The light of day was still too intense for her to open her eyes all the way, so she could only look at her mother through a squint.
“Muh whu?”
“You shouldn’t sleep in the nude, honey, it’s getting a bit chilly outside now.”
Marge picked up a pile of laundry from the floor, making sure nothing spilled out of her grasp, turning from her confused daughter towards the door.
“Well, hurry up and get dressed, or your father will eat all the breakfast.”
Lisa stood up, stumbled a bit, and staggered her way to the bathroom down the hall. She flipped on the light, and turned on the cold water, splashing her face until she felt alert. Cool wanted ran down her chin, her chest, her stomach, and against a strange sore on her inner thigh. A strange flash of deja vu, images of fear and passion, made her stop in her tracks. She ran her hand into her thigh, feeling the sore spots, then realised a similar sensation on her neck. She looked to the mirror, bending her head to the side, and saw two fresh, red welts gouged into her throat.
She caught on her breath, and slowly, a smile spread across her lips. She bit her lip, her eyes fogged with the memories of last night slowly returning piecemeal. She didn’t have the whole picture, but she recognized the shapes and textures and sensations of it all.
“Mmm…yes, Master. Tonight I’ll serve you again.”
A fly landed on the sink, and without thinking about it, Lisa scooped it into her mouth and crunched down, absorbing its small life. Tonight she would be her brother’s thrall, and soon, she would be his queen.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

He's Like The Wind