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August 7, 2012
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Chapter 6: First Steps in the Darkness

The next week passed like a blur for Marge. With so much to do, she found it difficult to find time to do any serious thinking. Paul's money was safe in a new account, opened under her maiden name. She was distracting herself by throwing her full attention to her children.

As the bus rumbled outside, Marge fussed over her youngest, who squirmed a little in her simple blue dress that resembled something Lisa wore when she was younger. "Now Maggie," the mother said with a faint smile. "You be good for your teachers, OK?" Maggie nodded and skipped out to the bus.

Lisa followed, dressed in a smart school uniform blazer, her plaid skirt ending just about to her mid thigh. Marge looked her elder daughter over. "Now Lisa...just remember not to bring any strange boys home."

Lisa rolled her eyes a little. "Mooooom..." Marge smiled and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Now run along, or you'll be late for school." (a/n in this story Lisa has her own car.)

As Lisa ran out the door, waving behind her, Marge waved back and shut the door. As it clicked shut, her smile faded to an expression of almost indifference. A week after Homer was kicked out, and she still was not feeling anything. Happiness, sadness, anger, all she felt was hollow. Empty.

Even yesterday, when the restraining order arrived pending the divorce hearing, failed to elicit any feeling in her. Marge brushed a tuft of blue hair out of her face as she walked into the kitchen. Tying a faded pink bandanna into her hair, she pulled on her cleaning gloves and began to clean.

As she moved from room to room, she just silently cleaned things, her familiar green dress absorbing the smell of cleaning solutions. Stopping back in the kitchen, she came across what appeared to be a dry spot of kool-aid.

Grabbing her scrubber brush, she sank to her knees and began working at the spot.

Behind her, Paul walked in, dressed for his day. Hearing his footsteps behind her, Marge did not turn or otherwise react to his entry. "Good morning Paul," was all she said.

Marge did not recall if he replied, she just continued on her scrubbing, her body rocking on its' knees as she threw her weight into the work.

"You know, should relax a little."

Marge blinked at the sudden statement just as she felt Paul's hands clasp on her shoulders. Emitting a gasp of surprise. "Paul...what are you..."

Paul interrupted her as his hands began kneading her shoulders, her skin damp from a morning of housework. "It's been hard for you...I see how you push yourself through the paces for your kids' sake, but inside, you're dead."

Paul rubbed the base of her neck, stroking in firm circles as he kneeled down behind Marge, her ragged beehive hair towering over him. Unlike last time, Marge's body offered no reflexive resistance, her mind's screaming becoming dimmer in her head. Her consciousness protested it's old argument about loyalty to her husband.

A new consciousness spoke in her head. "I'm not a wife...I am a woman."

Marge released a pleasing purr as she slowly stripped off her cleaning gloves, letting her arms drop to the sides as Paul caressed her skin down her shoulders and the upper part of her arms. She inhaled deeply through gritted teeth as she shifted on her knees. Marge's back straightened under his skilled hands as her ass cradled itself between her feet, her fingers gently prodding at the edges of her shoes.

"Mmmm..." Marge moaned as her body flexed, feeling Paul's hands slink back up her shoulders, caressing the sides of her neck. With a click, Marge felt her bead necklace loosen from around her neck, the hard red spheres stroking her skin as they slid down her chest, splashing into a sudsy puddle as they clattered to the floor.

Paul grinned as he placed his nose close to Marge's neck, taking a deep whiff of her scent. She squeaked pleasurably as she crooked her head to the side, as if inviting him to partake of everything her body had to offer.

"Excellent," he thought. "Now I just need to get her to come back for more..."

Paul's hands began kneading the front of her shoulders, circling lower as he blew softly on her skin. Marge moaned a soft "Oooohhhh" as her flesh prickled under his breath, her hips swaying gently in a grinding motion.

"I used to work as a masseuse, you know," whispered Paul as he drew his hands to Marge's sides, sliding them under her arms, the crease of her green dress grinding against his palms as her breathing grew faster, her breasts shaking with every gulp of air. "...and they said my greatest skill...was the full-body treatment."

Marge's eyes popped open for an instant, her eyes rolling back as she closed them again with a ragged, impassioned moan, Paul's lips locking firmly onto her neck. She rose a little off her knees, her arms spreading out from the sensation as his hands swept forward, cupping her covered busom firmly in their grip.

Marge threw her head back, her every breath carrying with it a new, lustful sound of pleasure as her flesh pulsed under Paul's gentle, suckling attention. She craned her neck, trying to give him as much access as he wanted to her. She sighed a loud "Aaaaaahhhh..." as she felt his hands slide up and under her dress. Her hips thrust forward at the feel of his grip on her supple chest, leaning back against him as her back curled, the tightness of her dress forcing his hands to crush closer to her. Marge balanced herself on her toes as her heels popped out of her shoes.

Paul moved forward, supporting Marge's weight as her stance straightened again. Her entire body positioned over her toes, her knees swinging out slowly to adjust her balance. As her legs spread, the skirt of her dress slid up her silken thighs, crumpling on her hip, exposing her panties and the growing damp spot they sported. The bare cheeks of her ass pressed into her heels as Marge bit her upper lip.

Paul released the suction hold he had on Marge's neck, admiring the bright red hickey taking shape. He felt her nipples harden under his hands. Flexing his palms, he caught the hard nubs in the folds of his palms. Flexing his fingers forward, he elicited an exasperated moan from the woman he manipulated like a lump of clay. With a twist of Paul's wrists, Marge's breasts were exposed from under their cotton prison, Marge curling her back with a shudder as the sensation of the cool air on her bare breasts made her entire chest tingle.

Whatever protests Marge's consciousness were gone from her mind, which in and of itself was on the verge of going completely out to lunch. Her mind was going a thousand miles an hour, just processing all of the feelings and sensations from Paul's "full body service." As if on its' own accord, Marge hand moved backward, rubbing against the hardening object in Paul's pants.

Paul grinned a little, drawing Marge's body closer to him, craning his head over her shoulder. "Ok, she's getting the desire," he thought to himself as his hand cupped her breast, squeezing and bringing it up towards his face. "Time to wrap this up."

Marge let out a muffled scream of pleasure through gritted teeth as Paul placed his mouth on her breast, suckling and using his tongue to manipulate the flesh. His other hand descended to her leg, drawing his hands up and down the smooth, shaved surface, causing both of her legs to buckle. Her knees quivered noticeably as his fingertips traced up the inside of her thigh and across her hip, running along the top edge of her thong-style white cotton panties.

Marge reacted almost on instinct, her arms coming up and wrapping themselves around Paul's neck, her entire body shivering in anticipation for what her body knew was coming next. Paul rubbed her skin up and down her abdomen, caressing the contours of her stomach. As he ventured further southward, Marge's crotch pressed upward into his hand as he stroked the warm cotton of her panties covering her pubic area.

Marge's body leapt a little as Paul's hands slid over her panties, between her legs. Pressing against her damp spot, her back arched as she writhed in pleasure, shoving more of her breast into Paul's face. "Oooo...oh...Paul..." she muttered as he grasped her nipple in his teeth, holding on firmly as he drew his head up. He felt Marge's fingers curl into his skin, her mouth letting out a low, guttural moan as he stretched her breast out, the supple flesh dangling from the point of her nipple wedged firmly in his teeth.

Paul began rubbing Marge's covered womanhood in a firm circular motion. He felt her grip tighten, her body begin to tense up as it slowly began to arch. Her pelvis pressed further against his hand as she neared climax.

At this point, Paul suddenly stopped moving. Releasing her nipple from his teeth, he removed his hands from her breasts and vagina, placing his hands on the sides of her abdomen as Marge's body writhed and jerked, her entire being in an erotic agony as she hovered near climax, and slowly began drifting down.

"Classic tease and denial," Paul mused to himself in his thoughts. A technique his brother Robert first told him about, useful for both raising his partner's sexual desire and making her more submissive.

To Paul, submission is the first step to control.

Marge's breathing seemed to quicken before it began to slow, her body coming down from the edge as her mind slowly reestablished control over her animalistic instincts. She panted heavily as her lithe form hung limp in Paul's arms.

"There. Does that feel better Marge?" Paul's tone was almost mocking, something that Marge surely would have picked up on in any other situation. Her hands released their grip on him, falling down her body as she caressed her abdomen, feeling the heat of desire and arousal burning inside her as Paul slowly slipped her to the floor, out of his arms. Marge's legs swung out from under her, one of her shoes slipping from her foot as she felt the drying damp spot where she had been cleaning under her shins.

As her head came to a rest on the kitchen floor, Marge looked up at Paul, her mind creating a thousand questions about what just happened. He could see in Marge's face the confusion she felt, unsure if she should be satisfied, pleased, outraged, scared...

...or even hungry for more.

Paul smiled as he stood straight over her, her nipples quivering as her mind struggled to bring her breathing and heart-beat back under control. "I'll be watching TV if you need anything Marge."

And almost as nonchalantly as if he just fixed a sandwich, Paul turned and walked into the den.

Marge remained motionless on the floor, catching her breath along with her thoughts. Crawling to her feet, she absentmindedly grabbed her shoe and necklace, panting as she bustled herself up the stairs, her uncovered breasts bouncing with every step.

Slamming her bedroom door behind her, she didn't even bother to remove her clothes before tumbling into the shower, throwing the cold water knob as far as she could in a frantic twist. The shock of the cold water hitting her skin allowed her mind to coalesce and form interpretable thoughts.

Her body sagged as she sat under the cold stream of water. As the frigid torrent beat her beehive hairstyle down strand by strand, the cleaning bandanna tied in her hair held it above her face, creating a blue curtain for her mind to work in. Marge's green dress darkened as they became waterlogged, clinging to her body as her nipples hardened in the cold.

"Why did you let him do that?" Marge asked herself in her mind. "How could you let him take you so far?"

Marge looked up at the shower head through her soaked hair, her eyes squinting to keep the water and hair out. She wasn't sure what she was more upset about, the fact that Paul became so personal...or that she loved every second of it. Her hand clenched over her pounding heart, her eyes closing as she remembered every touch, every suckle and caress.

Every feeling.

That's what she loved the most, Marge figured as she clasped her hand over the red hickey forming on her neck where Paul had so thoroughly attended to less than ten minutes ago. Ever since Homer left, she had felt dead inside. Her work, her hobbies, her children...nothing elicited an emotion from her.

But what just happened in the kitchen...Marge shuddered as she recalled it, feeling the heat rising again from her body as she stretched under the cold shower. She felt the texture of his hands across her chest...the fire in her belly from his caress.

All she wanted right now was to feel that way again.

"Besides," she justified to herself under her breath, "I still owe him for everything he's done."

In the back of her mind, as she turned the heat up on the shower and unzipped the back of her dress, part of Marge knew that, not that long ago, she wouldn't have even considered the thought.

But she wasn't that woman anymore.

Her soaked green dress collapsed to the floor as she pushed it to the back of the shower with her foot, slipping her remaining shoe off. Untying her bandanna and tossing it into the inundated pile, her hair collapsed around her like a great blue torrent. Marge curled her toes on the slick linoleum, tugging upwards on the straps of her panties, feeling the cold fabric constrict and crush into her crotch before sliding them down and kicking them onto the pile with the rest of her wet clothing.

Picking up her razor and fingering her light layer of pubic hair, Marge felt her arousal rise as she began to clean herself up, preparing for what she intended to do next.

Lisa chewed on the end of her pencil nervously. She wasn't sure why exactly she thought things would be different, that high school would be more mature and accepting than her old school, but now she was discovering that, if anything, her classmates were even more cruel and mocking now that they were all so much older than her.

She jotted down the answer to the question she was staring at. The work, while more challenging, at least wasn't anything to sweat about. Her classmates, on the other hand...

Lisa jumped when a ball of paper smacked her on the forehead, accompanied by a round of giggles and chuckles from both the boys and the girls around her. Although the laughter was silenced by a quick glare from the instructor before returning to his lecture, Lisa discreetly unfurled the paper ball and read the note written inside it.

"Need breast implants? The golf team has some extra balls they can lend you."

Lisa rolled her eyes at the bad joke, but deeper inside her insecurity grew. She glanced down at her developed chest, noting the irony that when the petals of puberty were blooming in her, she felt scared and confused. Now she just wished it would go faster.

Snapping her book shut as the lunch bell rang, Lisa barely had a chance to stand before a group of girls surrounded her. Lisa figured them to be the "popular clique" of the school. Well-endowed, coated in makeup and hair coloring, expensive-looking jewelry, Lisa pasted on a meek smile. Because, like Mom said, a bully is just a friend you haven't made yet.

"Um...Hi," Lisa said bored, " there something you guys want?"

The girls erupted in laughter as one particularly busty blonde, who Lisa figured was named "Candy," stepped forward and looked down at the preteen. "Yeah right," she said, her fake-tan skin rustling with every smack she took of her gum, her school blazer unbuttoned enough to give the whole world a sample of what she offered. "We want to let you know to stay in your place and we won't have a problem."

The girls laughed again, almost completely drowning out the weak "Whatever" Lisa said as she got up and pushed past Candy.

Candy sighed, flicked her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Tell you what Lisa Flatson, you can decided you can be the most hated person in this school or,you can hang out with us the day you can please a boy better than me."

Lisa cocked her head in aggravation as the giggling gaggle waited for her answer as Lisa was walking out of the room. "Why would I want to be around girls who open their legs to any boy who walks by or gives them a little attention."
As a housewife's family crumbles, she reaches out in desperation, but the mysterious young man has his own dark, twisted designs on her world. As she spirals into a sea of lust and desire, will she remember her goal?
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