Dominance in Despair

Chapter 11

"The Offer"

Lisa sighed as she leaned against the window, resting her head on her palm as she stared out into the street. It had been a few hours since she saw the taillights of her mom's station wagon dissapear into the dark, Paul starting on his sudden and unexplained journey to Capital City.

It was the lack of explanation that worried her.

Ned furrowed his lips as he sat next to Lisa on the sofa, placing a tray of hot cocoa on the table with a distinct clank. Lisa didn't react, despite the mounds of whipped cream, wafer cookie and chocolate shavings that the aging Flanders was reputed to grace his hot cocoas with.

He even left off the customary cherry. Lisa hated cherries.

"Penny for your thoughts, Lisa?" Flanders had to be the most caring man Lisa knew, not that it would help right now.

"Just...everything, you know?" Lisa sighed. "You know Bart had a big hearing today...but instead of letting me know how it went, my mom just asked for Paul to drive all the way up there in the middle of the night, and didn't tell me anything."

The elder Simpson daughter turned, staring at the floor, placing her hands between her knees as she wrung them, her plaid school skirt worn from the day's rigors. "And now she won't even answer her phone."

Ned hummed in that way he's done for years, nudging the drink closer to Lisa. She picked it up and stared at it, the hot liquid warming her hands through the china. "I'm sure your mom has her reasons," he said in his best reassuring tone.

"But let's change the subject. Tell me about this Paul fellow. I can't say I know him very well."

Lisa looked up at Ned, a slight blush crossing her face. "Well...he's smart, and cute...a little strange, kinda keeps to himself. He's been a great help to my mom though."

Ned nodded. "Where's he from?"

"Michigan, I think. He said he's living on a trust and traveling the country, writing a book. I think he's just staying in Springfield until spring."

Ned shuddered. A nomad, one step away from a vagrant. Something about the new Simpsons tenant seemed off, and this information did little to assuage that gut feeling. "So, where's Maggie? Shouldn't she be home by now?"

"Normally, she would have been home hours ago. She's staying the night at a friend's house."

Lisa took a sip of the cocoa and smiled, licking the mustache of whipped cream from her lips as a puff of steam escaped the hole in the cream her mouth made, a froth of melted cream foaming on the surface.

As she raised the cup for a second sip, both her and Ned's attention were grabbed by a flash of headlights through the window facing the Simpson abode. As they peered out, they made out the image of a large man exiting the car, running up to the door. He began banging on it with some sense of urgency as Lisa's eyes adjusted to the dark.

What did Chief Wiggum want at this hour?

Paul turned the door handle with a soft click. Marge didn't answer his call when he pulled up to the hotel, but he was surprised to find a room key waiting for him.

As he pushed the door open, Paul was immediately hit with the stench of alcohol. Stepping in, the dark-haired young man was able to easily trace it to its' source.

Whatever was going on, Paul thought, it was enough to drive Marge to empty the contents of the mini bar into her stomach, her glazed stare drifting up to him as she straightened up from her slumped sitting position on the floor, leaning against the air conditioning unit. She brushed her slouching beehive hairdo to the side, only to have it flop back across her gaze. Her rumpled outfit shifted as she moved to stand before failing miserably, flopping back down on her butt as she groaned. Only one of her shoes could be immediately located.

"Marge, what's going on?" Paul actually showed some genuine concern; this was highly out of character and something he had not counted on. He hated that.

Marge spoke with a slur normally reserved for her estranged soon-to-be-ex husband. "Oh...Paul...you're here..." With a second oomph, Marge managed to haul herself to her feet, a few glass bottles clinking to the floor out of the folds of her outfit. She was unsteady on her feet, glaring at Paul with an unsteady, almost unreadable face.

"The front desk says you've ignored a lot of calls."

Marge staggered at him, forcing him to catch her as she almost fell down. She hung limp in his arms like a sack of potatoes as Paul drug her up straighter, blinking as Marge looked up at him and began moving her lips.

"You know...I hate having to ask you for help..."

Paul cocked his head to the side. What did that mean? Marge pressed herself up against him as she tried to straighten herself, her chest rubbing against his torso as she grasped his blue t-shirt's collar for support and leverage.

"Every time I ask...you say yes...and it's another thing I owe you that I can't repay..."

This required some investigation. "What do you mean? It's just an advance on my rent."

"No," Marge exclaimed rather sharply, spitting a little on Paul's shirt. Better than vomit, he figured. "That's not enough...I can't repay you with a room...or money...or even my body, not for everything you've done for me and my family."

Paul grinned as Marge buried her face in his chest, supporting her by the arms.

Marge continued. "And now...if I don't ask for your help again, my little boy's life will be over...he'll go to jail forever...unless I can cover his legal fees..."

Paul prodded a little with his response. "Marge...I'm not a bottomless well of money...I can't keep helping you every time..."

Marge began to cry drunken tears, staining his blue shirt with the salty liquid. Her shoulders heaved with her sobs. "I know...I don't know what else to do...Please Paul...what can I do?"

"Marge...there is an agreement we can come to for me to help you."

Marge sniffled, looking up at him as she focused on the scrap of hope she's been tossed. If the Simpson matriarch were sober, she would have been instantly disturbed by the dark, almost domineering look Paul has suddenly taken on.

"I know what you can do to have me help you...not just today either."

Marge grasped Paul's shirt as she felt his weight shift.

"For a price, I can help you all you need...financially, physically...I can protect you...Lisa...Maggie..."

Marge's head swam as she gasped, feeling Paul guide her onto the bed. Her gaze was now locked on him, wide eyed as he hovered over her, his body not against hers except for the arms he used to hold himself up on the mattress, arms that posted under her own, arms that hers brushed against as she began to breathe heavily, her bra beginning to grow tight as it began to become too small for her body.

"Do you want to know what the price is?"

Marge could only inhale raggedly as she arched a little towards him, writhing beneath his form as hig sinister gaze kept hers locked to it like a snake hypnotizing its prey. To Paul, this was as good as a yes. Time to spring his elaborately-laid scheme.

"You."

Marge's breath caught in her chest as she processed this revelation.

"I'm not talking about marriage," Paul cooed as he leaned in closer, only touching Marge's cheek with his hand as he cupped it, her breathing increasing in pace. "I'm talking about you becoming mine."

Paul drew his face in closer.

"Heart...body...soul..."

Marge's mind raced as she digested this. Why wasn't she rejecting it outright? Marge, despite her drunken haze, was having problems figuring out with her conscience as to why this seemed even the tiniest bit like an acceptable arrangement.

"You would do as I say...dress as I say...act as I say...pleasure me whenever and wherever I please..."

Marge gulped, her cheeks growing flush as she thought of this, her body reacting on its own.

"and in exchange...I offer you a life without worry...no more fretting over legal fees for your son...no more wondering how you will pay the bills tomorrow...no more wondering if you will lose everything to Homer...protection for you and your daughters from those who would harm them..."

Marge couldn't formulate a response either way. All she could do was breathe raggedly and draw up towards him as he moved his lips to meet hers.

The phone rang.

Marge eeped as her cell phone went off next to her on the bed. Both her and Paul glanced at it. The caller ID read "Ned."

"Paul...I..."

"You don't have to answer right away...but you need to answer soon," Paul smirked visibly as he drew back, allowing Marge to grasp the phone. "Bart's legal fees are due soon."

Marge didn't register the veiled threat, picking up the phone. She cleared her throat and did her best to not sound as sauced as she really was.

"Ned, what is it? This is a bad ti...Lisa?"

Paul's attention perked up. It was nearly 1 AM, what would make Lisa call at this time of night?

"Lisa, slow...slow dow..."

Marge bolted upright, her head fighting through the haze as her protective, motherly instincts were kicked into overdrive.

"What do you mean, Maggie is missing?"

Maggie whimpered as she struggled against the ropes binding her wrists behind her back. She didn't recognize the stained, filthy apartment she was brought too, a fact that only compounded her distress and confusion.

"Daddy...daddy I want to go home."

Homer belched, his alcoholic stench indistinguishable from the stench pervading the apartment. As he approached, Maggie tried to back away, being held fast by the rope collar that tethered her to the brass bed's backboard.

"Oh, my precious Maggie," Homer slurred, Maggie's eyes growing wide with fear as she focused on his overall nakedness, specifically his erection.

"Daddy...please, I want to go home..."

"She took everything from me," Homer continued over the seven year old's impassioned pleas, not reacting to her yelp as he began tearing the now filthy Girl Guide's uniform off of her piece by piece.

Fear gripped even Maggie's ability to scream as Homer produced a box cutter, slicing off the last piece of clothing: a small pair of simple cotton panties.

"I'll make sure she can't take you...I'll make you mine forever."