Chapter Three : The Burger of the Damned

Days passed, and the heat of the kitchen was matched only by the sizzling tension outside. A peculiar artist, known for his avant-garde statements, had decided to plonk a cow right outside Bob's Burgers, a move that had Bob's blood boiling more than his usual burger patty temper tantrums. The cow, a bovine muse with a placard around its neck that read "Eat Me, I'm an Artifact," had drawn a small but curious crowd. Bob, in his usual flustered state, couldn't fathom the artist's audacity, but his family saw it as a stroke of luck, a potential gimmick to boost their floundering burger business.

Bob, however, was livid. He stormed outside, his burly form quivering with rage, and confronted the filmmaker, a lanky man with a pencil-thin mustache and a smug smile that made Bob's fists itch. The artist claimed it was a commentary on consumerism, but Bob saw it as a blatant mockery of his livelihood. Yet, amidst the chaos, a strange kinship grew between Bob and the cow. He'd often find himself whispering sweet nothings to her, stroking her velvety skin, and even naming her "Buttercup." His family, including Linda, watched with a mix of confusion and amusement, as Bob's usual gruff demeanor transformed into something almost tender.

Little did they know, the cow had become a silent confidant to his deepest, darkest secrets, a living embodiment of the burdens he carried. And as Bob's hand grazed Buttercup's soft udder, he couldn't help but feel a peculiar sensation stirring in his pants. It was as if the cow's presence had unlocked a carnally creative side of him, one that would soon spill over into their kitchen, turning their usual burger-flipping routine into a feast of erotic discovery.

That night, as Bob lay beside Linda, his hand found its way to her ample bosom, his thoughts still inexplicably drawn to the cow from earlier that day. He took one of her plump nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with an intensity that made her gasp. His tongue circled the sensitive bud, mimicking the motion of his hand as he pumped his cock, still swollen with thoughts of Buttercup's udder. Linda, feeling the heat of his passion, arched her back, offering more of her voluptuous flesh to his eager mouth.

Bob's mind was a whirlwind of juicy burgers and the cow's soft, inviting teats, the line between reality and his carnally charged imagination blurring. His mouth moved to her other breast, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, his mind a canvas of erotic pastures. Linda's breathing grew heavier as Bob's attentions grew more fervent, his hunger for her mingling with his peculiar fixation. He couldn't explain the connection, but the very thought of the cow's udder had transformed his lovemaking into something primal, something that resonated deep within his core. His strokes grew faster, his teeth nipping at her flesh, his thoughts a delirious mix of lust and burger grease.

Linda's own arousal grew, her body responding to the raw, animalistic passion in Bob's touch. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, her pussy wet and begging for his cock. He plunged into her, his thoughts of Buttercup's udder driving him to claim Linda with a ferocity that was both surprising and exhilarating. The room was filled with the sound of their bodies colliding, a rhythmic symphony of passion that seemed to mirror the pulsing beat of their hearts.

As they climaxed together, Bob couldn't help but wonder if this newfound desire was a sign of a deeper, more profound connection, or if it was merely a bizarre side effect of their tumultuous burger slinging life. Either way, it was clear that the cow had left an indelible mark on their marriage, one that neither of them could ignore.