Mrs. Doubtfucker: A Mrs. Doubtfire Parody

Kenzie hears the doorbell, swings it open and damn near chokes on her own tongue when she sees the wrinkled-up grandma staring back at her. "Oh my God—Mrs. Doubtfucker—I mean, D…Doubt…fuck—" Kenzie starts laughing like an idiot while Mrs. Doubtfucher clears her throat and puts on a prim-and-proper voice. "Doubt-Fyooker, love. It’s German." Kenzie shrugs, still giggling, then explains why the "elderly" lady is here: with her ex back in the house plus his eighteen-year-old daughter, the place is chaos and she needs a maid who can pick up the slack. She squints, frowns, asks if they’ve met—Mrs. Doubtfucher feels freakishly familiar. "Not at all, dear. I simply have one of those faces," the old lady answers with a delicate, nervous little laugh. Kenzie buys it, waves her hand toward the hallway, and says, "Great, go introduce yourself to Mackenzie. She’s in her room." Mrs. Doubtfucher’s eyes light up like she just won the lotto. She spins around and practically sprints down the hall. "Wait—how the hell do you know which room is hers?" Kenzie calls after her. Without missing a beat the grandma chirps, "Women’s intuition!" and disappears behind the door before Kenzie can grill her again. Inside, Mackenzie’s sprawled on the bed in tiny shorts and a tank top. She mutters, "Come in," and her jaw drops when she sees the stranger. "Um…can I help you?" The door clicks shut. Mrs. Doubtfucher rips off the gray wig and peels away the latex wrinkles—Alexis Fawx is standing there, grinning like she just pulled off the heist of the century. "Surprise, baby girl." Mackenzie squeals, shocked but horny as hell. They crash together, tongues fighting, hands everywhere, Alexis whispering how she had to sneak back because a life without Mackenzie’s tight, wet little body wasn’t worth living. All Kenzie’s worried about upstairs is whether her "perfect housekeeper" is gonna scrub the counters; downstairs, that "housekeeper" is already tongue-fucking every inch of her step-daughter and loving it.