A Week Of Sex - parody of "The Weaker Sex"

He grabbed her, pushing her up onto the sink, till she was pressed hard against the bathroom mirror. He ran his fingers lightly up her parted inner thighs, eyes focusing on the slip of white cotton panties at their core. She watched his line of vision, panting raggedly. His face was so close to her own, she could feel his breath on her cheek and the light pressure of his hands climbing higher, higher.

She opened her legs a little wider. His hands stopped their ascent, beginning to stroke the tiny mound under the delicate cotton. She smiled, tilting her head down to get a glimpse of the massive bulge straining at the front of his trousers.

“I dare you,” she teased.

His face was expressionless, as always, then he gasped, “Wait, Nikita”.

“Michael?” He appeared to be struggling—his face flushed from the effort, his chest beginning to heave. Suddenly, he whipped out an object from his long black coat.

It was a Richard Nixon Halloween mask.

Nikita’s eyes glazed with lust.

“Oh YES Baby,” she whispered, “Do it to me like--a Republican!“

“AAAARGH RANMA!!!” wailed ‘chelle, weeping. “Michael and Nikita were having a beautiful, Romantic moment together and you had to go make it KINKY!”

“So?” retorted Ranma, unperturbed. “Wait till you see what I have ‘em do with the vacuum cleaner!”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Norma, “WHEN are we going to get Nikita on a laundry cart?”

Back in the bathroom, Michael and Nikita looked at each other. “Vacuum cleaner?” he murmured, instinctively covering his private parts.

“Laundry cart?” Nikita whispered, staring at him suspiciously.

He fidgeted.

“They have this fixation with a laundry cart---they’re crazy---what would I do with one?”

She pursed her lips, wondering.

“HEY!” chortled jigs, “I feel a limerick coming on—anyone know a word that rhymes with ‘burning testicle’?”

“I think Michael should be afflicted with an organic brain disorder that causes him to go mad with lust for Nikita,” said Wrigley, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Dawn, “He wouldn’t be under the influence of a brain disorder! It would have to be a mind altering drug!”

“Or,” purred Catsma, “A set of leather chaps and a french tickler.”

“Now you’re talkin,” giggled Caro.

“Drinks for everyone,” called Norma, passing around a large tray.

Back in the bathroom, the situation was grim. “I can’t believe we have to do it AGAIN,” hissed Nikita, “They’ve made us have sex 157 times in the past week----That’s 22 times A DAY!

“Those SADISTS--don’t they know I’m a Section agent? How am I supposed to get any work done---think of the taxpayer expense! Besides, after all that action—I mean, look at me----I’m CHAFED!”

“What are YOU bitching about?” snarled Nikita. “I’M the one who hasn’t been able to sit down since session 112!”

He picked up her inflatable rubber donut solicitously. “Here ‘Kita---use this.”

“Michael,” said Nikita grimly, “After they’re all hammered, let’s make a run for it!”

“What about the laundry cart—don’t you want to try it?”

“Yes---but if Norma passes out before Ranma----you’re stuck with the vacuum cleaner!”

He blanched, “You’re right--let’s get out of here!”

Nikita slid off the counter, and with Michael chivalrously carrying her donut, they limped away into the dark night of the Bodice Ripper’s imagination.

Tune in tomorrow for another exciting NC-17 chapter…

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