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Freaky Thangs	By : Beaverhausen13 Category: 1 through F > Friday the 13th: The Series Views: 584 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Friday the 13th or these guys and I do not get paid. The End.

Chapter List
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          Today I’m narrowing my distracted focus on my continued pursuit of this cursed shard. I convinced Micki to handle the more low-impact task of sifting through a new pile of letters to Lewis we had found in yet another secret compartment in the store. I figure she needed a little bit of a break after tracking the Mephisto ring at the height of her period.
          I’ve made pretty good headway on my own task. I was first clued in to something being amiss in the art community by my old college friend Sally, who is also a sculptor and had mentioned the rash of art models disappearing as of late. After connecting this with the Shard of Medusa in the Manifest, I soon was able to track ownership to a lesbian named DeJager, who has become the biggest rising star in the art world after she gained that shard.
          It takes some pretty astute P.I. work, but I’m able to follow her to a coffeeshop undetected and eavesdrop on her meeting with her latest model/victim. I get the address and meeting time and head home to help my lovely object of affection run our store for the rest of the day.
          T-minus one more day, and counting. The woman is temptation, personified. Micki wears black pretty often during that time of the month, which of course, she’s just devastatingly gorgeous in, naturally. The tight wrap top and burnt velvet floral pants she’s got on would look nice on most women, but of course, because Micki is Micki, she’s a scenic vision of delicious bodaciousness. Black also makes the red in her hair look brighter than normal, and her skin glowingly luminous.
          So close. I’m so close.
          Maybe that’s why I landed on the French maid costume for this go round so soon impending. The fantasy for that one had popped up on one of our rare off nights in that first year. Micki and I had gone to the budget drive in and watched Clue, and Colleen Camp in that maid get up soon led me to imagining what Micki would look like in such an outfit, and the rest is fantasy history.
          We had gone to the costume shop initially with a few ideas in mind, quickly narrowing it down to what was available. Of course, Micki had specified what she wanted me to wear, but I could have encouraged her into the Major Nelson/Jeannie costumes with a little light pleading. However, there were none there in our sizes, so as per usual, Micki’s going to get what she wants: her ‘Stallion’ in a full burglar get up, complete with full face ski mask.
          My kinky little minx.
          Hot fucking damn.
          The plan for the night is to ‘break-in’, dominate, and ravage the ‘help’. I’ve upped my game a bit in that department. After a few revealing conversations with my lady love, I was able to parlay that into a little more research on the subject of domination. I won’t be just flying by the seat of my pants with mere past fantasies this go round. And she really liked what I did last time. Not gonna lie, I did too. The initial power induced from her reaction to it alone was crazy orgasmic. I’ve never been harder. When my climax finally hit, it was incomparable to any one that I’ve had before or since. And my girlfriend is Micki fucking Foster, so that just underlines how insanely off the wall it was.
          Not much longer now.
          I have to hang around until 8:30, when I plan on heading to DeJager’s and ambushing her for the shard before that poor girl becomes her next high art statue. The pursuit of this piece feels like it’s directly linked to my fantastic, pleasurable light at the end of the tunnel. Like, once I get it in the vault, everything will fall into place.
          These eight days really does something sideways to a poor guy. In a lot of ways, being denied is much harder now that we’re together. Because now I *know*. Before I could only imagine, but as I’ve mentioned before, Micki has this thing about surpassing imagination that you could set your watch by. It’s never fail, like Greenwich. My ignorance was my saving grace back then and the cluelessness of how incredible we feel together made my prior want a mosquito bite compared to the third-degree burns aching me now.
          Yep. I’m pretty much scaling the walls at the moment. It’s quiet in the store, just me, Micki, and the guy I just rung up who’s making his exit with his new antique oil lamp. My Lady fair is leaning in a tantalizing catlike pose on the counter, balancing her weight on one forearm while the other hand feeds her delicious mouth a chocolate ice cream bar, satisfying her menstrual addiction and of course, fucking slaying me any time I look at her for too long. I can’t even *see* ice cream now without being transported right back to that night.
          I’m two steps from doing backflips up and down the staircase. Jesus effin’ Christ. The only plus side in this is that its not strawberry and kiwi.
          “Micki, I know you don’t realize it, but you’re being extraordinarily evil right now.” I finally breathe out as she’s halfway through her ice cream treat.
          She pulls back and licks at the chocolate smears on the corners of her mouth, “What?” comes her feigned ignorance as she leans a bit more into her pose and causes her back end to go a little higher in the air.
          Fuck. Me. “You know what you’re doing.” The horndog in me is making me see red and I can’t help but say those words in a low growl.
          She laughs and straightens up, shifting to lean her back against the counter as she resumes the consumption of the worst possible snack she could eat right now, “It’s nice to feel wanted.” Micki winks at me, licking slowly at the remainder of her ice cream bar.
          “You should fucking know that by now. I’m jumping out of my skin over here, and you taunt me.” I may not *really* be angry, but can’t help but sound like it right now.
          “I’m sorry, Ryan.” Micki says with sympathy when she notices my agony, “I’m not trying to be mean, really. Did you need a little time out for relief?”
          Eh, now that she mentions it, I probably could use a release or three. I nod wordlessly in agreement and retreat upstairs to ye olde trusty bathroom; the image of her pigtailed, mostly nude, and squirming across my lap as I spank and caress her to violent orgasm pretty much does it for me the thrice that I have to go there. Holy mother fuck, man.
          I manage to make it through the rest of the evening closing up shop and eating dinner with Micki well enough. She still looks like a tasty, tasty treat, but my tension is lessened to a manageable level, anyway.
          I gotta try to watch that, though. If I beat my dick bloody, then it’ll be out of commission for what I *really* want, and that’s no good. I’m walking an incredibly fine line, here. Which is why I am placing so much importance and focus into this latest object recovery. If I was left to my own devices without this distraction, I’d probably already be taking up residence in the funny farm by day four.
          8:30 finally shows itself and I kiss Micki goodbye, leaving to snatch me a Shard of Medusa.
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Freaky Thangs