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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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          I’m on pins and needles right now, every sense on high alert as I sit outside DeJager’s building in the Curse Hearse with all of the windows rolled down, awaiting Micki’s signal. It’s freezing, but whatever.
          She’s been up there for maybe twenty minutes now, and every second that continues to pass fills me with dread. I don’t even want to think about worst case scenarios. Instead, I stare up at the windows of DeJager’s studio in anticipation. I see the shadow of Micki’s beautiful silhouette and the far window cracks open. Thank fucking God. I open the driver’s side door, at the ready.
          Not even a minute later, Micki’s head is hanging out the open window and she’s screaming my name. She drops the shard into my awaiting hands and I succumb to a little more fear for her safety as I head back to the Mercedes and roll up all the windows, feeling relief when I see her rushing out of the main entrance to the building.
          I blast the heat in the car as she launches into the passenger side minus her scarf and sweater and we peel out of there. I’m a few blocks away when I notice her shaking with violent shivers and hugging her naked arms. “Sorry it’s so cold in here. I had to make sure I heard your signal. But hey, mission accomplished, right?”
          Her teeth chatter as she attempts to return my smile, “We are an effective team.”
          Fuck this. I screech the Hearse to a stop in the nearest empty parking lot and shrug out of my leather jacket, throwing it over her shivering shoulders. Micki gives me a grateful kiss when my face nears hers, which quickly becomes *really* heated, underlined with the celebratory nature of our recent victory.
          The delightfully crushing wave of her long-awaited smell of arousal reaches my olfactory senses during our current make out session and my addiction takes over every part of my body, “Elvis left?” I question into her mouth. My delight is unending when she moves a hand to one of her breasts in affirmation. I caress it happily in my delirium and enjoy her mouth for a couple more minutes until I can deny my craving no longer. I remove my jacket from her shoulders in our kiss and place it over the steering wheel.
“Ryan?”
“Take those boots and pants off.” My desperate order takes her slightly by surprise, but she’s kicking off her footwear and slinking out of those pants in near record time. Once she’s in the tank and little black panties, I’m pulling her in my lap in the driver’s seat, running my hands along her satin legs and kissing the life out of her. Sweet Jesus, I love this woman. “Hang onto the steering wheel.” I tell her, satisfied when she does so and lifting those legs to settle on my shoulders and over the back of the driver’s seat. “Try not to honk the horn.” I murmur, her gorgeous hips in my face as I rip that black fabric to shreds and begin to devour the most perfect pussy to ever, *ever* exist.
God yes. It’s just so good when it hits my tongue. Her tasty-taste is so incomparably delicious, I’ve been trying to pin the myriad of elements involved in her flavor since that first time, but it’s so complex I’ll never truly get it nailed.
Doesn’t mean that I won’t revel in every little piece of this majesty, though. Micki’s hands clutch hard onto the bottom of the steering wheel, balancing most of her upper weight on her forearms resting on the fabric of my leather coat on the sides of the wheel. I can tell she’s carefully trying her best not to bang her head against the windshield, moaning loudly as I French kiss her clitoris like a passionate lover. She’s a little more salted caramel right now. Most delicious. And she looks like a dream splayed out directly in front of me. The perfect gorgeousness of her ‘O’ face when her thighs shake around my cheeks is quite sincerely one of my favorite things.
Happy days are here again.
Yippie-ki-Yay, motherfucker.
I’m bestowing all of my best attention on all of the greatest hits of her beautiful auburn vagina, my face soaked in her precious waterfall as she gives even more new meaning to the word multi-orgasmic than she already does. I lose track of exactly how many after the fourth, because my dizzy horniness grants a combo of relaxation and anxiousness to alleviate my penis from its homelessness as it strains painfully against my jeans.
Still, ever the junky for her tasty-taste, I don’t let up until her back collapses against the steering wheel and lays continuously onto the horn. Shit. Okay, I get it. That’s my sign. We don’t need the cops called. I release her and help her out of her incredibly sexy position, “Backseat?” I suggest, penis talking.
“Uncle, Ryan.” Micki says a little huskily to my dismay. There she goes, busting out the safe word. “At least until we can get home. I’m worried about J.B. and don’t want to leave him alone for too long. If you were known for your ability to do quickies, this would be different, my love,” she explains to me, pulling on her pants and replacing the boots on her feet, “I’d rather focus on actually enjoying our celebration without worry for my nephew in the back of my mind.”
I’m pouting, but nodding my head in agreement as I replace my leather on her shoulders. She’s right. Ryan Dallion is not designed for the quickie. Physically impossible. The quickie hasn’t existed in my lexicon since after age 16. And I do want to celebrate our victory properly. I get the car moving again in no time at all, thinking that due to the presence of the kid, we might have to take things to the basement and continue our celebration with an elevator reprise after getting the shard into the vault.
Hmm. Yes. A most excellent plan.
My rage literally knows no bounds when we get through the front door of Curious Goods and I find that not only is J.B. awake, DeJager is waiting here with him.
Fuuuuuuck. Finish line to penile homelessness rectification just blasted all to hell. Thanks, kid. I’m also mildly miffed at Micki for leaving her sweater at DeJager’s. Micki always carries a few business cards in the pockets, which is, I’m sure how she tracked us back here. I know she had to get out of there fast, but it was a rookie mistake. She knows better, usually. I’m not taking any blame off myself for this predicament, either. I could have waited to indulge in her tasty until we got back here. If we had been home, this might have been avoided. It’s shit, all around. I chase after DeJager after she escapes, but she’s diving into a cab before I can do anything about it.
I had it in my fucking grasp. Fuck. I can’t believe I still have to chase this dicksmoking shard. My rage flares all over again when J.B. gives us some story about sneaking out to hang out with some ghost kid who lives parentless like Pippi fucking Longstocking or some shit. It’s worse that he snuck out while we were gone, but overkill that he ran into DeJager on his way inside. I can’t help but blow up at him for the stories, because I’ve warned him about it repeatedly, I’m horny, and well past over my head in ‘up to here’ right now.
My anger turns to shame when J.B. lashes out at me and Micki, basically telling us that he knows we don’t want him here and that nobody believes a word he says before hightailing it upstairs and most likely hiding in the refuge of our room.
Ah, fuck. That’s the *last* thing I wanted to do, make him feel unwanted. And yeah, the timing is shit and it’s obviously dangerous that he’s here in the first goddamn place, but J.B. is still a pretty great kid and I’m hating myself for making him feel that way. I know that feeling way too well, myself.
I give Micki a soft apology, not daring to kiss her goodbye and making my exit in pursuit of that slippery bitch DeJager and the shard that I am more determined than ever to get into the vault. I backtrack to her studio first, finding it empty, and make my way to her art gallery next. Bubkus. Fucking shit. I locate the nearest pay phone to check in with Micki before carrying on with my hunt.
“Curious Goods.” Micki answers on the second ring.
“Hey Micki. Still trying to track her; I’m about to start checking hotel registries in town next.” I tell her.
“Well, good luck with that. If you had been able to control yourself until we got home, we might be cuddling on the cot right now instead, but I’m sending you my best energy in your search.” Micki kids me good-naturedly.
Best intentions and just kidding or no, I get kinda angry at this, “Well, if you hadn’t left your fucking sweater behind…” I say with frustration evident.
“You should *know* how mad I am at myself for that, and here you are, rubbing my face in it.” Shit. Micki gets pissed very fast, and she is *there*. “I thought you were better than Lloyd behavior, Ryan. Keep searching or don’t, I don’t give a shit. But don’t bother coming back home tonight. I’m so furious with you I can’t see straight.”
“Micki, I…” She hangs up before I can say any more. I try to call back but realize she must have taken the phone off the hook when met with the busy signal.
Fuck. Meet the newest resident of the Doghouse, one Ryan Dallion.
Mother bitch.
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Freaky Thangs