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Freaky Thangs	By : Beaverhausen13 Category: 1 through F > Friday the 13th: The Series Views: 583 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Friday the 13th or these guys and I do not get paid. The End.

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Freaky Thangs
Author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen
Rating: Insanely big NC-17, peoples. Like, huge.
Categories: MRR, established relationship, some angst shit, Ryan POV
Spoilers: Part 3 of Glory Box series, story revolves around Season 2 Ep 18 A Friend to the End, but will have mentions of elements from the prior 10 episodes. Read the first two tales in this series and consider all those eps spoiled like rotten milk before taking in this piece, homefries.
Summary: With Jack out of town for the first time since Micki and Ryan’s last fantasy fest, Ryan faces many roadblocks on that journey to electric boogaloo.
Author’s Notes and Disclaimer: Hollerin’ at yer not mine and I don’t get paid shit for this, Bro Namaths. And thus continues my “make it make sense” journey through Season Two, Micki and Ryan’s obvi relationship, and a bangin’ Ludacris soundtrack. I always wondered why Ryan was so irritated in this episode. Following this storyline, tho, it makes all the sense now. Because this boy has plans. Smutty, smutty plans. Don’t forget to bring a towel for this one, fam.

“…I’m the Prince dick of insanity
I’m good lovin’
Body Rockin
Knockin’ Boots all night long,
We not stoppin’…” ~Ludacris “Freaky Thangs”

          There is no greater cockblocker in the entirety of the universe than Micki’s Aunt Flo.
          Just thought I’d get that out there.
          Oh hey. Greetings from the Dallion-meister; he of the blessed residence at the pedestal of the ever-delicious Micki Foster. The last time I checked in, she and I had finally declared our love and consummated the beginning of our now four-month strong relationship. I maintain the title of Luckiest Motherfucker in the Land most days and usually find myself hovering around cloud eleventeen the majority of the time.
          Until Aunt Flo comes to visit.
          Then it’s hello to eight days of mild torture. Even her birth control use is of no help to lessen the effects of crippling cramps, leg and back pain, breast soreness, involuntary irritableness, a flow that’s a metaphoric match to The Shining’s elevator doors opening, and to top all of *that* off, a temporary gag reflex that ensures there is zero sexual activity during her menstrual cycle.
          It’s like having full V.I.P. access to the best part of Heaven, but for eight entire days the velvet ropes go up when the panties go back on and her usual intoxicatingly Five Star scent of arousal is replaced with salty copper.
          Oh shit, now it sounds like I’m resentful. I’m not, trust me. I love this woman more than my own life, and genuinely feel terrible for her during her time of the month. I mean, I knew it was pretty bad before we physically became an item, but it didn’t really hit home until that first time after. It was about two days after our first and last fantasy fulfillment evening when the panties came out and my poor gorgeous lady spent that first night in the fetal position on our bed with tears in her eyes. I do my part to be a good boyfriend during this; lots of patience, chocolate, and massages are bestowed upon my beloved in these eight long, torturous days. It’s torture for both of us, just in different ways. I’ve already underlined most of her symptoms, but the biggest difference between our agony is that she doesn’t feel like a sexual being during this time. I, however, have a hard time turning that off.
          I’ll be the first to admit to that old cliché of being a lover, not a fighter. Even with my past history with boxing, I find my ass getting kicked more often than not. But women… I suppose that most of my focus in life has gone to the art of satisfying and reading the delicate female form. Goes hand in hand with being an artist. And Micki has the Mount Olympus of all female forms. Being inside her body is like coming home. When I can’t have her now, it’s like being homeless.
          Not only that, but I’m also barred from the most addictive flavor I’ve ever been party to. Eight entire days of just non-stop craving of her glorious flavor. Once I get that first whiff of her post cycle, I can’t rip her panties off fast enough. I most definitely am a full blown junky for her, and the withdrawals bring about an insanity that I have to temper as much as possible.
          The cherry on top is the timing of it all. Two out of her four periods have occurred when Jack’s been out of town, which cuts severely into our uninhibited alone time. Her last period in Jack’s absence didn’t exit until Jack had been home for a couple of days.
          Holy shit, though, I will carry that magical fantasy laden evening with me happily into the next life. Jay-sus. Before the red tide had hit, Micki blessed me with a plethora of my sexual fantasies about her turned into reality, and in a lot of ways, exceeded them the second night after she had come back from spending the weekend in L.A. with her sisters. That striptease is imprinted in the depths of my loins, it was that much of a doozy. And she looked all sorts of good enough to eat in those pigtails, knee high socks, and red heels. Fuck. I gotta cool it. Getting myself excited benefits no one right now.
          I was absolutely terrified when she had disclosed that she wanted to be dominated in that phone call, I’ll be the first to say that, too. But it was a revealing indication on how to best please her, and she seems like she’s happy with me. With us. Because during our daily tasks, I try not to treat her any different than before. It’s like tightrope walking, because I want to just dote on her constantly. But she likes the indifferent dominant side. It turns her on like no tomorrow. So I am more than happy to oblige.
          As I’ve said before, Micki deserves nothing but the very best.
          Getting back to her period and it’s horrible timing, this one kicked off the day after Jack left for his much needed two-and-a-half-week vacation. For him and for us. He had gotten pretty dinged up during our last object recovery together when we faced off the fucking Wolfman, of all fucking things, due to a cursed antique movie camera. After Jack had come back from his prior trip, we had hit the ground running with the object recovery, with a few close calls sprinkled in here and there, along with Jack nursing a cold in that whole midst of non-stop work. We convinced Jack to take some time off, and with his reluctant agreeance that he did need time to recharge, left to visit relatives in Amsterdam.
          Micki and I also need a little time to recharge. One of our more recent recoveries had her temporarily lose her soul and it got embarrassingly physical. She attacked me like a wild animal after cracking Jack square in the balls, and the only way to stop her from trying to kill me was knocking her out with my right hook. I still hate myself for that one. We had a good talk about it, though, and even better make up sex, but both agree that we’re long overdue for another fantastic evening of alone time.
          That’s why this latest visit from Aunt Flo is such a slap in the face. I have selectively curated some incredible fantasies that are sure to please us both *at least* as much as the last night, which by all accounts was a grand success. I got all the costumes and accoutrements ready to go and Psych!
          Hello Aunt Flo. You evil bitch.
          Greatest cockblock of all time.
          The Muhammad Ali of cockblocks, if you will.
          We’re on day five, and have just recovered the very first of Lewis’ cursed items, The Mephisto ring, and got it safely deposited in the vault after assuring that poor, tragic woman Mrs. Wren that we weren’t going to the police for being forced to kill her son. One; Micki and I are no friends to law enforcement. Also Two; the suffering caused by that ring was more than enough punishment. Anything more would have been an exercise in cruelty. We work and strive for a better world, not one that is a perpetuation of more of the same.
          At this moment, my beautiful menstrual girlfriend is curled up fetal with a hot water bottle on her abdomen in our room, trying to distract her pain with the TV wheeled in and set up on a stand beyond the footboard of the bed, looking unconventionally (and uncomfortably, to me) sexy as all get out in a pair of my plaid flannel pajama pants and a tiny white tank top. I just returned from another chocolate and feminine products run and have crossed the threshold of the French doors to her pretty but pained smile.
          “Hi handsome.” Micki breathes out in a tortured moan.
          “The Midol hasn’t kicked in yet, Angel?” I ask sympathetically, sliding next to her on the bed and giving her a chaste kiss on her nose, “I bring chocolate and reinforcements for one gorgeous lady.”
          “Really shooting hard for that Best Boyfriend award, huh Merlin?” Micki kids me as she pulls me in for a real kiss that starts the surface of my skin a’ tinglin’.
          I pull back before the lust monster can take over, “I do what I can.” I say, breaking our kiss and shifting behind her to work on her sore lower back, “What are we watching?”
          Micki moans happily as she digs into her Dove bar and leans in to my kneading of her muscles, “Final season of Dynasty. The shark has been jumped moreover than any shark that’s been jumped in existence with this one. An entertaining distraction, anyway.”
          “Sounds like a fun evening in. Did you want me to make popcorn and cocoa? It’s no trouble.” I say into her neck as my knuckles push into her lower back.
          “That sounds amazing, but then you’d stop doing this.” She moans in the cutest whine. My dick expands painfully.
          “I can always start back up.” I counter, “Then you can have it all, baby.” I add in my best Kojak voice.
          “You do realize that you had won the award *long* ago, right lover?” Micki giggles, “Ok. Popcorn and cocoa, please.”
          “Of course I realize it. I’m looking right at her.” I laugh as I slide out from behind her and make my way to the kitchenette.
          “Mm, I really wish I could show you how much I appreciate you right now.” Her adorably moany whine makes love to my ears as I’m pulling out the air popper and kettle, filling the latter with the faucet and putting it on a burner.
          “Don’t tease. It’s enough that I can’t go there with you looking like a savory morsel right now.” I yell with a smile in my voice as I pour the kernels in the popper.
          “Really? My, you are easy to please.” She laughs back loudly over the popping, “But who said I was teasing?”
          “We can’t do anything about it right now, isn’t that teasing?”
          “But my statement was true, and that negates the teasing.”
          God fuckin’ damn, I love this woman. “Draw, beautiful. We’ll just have to keep wanting what we can’t have during the crimson interruption.”
          I get the popcorn in a giant bowl and take that in first before repeating another trip with the cocoa, setting our mugs on the nightstand next to Micki’s generous cache of chocolate treats. I slide in behind her and resume my back rub, trying to ignore the utter lusciousness of her breasts in that little white tank. They’re even more voluptuous than usual, and the enticing shadows of her nipples are just *killing* me when I look at them. Because, of course, they’re tender as all get out, so absolutely no touchy-touchy. I made that mistake before. Never again. I don’t want to go down that road. No matter how much I just want to kiss and suck on them until she comes a few times. And she would, too.
          Stop it Dallion.
          Fuck, she’s hot.
          *Stop*.
          She snaps me out of my daydreaming during the commercial break for the Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter etc. show by squeezing a bit at one of my knees that she’s sitting between, “I’m hoping that Elvis leaves the building in the next couple of days.” Micki tells me as she reaches for her cooled cocoa on the nightstand, “It looks promising.”
          Every part of me perks up, especially my lap monster, “Best thing I’ve heard this week.” My glee transfers into the small, hard circles I’m thumbing into the tops of her adorable ass under the rolled down pajama pants’ waistband.
          She squeals a little as I accidentally graze one of her tickle zones, “Ry-yan! Don’t make me spill.”
          I ease up my pressure, “Apologies. I’m hoping my constructive distraction from you is gonna get to that shard in that time. Then we can pop it in the vault and I can pop myself inside of you for a couple days and refuse to leave. The basics will be interesting, but I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.” My hands are absently but reverently stroking her back with one of my lighter touches. Her responsive sigh makes my penis weep with want.
          “Sounds like an intriguing experiment, Mr. Stallion, but weren’t we planning on something a little more fantastic?”
          My God. She’s trying to kill me. “No fair. No calling me Stallion unless you’re planning to mount that saddle and ride, Lady.” I chastise her, punctuating it with a quick raspberry to the ball of her right shoulder.
          “Oh, but I am. Just not when the red floodgates are open.” She places her mug on the nightstand and shifts in my hold, taking my head in her hands to bless me with an amazing kiss. Mine have travelled down to her copious behind to engage in a firm massage, making her moan pleasantly into my lips.
          The origin of the Stallion moniker is quite a happy one, boy howdy. There I was, stranded in the Civil War and about to be executed by Confederates, when during my Dead Man Walking, the love of my life came galloping in like a vision on horseback and sheparded me happily back to the now. Once returned that night, after Jack went to bed, I gave her something else to ride almost up until dawn. And hence, the Stallion designation was established. God she’s good. Even after four months, I get a sort of horny deliriousness when it comes to intimate times with Micki. It would be impossible to feel this intensity with *anyone* else, that I am sure of. All roads lead back to her beautiful face and delectably accommodating body. And I am so happy for it.
          She finally breaks our kiss when she gets stabbed in the solar plexus with my raging pants beast and pouts, looking me in the eyes, “I hate my period.”
          “I hate your period, too. But I love the stuffing out of the rest of you.” I tell her, brushing a thumb each on the sides of her ass as I minimize the pressure of that rubdown. Simply touching her has the ability to bring me to a place where I lose proper functional thinking. And Hell or high water, I will be a good boyfriend to her. She deserves no less than the best.
          The look on her face radiates a loving admiration. For me. That’s still happily and wholly wild to me, even now. “I love you, too, Ryan. So tell me, are we deviating from our original plan after Elvis’ exit?”
          “Absolutely not. Next on the docket is Shard of Medusa hunting for me and Fantasy Fulfillment 2: Electric Boogaloo. We can save my latest suggestion for another time.” I answer, following with a quick kiss.
          She giggles, “Do we really have to call it that?”
          “I have a funny feeling that the name isn’t going to matter when said night finally happens. I’ll leave it at that without getting more graphic.” I tease her, my hands sliding up her back and massaging with half intensity.
          “Repeat: I hate my evil, stupid, goddamn fucking period.” Micki whines out a purring moan and tugs me back into another kiss that makes my lap ache like the before times. How simple of me to think I had said sayonara to this blue balls feeling completely. Well, at least it’s temporary and not an eternal constant, like that first year post inheritance. Still…
          I break our kiss, gripping her waist to hold her away from connection with my aching body, “I’m going to have to excuse myself, gorgeous. You are too damn much.”
          Micki gives me a little half smile of understanding, “Do what you gotta do.”
          Seconds later, I am in the privacy of our bathroom, using visuals from our last fantasy evening to assist ridding myself of this persistent problem. I *do* wish I had gotten a physical picture of her in that schoolgirl uniform and the pigtails, though. Even though the image of her bound and screaming my name on our kitchen table will stay with me until the end of time, more tangible evidence would be nice.
          Sweet fucking mercy. I can’t look at the entirety of the kitchenette now and not get the biggest smile on my face with those memories. I love her more than life itself.
          Well, plus sides, she *does* still have the uniform. Maybe I could convince her to do a sexy photo shoot evening once Aunt Flo quits with the monkey wrench. She’s been pleasantly agreeable to my requests, which in of itself is its own blessing. It’s nice to know that most of the time, she’s just as big of a horndog as I am. Speaking of which, merely thinking about that leads my alleviated problem to pop right back up. Crap.
          A rare drawback to being able to reload so quickly. It’s impossible to put the pants monster back to sleep after just the one. I conjure up the memory of my amazing taste test from one of the favorite files of my mind and get back to round two of my relief. It’s so vivid I swear I can taste that mystical flavor on my tongue. Holy shit, she is the most delicious waterfall on the whole of the Earth. I will never get over how endlessly wet she was that night. God. Damn.
          I can’t wait to attempt to repeat business. Aunt Flo can’t leave town fast enough for me.
          Home stretch, Dallion.
          Then it’ll be on to creating new erotic memories to sustain me through these eight day forced dry spells.
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Freaky Thangs