Well, I promised fancy/donger tickling, so here it is, chapter 4. I must point out that Chica from the first game, not the withered one, the original Chica, will be here; sorry if that messes up your grasp on this fanfic's reality. Also, in my response to over 2,000 people reading my stuff, OMGWTFASDFBBQLOLFMLFTW... I'm sorry. On with the erotica!
2 hours had past since my sexual confrontation with Chica. Not much happened. Bonnie tried to get into the vents and I heard some static in one of the party rooms, but other than that, it's been same old, same old. My mind began to slip into a sleep when down the hall I heard the footsteps of something loud and clunky. "Oh crap", I thought. "Foxy's back". I grabbed my light from my desk and shone the light down the hall. But, there was no Foxy, but rather, Chica. Though something about her seemed different. Her shape was... larger, her bib changed, her texture wasn't a plastic, but rather a felt of some kind. Her beak was still there, and seemed to be fused to her head.
"Who was this rip off of Chica? Why did it look so cheap yet so terrifying? Why is she coming to my office? It's always me! Why not the damn puppet or one of the old suits in the back room?" These questions buzzed around my head like a pissed off bee. This new Chica walked slowly towards me, with her left arm hanging back, as if to hide something from my sight. She didn't at all seem deterred by my light, and after my earlier confrontation with the real Chica, a silly little mask didn't seem all that useful.
She stood in my office. Glassy, carnelian eyes staring at me. She stepped closer. As with the real Chica, I searched for the flashlight, which was subsequently by her feet. I was about to lean in for it when she revealed what she was hiding behind her back. It was Chica's arm, as if torn straight from her body. "Fuck, this animatronic means business" I whispered to myself. I saw that this new Chica was trying to get into the severed arm's hand, which was closed into a fist. She looked at the arm, back at me, then back at the arm. I reached out for it, to help her. She then looked back up at me and moved her head in my direction surprisingly fast.
Almost, as if she was pretending to not have been able to open the fist, she wound back the arm's fingers, pulled out that same door lock that real Chica used. Still paralyzed in fear with her sudden movements, she pushed the button and grasped my forearm with a grip stronger than iron. I felt like Curley from Of Mice And Men, stuck in the hand of Lennie. With one simple arm movement, she slammed me into the ground. It was then that she released my arm from her vice-like hand, but only for her to spread her legs, and wrap her thighs around my neck.
I was trapped yet again in my workspace with a nymphomaniac chicken, when will the night end? I tried to push her away, but she seemed so damn determined. I gave in, what other choice did I have? Let her strangle me? I think not. I began licking her vagina. With each lapping, she squirmed like a snake. She kept inching herself closer to my face, not caring about the fact she was partially crushing my chest.
Eventually, after copious amounts of her pussy juices running down my face, she pushed her body onto my face, forcing my tonged inside her. Chica nearly squirmed right off, and I wouldn't have blamed her. It was at this point she began grinding her pelvis across my jaw in a slow, circular whilst my tongue resided in her warm, wet cervix. My attempt to push her off only resided in my tongue being forced deeper inside and more juice to come out. Let my mind go blank from this point on, no point in fighting.
After a solid 20 minutes of pussy guzzling, she began to tremble, which meant she was close to climaxing. I could feel it in the rhythm of her legs. With one more big hip thrust, rip off Chica squirted her vaginal juice down my throat, all while squirming and squeaking.
Boner bringing, ain't it?