Tracking Richard had been a mistake, but not nearly as big a mistake as leaving his briefcase behind. If Willow had only remembered to take the briefcase with her, it would have changed everything.
Ever since he’d started taking the Red Breath, Richard had started stashing cash, drawing it from willing women like an ATM. But even packed with what had to be at least six figures worth of untraceable cash, the money wasn’t what made the briefcase valuable. Two years worth of research was packed onto a 60gig thumb drive. Even more important were the 5-10 packs of Red Breath Richard kept in the briefcases’ back compartment.
Smoking the cigarettes had a different effect on her than they did Richard. For Richard, he needed a new dose to become aroused, and to have the enhanced sexual powers. For her, the arousal was permanent. One smoke was all it had taken to flip some switch inside her. The sensation had not increased the longer she stayed away. But if she were going to try and cure her condition, she’d need to get the cigarettes.
It was easy for Willow to see her glaring error in the light of a new day, away from the frenzy, but all she’d felt in the hotel was overwhelmed, confused, and a burning need to run as far and as fast as she could.
Willow was packed and ready to go, contemplating her next move throughout the morning – terrified of her next move, horrified of what she had become, and finding it impossible to ignore the burning need inside her.
And as hot as the fire she felt burning between her legs, it wouldn’t be too long before Willow was running from an entirely different sort of heat. She had to get out of town immediately. Run away and never return. Throw herself into isolation, somewhere where she could never harm another soul. Maybe Alaska.
If only she had more than $9,382 in her bank account, or hope of a cure.
If only she’d taken the briefcase.
Willow was minutes from flight when she heard the knock on the door, and saw the two agents standing on her porch. She was terrified, and might have run right there if she hadn’t smelled the pungent sex of Agent Brad Hammer on the other side.
Willow had to calm her mind so it didn’t scream. She could feel it calling to the large and well-practiced cock in Agent Hammer’s pants. She could clearly see the memory of his last fuck – a quickie with a waitress at the end of her shift, two days earlier in Austin, Texas – and see the filthy thoughts he couldn’t help but have about the partner standing beside him.
More importantly, Willow found the memory of the briefcase.
Agent Hammer had what was hers, and she was going to get it back.
Agent Hammer was the key to everything. He had the briefcase, and if Willow could retrieve it, she would have enough money to go on the run, as well as the research that would lead to her cure.
XXX
Chapter Four – Brad Hammer
“I’m taking a long nap, and if I’m lucky I won’t wake up until tomorrow,” Grayson said, pulling into the underground parking lot of their hotel, driving the Lincoln toward a spot at the back.
“Are you serious?” Hammer looked at his watch. “It’s not even 3:30?”
“Which day?” Grayson said as they got out of the car and walked around, leaning against the trunk. “Did you not have the same week as me? Were you not in Synecdoche, New York for four days following dead leads on a werewolf case?”
Brad said nothing. Of course he’d had the same week as she had, but he was numb to the travel, and the schedule that went with it. He was never affected the same way, and nap-time for Agent Grayson usually meant Brad went looking to lift a skirt.
“What do you care? You’ll end up at the hotel bar looking for tail anyway.”
“I don’t care,” Brad said. “I was just thinking maybe you wanted to look through the briefcase, you know, see what everyone’s trying to keep us from seeing.”
Grayson shook her head. “That’s not our concern. Division ordered the case closed, so that means the case is closed. We already broke protocol talking to the twit girl who could barely tell us her name. We’re not putting our asses on the line for that. I’m sure Division knows about the briefcase, Hammer. It’s evidence and we weren’t the first on the scene.”
“Yeah,” he smirked, “and according to you they’re listening to this conversation right now.” He asked for the keys, popped open the trunk, pulled the briefcase out, and then slammed the back lid of the Lincoln and threw the keys to Grayson.
“You never know,” she said.
They entered the hotel lobby, heading for the elevators. “Promise me I can get some shut eye without having to worry about you,” she said, stepping inside.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Brad smiled. “Go get yourself some beauty sleep, then meet me downstairs at 7:30 tomorrow morning before we hit the airport. I’ll even treat you to one of those crap scones you like so much.”
The elevator dinged and Grayson stepped through the parted door with Brad a step behind. “You didn’t say you promised,” Grayson said.
“I promise,” Hammer smiled, waved goodbye, then turned toward his room as Agent Grayson walked toward hers. He muttered under his breath, “I promise to tell you about everything I find in the briefcase.”
Brad slipped his keycard in the lock, opened the door, tossed the briefcase on the bed, changed into jeans and a tee-shirt, then went to work on the lock. He figured he could crack it in less than 10 minutes. It took him 25.
The briefcase held three items: a flash drive, a shit heap of cash, and something that confused him.
The flash drive didn’t surprise him. After all, a scientist’s research is what made him worth killing. The money only surprised him a little, since a guy as mud fence average looking as Madsen would need major coin to score the six hotties he’d spent an entire day fucking, until something stopped his heart from beating. What Brad didn’t get were the six cartons of cigarettes.
They were packaged in regular looking cigarette boxes, complete with shrink wrap. Across the top was a stamp: PROPERTY OF HELIX PHARMACEUTICALS AND ADVANCEMENTS in red lettering. In smaller black print just below it said: RED BREATH #2327.
The oddest thing about the cigarettes wasn’t their silvery gray paper, it was their scent – something he couldn’t quite place, though a battery of conflicting smells were suddenly soaking his nostrils: chocolate and vanilla, jasmine and fresh rain, spring after a hard winter, and though he knew it wasn’t possible — pussy.
Brad wanted to know what in the fuck Red Breath was, but even more, he wanted to know why in the hell had it been left in the hotel room. Maybe Doc Madsen hadn’t been murdered, because the briefcase had at least two things worth killing for, probably three, and yet they were all sitting safe at the back of the closet.
Hammer sat at the desk and opened the lid to his laptop, then plugged the flash drive into the port and waited for it to pull the data. There must have been a shit ton to read because his super fast laptop kept spinning while Brad went on waiting.
When the files finally sorted themselves on the screen, Brad about went apeshit.
There might have been a quarter million in the briefcase, but it was pennies compared to the thumb drive. Brad could have spent all night if not all week going through the two years of research. It took him nearly an hour to understand half of what he was seeing, then another hour to finally believe it.
Red Breath was the world’s first super sex drug in its most potent form. But for all its wonder, the drug in its current form was apparently peppered with problems. Brad wasn’t sure where to start looking since every limb of research sent him in a dozen new and confusing directions. Rather than the actual research, Brad found the most telling information in Dr. Madsen’s notes.
It turned out the doctor was prescribing himself a taste of his own medicine, and judging by the documented doses had turned into quite the junkie, moving from casual use to constant intoxication in just under two months.
The drug also appeared to affect different psyches in different ways. The
doctor never should have self-medicated, at least not before he found a way to dilute it. Being a lab nerd since high school hadn’t prepared Madsen’s mind to deal with the drug, and it looked like it had eaten him alive. A guy like Brad, on the other hand, could take a dose of the Breath to amplify what he already had, without the danger of it completely altering his brain chemistry.
Brad leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thick head of dark brown hair, staring at the briefcase and the open carton of Red Breath. He knew he shouldn't take it, and the whisper inside him was screaming for him to stop, but Brad smelled the adventure, and loved how much the odds were in his favor.
Dr. Madsen was a nerd, Brad wasn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an endless supply of the drug, Brad didn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an academic interest, Brad’s was purely social.
Of course, Dr. Madsen didn’t have Agent Grayson, who would be furious with him if she knew what he was doing. But she would never know if he didn’t tell her.
The open briefcase was a no-win situation. If Brad said yes, he’d be breaking protocol and the law, maybe even jeopardizing his health or safety. If he said no, he would wonder what he’d missed for the rest of his life.
Red Breath helped men cum multiple times in a row, with no dilution in desire or performance. That was enough to make him pull one of the cigarettes from the package, hold it under his nose, and inhale the sweet scent of chocolate, vanilla, jasmine, fresh rain, spring after a hard winter, and pussy.
He felt an immediate swell in his cock, as the scent made it easy to imagine the Red Breath working inside him. He placed the paper between his lips, then held it there as he fished through the briefcase for a lighter. He pulled a silver Zippo from the inner flap of the briefcase, then held it under the cigarette still dangling from his lips, suddenly too scared to light it.
What if a single breath changed him?
What if he lost control like Madsen had?
What if there was no turning back, and Red Breath was forever?
Brad shook his head at his own paranoia, sat at the edge of the bed, then lit the cigarette, drawing a deep drag of the smoke, where he held it in his well practiced lungs, just like the weed he “officially” never smoked.
Brad blew the first long trail of scarlet smoke into the room and stared at the crimson cloud which gave the drug its name. His head went buzzing, quickly followed by his entire body. He couldn’t imagine doing anything, but sitting in the chair as a flutter of something he’d never felt before rippled through his body like the tease of an approaching orgasm.
His muscles were completely relaxed and he felt like he was sitting in a tube being rushed down a gentle river. For a moment he forgot where he was, as he turned in circles, blinking at his empty hotel room. While the world around him felt as though it had slowed, his thoughts had accelerated. There was a multiple more than usual, and most of them were centered around the same message being sent to his brain.
He suddenly wanted to fuck.
No, he needed to fuck, and not just fuck, but fuck the living shit out of someone.
Brad’s cell suddenly thrummed against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen – a local Atlanta number. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi there, Agent Hammer, this is Willow, Willow Monroe. We spoke earlier today about...”
“Yes, of course Miss Monroe,” Brad cut her off. “How can I help you?”
The memory of her pert tits and sweet scent made his throbbing cock throb harder.
“I have some information that I think might be relevant to your case.” She paused, then dropped her voice to a whisper and added, “I know it is.”
“What’s loosened your tongue? Don’t you still have a non-disclosure to worry about?” The thought of Willow Monroe’s loosened tongue had him imagining it lapping the fat of his shaft.
Willow whispered even softer. She kept her tone professional, but Brad thought she sounded sexy as fuck. “I think I’m being followed, and I don’t think I’m safe. They don’t want me to tell you what I know.” She sounded like she was trying to keep herself from crying. “I think they might try to kill me, too. Just like they…” she trailed off, then said. “Is there somewhere we can meet? I’m in the car now. I can meet you anywhere.”
“Yes, of course Miss Monroe. Do you know where the Georgian Terrace is?”
“On Peachtree?’
“That’s right,” he said. “I’ll be in the hotel bar in 15 minutes. Can you meet me there?”
“Yes,” she said. I’m on my way now.” After a long second of silence, Willow added, “Thank you Agent Hammer,” then the line went dead.
Brad needed approximately two minutes to get downstairs to the bar, but figured he needed at least five to fist fuck the seed from his cock, and another five to clear the evidence. He couldn’t exactly head downstairs with his dick fat enough to fuck a tailpipe.
Brad was still swimming in the Red Breath when he went into the bathroom, dropped his pants to the floor, took his cock in hand – which felt twice as big as it ever had before – then held himself over the bathtub and tossed one off in under a minute, with a giant glob of pudding flying from the open eye of his snake.
He took a minute to admire the size of his splatter, cleaned himself up, closed the briefcase, slipped it inside the closet with his bag in front of it, hoped to hell he wasn’t making the worst mistake ever, then headed from his room to the hotel bar.
His body was a silent inferno. He stepped up to the bar and ordered a double shot of Patron, hoping the alcohol would do something to douse the Red Breath taking over his body.
He felt like the Terminator of Twat; scanning the room and mentally evaluating every available hole. His eyes settled on a hot piece of ass: his perfect type, with lightly bronzed skin and shoulder length coffee-colored hair, with a modest length skirt and a thin, tight tank top.
Brad didn’t have to move a muscle. He simply stood at the bar and sipped his Patron. She was standing beside him at the bar a minute later.
“Hey there,” she said.
Brad ordered Coffee-Colored Hair a double shot of Patron to match his own, then they made small talk for the two minutes it took the bartender to fill her glass.
Coffee Hair lifted the shot to her lips, winked at Brad, took it down in a fluid gulp and swallowed like a good girl, smiling like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of throat yogurt. She then stood on her tip-toes, leaned into Brad’s ear and whispered, “Ever fucked a tight pussy in a public restroom before?”
Of course he had, more times than he could count, starting back when the little birdie at the bar was probably still in preschool. And holy hotbox and a hell yeah, Brad wanted to fuck her silly in the bathroom right now. His just emptied cock was already throbbing.
Brad whispered back. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you, darling?”
“Of course I do,” she laughed. “Now follow me.” Coffee Hair skipped from the bar, across the lobby, then over toward the bathroom. She stepped inside the men’s room. Brad followed a step behind, locking the door behind him.
Brad’s hands went straight for her firm, young tits as she latched her mouth onto his and started working the zipper of his pants. Brad pulled the straps of her tank-top down past her shoulders, and then unfastened her bra, spilling her spheres of milky flesh with their bright pink nipples pointing straight at him.
Brad kneaded them hard, then brought them to his mouth, first one and then the other as Coffee Hair moaned and writhed beneath his lips.
“Holy shit, dude,” she said, finally freeing Brad’s massive cock. “That’s the biggest dick I’ve ever seen!” She dropped to her knees and looked up, her eyes pleading. “Please let me suck you off, I want to so, so bad. I want to swallow your cum and have you cum on my face and tits. Then I want to make you hard again so you can fuck me in my pussy and make me cum like I did for you.”
Brad had met the girl just five minutes befor
e and she was begging and panting like she’d been waiting her whole life and probably meant every word. Brad was used to girls falling all over him, but he had never seen anything like this.
“Is that really what you want?” Brad asked. “For me to fuck you?”
“Yes!”
“Then beg me.”
“Please mister, please will you fuck me?”
“Louder.”
“PLEASE FUCK ME!”
“Suck it!” Brad said.
Coffee Hair took Brad’s 10-12 inches into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head and worked her way to his balls. He fucked her mouth for a full minute, nearly losing himself to the ecstasy. Brad could feel the Red Breath taking over, whispering that his pleasure was all that mattered.
The smart part of his brain pulled back, afraid he would badly hurt her. As much as he wanted to keep fucking her mouth until he flooded it with spunk, he pulled out just seconds from cumming, pulled her to her feet, reached beneath her skirt, then ripped off her panties.
With his right hand, Brad massaged her clit, finger-fucking her tight pussy as she bucked against his hand and swore to every God worshipped around the globe that he was the best Earth had to offer, humping his hand into a body shattering orgasm. She slapped her palm against the wall and screamed. Brad muffled her mouth with his hand and growled, “Shut the fuck up or someone will bust in here.”
He withdrew his hand, and replaced it with his mouth as he continued to thrust his fingers in her box. When she was done shaking, he roughly turned her around, leaned her against the wall, then shoved his cock in her cunt, all the way to the base.
Once inside, Brad held nothing back, thrusting her into whimpers, stretching her walls like damp cotton as his hands danced between her ass and tits – rubbing her raw; pinching, and playing. Coffee Hair reached down and started playing with her clit and Brad’s balls, swinging wildly as he pounded behind her.
Something was happening inside him that he still didn’t understand. There was a split down the middle of his mind, the pleasure promising to punish the pain and make it leave forever, if only Brad would let it.
The XXX Files Season One (Episodes 1-4) Page 4