The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8)

by Maxxwell, Lexi

  “Great,” Brad said, stripping do nothing, then dressing like a pimp, starting with a feathered hat on his head.

  XXX

  CHAPTER 4 — Courtney Grayson

  Courtney hoped Brad was having better luck then her. She had been questioning coeds for an hour and had almost nothing, at least not anything she couldn’t have scripted herself.

  The list Sister Theresa had given her was filled with several names from a group of girls, all waiting in a multipurpose room to get questioned by one of the agents. Though Brad surely wished it was him, Courtney was glad it wasn’t the second she opened the door. Every girl in the room was a looker, and gravity had yet to have its way with a single one. Tits were firm and lips were pouting. Courtney could practically feel their ripe, glistening slits. Brad would have gone nuts in the room, his Jekyll surrendering to his extremely horny Hyde. She would have likely been forced to stand back and witness the squishing.

  If there really was a ghost jacker, she could certainly understand his fascination.

  Courtney led the girls one by one into what Sister Theresa had called “the sacred space.” She didn’t see what was so sacred about it, and the space was barely a closet. Still, it was big enough for Courtney to question the girls one at a time, and probably for Brad to wiggle his root of all evil into the sacred space of the tightest coeds. Again, she was glad they swapped lists.

  Each of the girl’s stories was stitched with similar thread: the girls couldn’t put their fingers on it, but each felt somehow watched, and had for a while. It was hard to figure out when it all started since no one said anything out loud until two weeks earlier when Carli Hope was stepping out of the shower and got smacked with “like a cup of spunk” on her right nipple. The day after that, Lindsey Jensen took what at first looked like a slightly smaller load on the face, almost immediately followed by a much larger second. Then there were a few days where nothing else happened with the spunk, at least not directly on the girls. But it was everywhere in the locker room, and no matter what they did or where they went on campus, the girls always felt like they were being ... observed.

  One theory, introduced by a stunning brunette named Regina Gorman — whom Courtney prayed Brad didn’t see — suggested that the ghost peeper was all a setup from the faculty because the sisters at Saint Ursula thought so many of the girls who attended the school had loose morals, and told them so often. Regina figured the ghost jacker was their way of scaring the coeds into curbing their behavior.

  But that theory didn’t sit well with Carli or Lindsey, both who felt the sticky heat of the ghost loads on their skin, and had a hard time believing the sisters had anything to do with it, or with any of the handful of girls who would be happy to swear on a high stack of bibles they were being watched as they masturbated, otherwise alone in their room.

  Courtney was glad she thought to ask the first girl, freshman Lucy Sandoval, if she ever felt watched when she masturbated. It seemed almost out of line, except that she needed answers, worked for Division 69, and didn’t want Brad to take over that part of the investigation. It took some goading, but eventually Lucy came clean.

  “Yeah,” she said, red faced and nodding. “I had to stop doing it. When I first got to school it used to be a great way for me to release stress, especially around finals — who has time for a relationship — but now I always feel creepy.”

  “How did you know you were being watched?”

  Lucy stared into space for a minute, taking forever to answer. Finally, she shrugged and said, “I don’t know, exactly. I just did. I’d swear on my life that there was someone in the room.”

  It was a bold statement, echoed by several other girls. One of the girls, Jenna Lewis, who had larger features and a smaller body than all the other girls, admitted to feeling the presence, but actually liking it.

  “Yeah, I could totally feel someone in the room, but I just pretended I was on a webcam, which has always been a fantasy of mine, anyway. I sat in a chair in the corner, with one leg draped over each side. Normally I like to finger myself with the lights off, but I have no idea if ghosts can see in the dark so I started masturbating with the lights on instead. The first time I just used my fingers, but the feeling of being watched got me so wet, now I’m using some pretty large toys. You know how it is.”

  Courtney didn’t. Brad couldn’t watch her doing anything for more than a few seconds before he was climbing her like a tree. Jenna’s roommate didn’t get it either.

  “I feel like the ghost is camping out in our place. I can always feel him watching, probably because Jenna’s always sitting in the corner with the lights on, fucking herself with something giant and gross.”

  The problem with the ghost jacker, like all ghosts, was that he didn’t leave clues. No matter how forthcoming the girls were, it was impossible for Courtney to separate truth from fiction. There was no starting point since anything the ghost did outside of shooting his spunk could either have a hundred other explanations, or simply be a figment of a girl’s imagination. Other than yards of crusted cream in the locker room, Courtney had nothing to go on.

  She decided to bring the questioning into reality. After finishing all the short, individual interviews, Courtney left the sacred space, returned to the multipurpose room, and asked the group of girls a general question.

  “Has anyone seen anything that could be considered far more normal than a ghost, yet still it strikes you as odd?”

  “What do you mean?” Lindsey asked.

  “Like someone you’ve seen on campus who seems like they don’t belong. Or maybe someone who works here at Saint Ursula — either support staff or faculty — who has been behaving uncharacteristically.” After a second she added, “Or maybe someone on a date doing something strange?”

  “All of my dates do stuff that’s strange,” Carli said.

  Jenna piped, “That’s not what she meant.” She turned to Courtney. “That could be said of any of the dudes who work here. They’re all so pent up from working around the sisters, and seeing all girls bouncing all the time, they all seem like they could boil over at any minute.

  “Jenna!” her roommate exclaimed.

  “Well, it’s true,” Jenna said.

  “Agent Grayson?” Lucy raised her hand.

  “Yes?”

  “I think the janitor, Mr. Gellar is super creepy. And he’s always staring at us. I’m sure he would turn invisible if he could.”

  A chorus of agreement circled through the room. Courtney said her thanks, then left to find both Brad and the janitor.

  She was out of the multipurpose room for maybe 10 steps when she saw Brad walking toward her, wearing a long purple jacket, buttoned at the middle but still showing his strong bare chest beneath. He also wore a large wide-brimmed hat with a feather sticking out from the top.

  “Are you kidding me?” Courtney said, trying not to laugh. “Why are you dressed as a pimp?”

  Brad said, “Because the only clothes I could find were in the Drama Department, and these were the only duds in my size. I guess this means the sisters see all guys as pimps.”

  “Why did you need new clothes?”

  Brad looked like he wished she hadn’t asked, then said, “Because I was interviewing one of the girls who thought she saw something — she totally didn’t, she just wanted to ask me if I’d ever fired my gun, then when I said yes she wanted to know if I had ever killed anyone — then midway through the interview I got splashed with like a gallon of ghost goo. Most of it got on me, but the girl got some too. Right on her cheek. She went to her room to clean up.

  Courtney looked at Brad, suspicious, “Why would the ghost jacker spooge all over you, totally out of the blue? Were you interviewing a naked coed?”

  “No,” Brad said. His face turned three shades of red as he changed the subject. “What did you get?”

  “Nothing really,” Courtney shrugged. “The girls all feel like they’re being watched, both in the shower and in their rooms during th
eir alone time.”

  “Oh?” Brad raised his eyebrows. “Tell me more.”

  “There’s nothing else to tell, jerk. They feel like they’re being watched. That’s it. I think most of the girls are having a hard time believing the ghost is real, despite the locker room full of crusted sperm.”

  “Spunk, sponge, jizz, cum, baby batter, cocksnot, spoo, dick cream, man glue, nut butter, ball juice, hot milk — any of those will work, but no one says sperm, Grayson. It makes you sound old.”

  “Jesus Christ, Brad! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Cock vomit,” he said.

  Courtney ignored Brad’s vulgarity, and told him what the girls said about the janitor.

  “Well that sounds like a lead,” he said. “So I take it we’re on our way to go find Mr. Mopup?”

  “Yes,” Courtney said. “His name is Mr. Gellar. If we can’t find him sweeping up at Saint Ursula, then I suggest we go to his residence since he’s our best lead and I’d love to put this to bed.”

  “Yeah,” Brad nodded. “ME, too. Let’s get going.” He pulled the hat lower on his head so the feather pointed straight in front of him.

  “Do you have to wear that? I mean the hat, too?”

  “Yup,” Brad said. “It matches.” He paused, then turned to Courtney. “Unless you want me to go naked?”

  “Leave it on,” she said.

  XXX

  CHAPTER 5 — Brad Hammer

  Brad was relieved that Courtney had abandoned her questioning so quickly but had to wonder if it was because she believed him, or because she didn’t.

  If trust was MIA between them, everything else would crumble in its wake. Even though he knew that, and would never do anything to jeopardize his relationship with Courtney on purpose, at least if not for the Red Breath inside him, the vapor was thick in his blood. Brad couldn’t help being an asshole.

  He had to stop lying. The worst thing he could do would be to continue down his current path. If he didn’t stop soon he would end up in the same cycle was before, likely finding himself back at Adeline’s a few houses down, banging a waitress that was just good looking enough — and with a tight enough pussy — to make him willing to tolerate some of the world’s worst dirty talk.

  They looked for Gellar in the storage room, but the janitor wasn’t there. Everything seemed neat and orderly and smelled of Pine-Sol. Gellar was apparently anal to the extreme. Every shelf was neatly lined with cleaning supplies, with every row exactly even with the one behind it, every label facing front.

  “Wow,” Brad said, pointing at the supplies. “Even if this guy isn’t our ghost jacker, I still think he needs help.”

  “No shit,” Courtney said, barely paying attention as she looked around the tiny room.

  Brad said, “What exactly are we looking for?”

  Courtney ran a finger along the wall then brought it to her eyes, apparently saw nothing, then turned to Brad. “I’m not sure. I guess anything to show us that this is our guy. Whatever the ghost is doing in the locker room, he’s not doing it in here.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to shoot spoo in his sacred space.” Brad laughed.

  Courtney ignored him. “He’s the one who has to clean it all up, though,” she said. “Why would he want to do that?”

  “Maybe it’s part of the ritual? Maybe he likes to clean up his own sperm?” Brad laughed before he finished saying the word sperm.

  “I don’t see it,” Courtney said. “Wouldn’t that just feel like more of his job?”

  “Maybe,” Brad said. “Maybe not. I knew a guy once who was obsessed with his cum. He would jack off three times a day just to drink it. I walked in on him one time, he was totally upside down, trying to jack off into his mouth. Fucker finished right when I was walking in. He scooped that goo right off his face and into his mouth.”

  Courtney rolled her eyes, but Brad went on anyway.

  “He even told me he sometimes liked to order shit from restaurants, then go to the bathroom, make some secret sauce, then drizzle it on his food and eat it in front of everyone.”

  Courtney stared at Brad, shaking her head. “That’s my story, Hammer. Not yours. And it was Ricky Barnes, the kid who ate that mutagen and could cum like 20 times a day. He told us about the restaurant food when we questioned him together, and I walked in on him in the holding cell when he was upside down. You weren’t even there.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Brad said. “Same difference. The dude was still obsessed with his own cum.”

  “It’s not the same. Ricky Barnes liked it wet, and never had to scrape it from a metal locker.”

  “So you don’t think this is our guy?”

  “I’m not saying that,” Courtney said. “Just that I don’t know.”

  “Well let’s go find out.”

  “Let’s.”

  Brad left the janitor’s closet with Courtney a step behind. After a quick stop at the office to get Gellar’s address, the agents left Saint Ursula, drove across town, and 27 minutes later were pounding on Gellar’s front door.

  No answer.

  “Are you going to give me shit if I go in?” he asked Courtney, knowing she would, being the stickler for rules that she was.

  “Seriously, Courtney — if this is our guy, he’s invisible. We’ll never get an answer. If he’s not, then we’ll get to see how the other half lives.”

  “The other half of what?”

  “Come on, Courtney. Please?”

  “Fine.”

  A minute later Brad had the door opened and they were both stepping inside his apartment. Three minutes later Brad called out, “I don’t see any hot vanilla, fresh or dried. You?”

  “No,” Courtney yelled from somewhere far back in the apartment. Then, “This place is spotless. We should hire a janitor for home. It’s a lot messier since you moved in.”

  Brad said, “That’s because you didn’t know how to have fun before I got there.”

  Courtney surfaced from the back bedroom. “There’s nothing here, we should go.”

  Brad ignored her. “Do you think being a janitor is an art or a craft?”

  “Come on, I’m serious. Let’s get out of here.”

  Brad walked past Courtney, and went back into Gellar’s bedroom even though Courtney had just cleared it, talking on his way.

  “We really do owe the world’s janitors a giant thank you, you know. People take shits and make trash. It’s the janitors who clean it all up. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then we should be nicer to the people who keep us clean. Dealing with human waste has gotta be pretty goddamn humbling.”

  Courtney followed Brad into the bedroom, then over to the closet. He opened the door and turned back to his partner.

  “Would you want to handle used tampons?”

  “What is it you’re hoping to find while endlessly rambling, Hammer?”

  “That!” he cried, pointing to the closet floor.

  “Dirty clothes?”

  “Exactly,” Hammer said, so excited he was practically whistling through his teeth. “What’s wrong with you today, Courtney — are you on the slow train?”

  She widened her eyes and turned to Brad.

  And there it is.

  She cried out, “We have our man!”

  “Damn straight,” Brad agreed.

  A man as fastidiously neat as Gellar wouldn’t leave his dirty clothes in a pile, unless he had to strip naked and hide when he heard a couple of federal agents were coming through his door.

  Brad was about to yell, olly-olly-oxen-free but before he got to the first olly a cluster of air that seemed somehow more tightly bundled than the rest of the room’s molecules made a tiny ripple. The blur seemed suddenly taller — at least that’s what it looked like from just outside the closet — then it tore across the bedroom and into the hall.

  “After him!” Courtney yelled.

  Brad would have yelled, No shit! but was already after the blur and needed every bit of focus to make sure he didn’t lose hi
m.

  The agent gave chase, trusting his nose as he burst through the front door of Gellar’s apartment, then tore down the steps, following the scent of bleach and semen — the second smell stronger than the first.

  The blur made it to a small lawn in front of the building, then was stupid enough to run across it, giving Brad a bull's-eye to leap for.

  Brad jumped on the ghost jacker, sending what had to be Gellar hard to the grass as the agent rolled on top of him. He reached out for the jacker’s arm, intending to bend it behind his back, but realized as the arm throbbed in his hand — far too thin to belong to the fat janitor — that it was actually his engorged cock.

  “What the fuck, dude?!” Brad cried, throwing the janitor back to the grass, then kicking him hard in what he hoped was his dick.

  Though he couldn’t see it, Brad figured his foot must have hit its target since Gellar, if that’s who he was, curled himself into a tiny ball — it looked like a wide circle on the grass — and started weeping.

  “Too bad you can’t turn your bitch tears invisible,” Brad growled.

  The janitor cried louder.

  Brad looked up and saw Courtney standing at the foot of the stairs. She said, “I’d like to say it looks like we caught our guy, but actually it just looks like you’re crazy and talking to yourself.”

  “Just crazy in love,” Brad winked.

  Courtney rolled her eyes.

  Brad said, “Come on and help me with this asshole.”

  “Should I just grab one side of the crying?”

  “Works for me.” Brad leaned down, wrapped both hands around what he was almost positive was the guy’s arm, then pulled the asshole to his feet. “Watch out for his cock,” Brad warned her.

  Courtney shook her head as they led the still invisible janitor toward their Lincoln. Brad asked, “How the hell did you turn invisible?”

  “I’m not saying shit until I get my attorney,” the voice came from nowhere.