The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8)

by Maxxwell, Lexi

They reached the back of the Lincoln, and Brad slammed what he thought was Gellar’s face hard into the door.

  “So sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t see you.”

  XXX

  CHAPTER 6 — Brad Hammer

  Though Courtney knew full well that Brad wanted to fuck her, and had since they left the house together that morning, she managed to keep her partner’s dick in his pants when they got home, wanting to share a beer and discuss their day first instead.

  “Why are you making me wait?”

  “Because good things come to those who do, and because waiting makes everything better.”

  “Says you. I can get hard like five minutes after I cum now. Waiting is stupid. Can you at least take your shirt off while we talk?”

  Courtney ignored him and asked if he had any ideas how Gellar had made himself invisible. Division might, but they weren’t saying if they did.

  “If you like my theory, will you let me put stuff inside you, starting with my cock?”

  “Sure, Hammer.”

  “Are you ever going to stop calling me by my last name?”

  “Maybe when it’s my last name, too. Now, do you have any answers?”

  “I don’t know, maybe he was bending light somehow, or maybe it was some James Bond-style camouflage shit.”

  Courtney said, “What if he wasn’t really invisible?”

  “What? You did see me wrestle the blur, right? Sorry, but I was the one who was handing out invisible handjobs today. I’ll be tough to convince.”

  “What if he wasn’t actually invisible? Think about it — there were no security cameras, right? Not in the locker room or anywhere else, maybe what we saw was only psychological. A trick.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if it was more like hypnosis than invisibility, mind over matter?” Courtney took a swig from her beer and waited for Brad to answer.

  “I got it!” he said. “I know how it works.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, totally. I can make stuff disappear. Watch.” Brad grinned, gently pulled Courtney’s bottle from her hand, then leaned over the couch and set it on the other side. “See, I just made your bottle disappear.”

  Courtney laughed and looked over at the bottle. As she turned back to Brad he pressed his lips softly to hers and mumbled against her mouth.

  “Now I’m making your silly thoughts about work disappear. See how that works?”

  She started to say something like I do, but Brad pressed a finger to her lips, then lowered his head and kissed her along the outside of her leg where Courtney’s creamy skin met the bottom of her boxers.

  “You made these disappear from my drawer,” he said.

  Her tits rose and fell as her breath began to quicken, speeding up with every lick of Brad’s hot lips on her smooth skin. His fingers swept up the length of her inner thigh, drifting over her skin and drawing her into a flurry of gooseflesh.

  He knew she wanted it slow, so Brad saved faster for next time, losing his jacket to the floor, then dropping his over- and undershirts on top of the jacket while she stripped to nothing herself.

  He turned his attention to Courtney, unbuttoning her shirt with movements that were painfully slow for him but clearly a pleasure for her, kissing each section of her freshly exposed skin as he made his way to her waist, unbuttoned her shorts, slid his hand inside her damp panties, and ran a finger along her sticky crease.

  Courtney moaned, and Brad knew he had won.

  She slid Brad’s pants to his ankles, wrapped her soft hand around his hard cock, then pulled him closer to her. Their chests rose and fell in tandem, rocking with the rhythm of their shared movement. In seconds, Courtney’s first flush of hot juices were flowing between his fingers.

  Brad moaned as Courtney’s hand tightened around his cock, and her muscles tightened through each fresh wave of pleasure.

  His hands found her hard nipples, and he rolled them between his finger and thumb, shivers swallowed vibrations as her body prepared for another flush of shudders and cumming.

  Brad stepped out from his slacks, then kicked them to the side as he hooked his fingers in the top of his boxers — on her ass — grabbing her panties at the same time then pulling them down together in a single swift motion.

  He kneeled in front of her.

  Courtney’s scent clouded his head as he splayed her slit with a pair of digits and started lapping at her sweet inner skin with his tongue. She screamed as pleasure shot through her from the wet of his tongue, through the throb of her body where it landed on her brain like the strike of a hammer.

  Courtney pled through breathless sputters, begging for Brad to fuck her. After another six dragging laps from his tongue, he grabbed her ass in his strong hands and swept her from the couch and then onto the floor, positioning the tip of his hammer against the opening of her hole, now dripping with her sweet, inner juices.

  “Why make me wait?” he asked. “You’re soaking wet!”

  “It’s more fun this way,” she giggled.

  Heat radiated from Courtney’s body as Brad entered her tight hole. He rocked her body back and forth, sending his pelvic bone smashing into her exposed clit, slowly at first, then almost immediately faster.

  She tugged at her tits, squeezing pleasure through each of his strokes. Her eyes popped back open watching Brad as he slammed inside her. Her pussy tightened around his pipe-hard cock and bleached his control.

  He didn’t have long, but then again they had all night.

  Brad’s throbbing cock shot thick loads of spunk, spattering Courtney’s inner walls and sending her into the usual convulsions.

  Only after the tenderness between them had passed did Brad finally relax enough to let the Red Breath drive him.

  He thought of Mandy from that morning and the coed from that afternoon. Mostly, he thought of Willow.

  Brad didn’t bother to pull out of her pussy, he just kept rubbing his pelvis against Courtney’s for slightly less than a minute until he was back to throbbing inside her. She loudly moaned, humming against his skin like she always did when he started fucking her for the second time in a row.

  Brad sloshed in and out of her squishy éclair, still cream-filled from a minute before. He pinched her nipples, hard enough to make her scream, then started swirling his hips in smallish circles, crashing his cock against Courtney’s inner walls, pushing her so deep into a moan that she sounded more like a wounded animal than a woman pounded.

  Brad fucked Courtney at such a furious speed that he had to slow his body, worried the friction might be too fast.

  She whimpered. “Why are you stopping?”

  “I’m not stopping,” Brad said, though his seres were so far inside his growl they were barely there. “I’m slowing.”

  “Why are you slowing?”

  “Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Still whimpering, Courtney said, “You won’t hurt me. I want you to fuck me, then cum all over my back.”

  Courtney lifted her body and pulled it from Brad. His cock fell out with a sticky squish, pointing high in the air like an arrow.

  Courtney crawled onto her knees, turned back to Brad, and spread her ass cheeks to give him a better view of her pink and puffy pussy; swollen, hungry, and ready to take his throbbing cock and the giant load that came with it.

  Without any words, and barely a sound, Brad sank inside her open hole.

  Squish.

  Courtney sighed and shuddered as Brad started to rock; slow then fast, and then faster after that, until he was squeezing his fingers hard into her waist, grunting and ready to blast. At the last second he remembered where she wanted his load, so he pulled out, wrapped his palm tightly around his cock, then fire-hosed Courtney’s creamy, pink back with a cup of his vanilla. He grunted and she screamed, though her yell was mostly for his pleasure.

  Spat, splat, splatter — warm cum rained on her hot skin. Courtney turned her head, smiling at Brad and spreading her ass cheek
s again so he could see how his cum oozed from her cunt.

  She fell to the floor, and Brad fell beside her.

  Their hands met, and they started rubbing their fingers together; slowly, softly and truly in love.

  Lying beside her, Brad felt the black cancer of his lies. He squeezed her hand tighter, willing it to go away, wishing he had spoken only truth, and wondering if the Red Breath had broken a part of him that would never be whole again.

  With Courtney, honesty should be easy. Brad truly loved her. He felt safe and comfortable, finally home. Yet, by lying to her Brad felt like he was holding a match to that home’s dried out garden.

  He had to tell her the truth because he couldn’t risk being without her. In Courtney’s absence, his dreams would die and never return.

  He had to resist temptation, stay away from it entirely. That meant not letting Red Breath get the best of him, to do that he would have to do what he had done since the day he got caught with the waitress — constantly remind himself how much better Courtney was than any potential alternative.

  Brad had a list, 47 items long, and on that list were all the main reasons he loved Courtney. Whenever temptation hung like a scent in the air, Brad would recite these reasons to himself, starting at #47 and counting back to #1: Because she trusted him, even though he couldn’t be trusted.

  Brad counted reasons as he drifted to sleep, losing consciousness somewhere around #21 while Courtney snored beside him.

  He woke up screaming, no longer on his living room floor.

  Brad was on a table. Above him hovered the aliens — the ones who often haunted his nightmares — staring down at him as they pulled the answers they needed from the silence inside him.

  He screamed again, thrashing against the cold metal at his back, trying to free himself.

  The aliens laughed, pressing their collective thumb into his inescapable torment.

  Brad screamed, then opened his eyes to the real world. He was still no longer on the floor of the living room, but as he blinked and looked around he saw that he was in their bed, safe and sound like he always was with his best friend, partner, and lover.

  Brad shuddered, realizing for the first time that the dreams following him into his new life with Courtney were new. He shuddered.

  Something seemed off, though Brad had no idea what that something was. He looked around the bedroom again, then over to Courtney snoring. She wore a thin smile, higher on one side then the other, seemingly lost in the most pleasant of dreams as her beautiful breasts rose and fell, naked beneath the sheet.

  Brad rested his head back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and again started counting down from #47.

  His eyes shot back open. Brad could suddenly feel what he couldn’t before. Something on his arm; a bump.

  He peeled the covers from his body, then bit his lip to keep from screaming as he ran his fingers over the bump that hadn’t been there before and whatever was beneath his skin moved, burying itself deeper until the bump was no longer showing.

  That wasn’t a dream.

  TO BE CONTINUED ...

  EPISODE 6

  CHAPTER 1 — Brad Hammer

  Brad Hammer sat in Thaddeus Edmund’s tiny, cramped, crappy ass apartment, staring at his tottering piles of trash, garbage, and assorted “treasures” while waiting for the him to return with a prognosis.

  Thaddeus was a dirty, filthy hoarder, and Brad only slightly preferred hanging out in his apartment to sloshing through Venetian sewers in pursuit of Italian fuckwuzzles, but he had no choice. There was no one better than Thaddeus when it came to giving Brad answers no one else had and probably couldn’t get, especially when he was running against the clock — which is what he was certainly had to do if there was something beneath his fucking skin. But what really made the horrors of his dingy apartment worth dealing with was that Thaddeus could be trusted to say nothing. Brad didn’t want Courtney to know what he found in his arm because her worry would be out of control, which was why he slipped out in predawn. Out of everyone they knew either in or involved with Division, Thaddeus was the one guy Brad knew would keep his secret safe from Courtney.

  Brad squinted, trying to figure out what sort of crap was piled a half dozen feet from his knee, without moving from his spot. The pile was waist high, with lots of plastic and dangling cords. Nothing in the miniature mountain looked like any sort of electronics Brad had ever seen. Though he had never been in his car, Brad imagined anything Thaddeus drove probably looked a lot like his house — likely piled with old notes and phone books, maybe cans of dog food, even though he didn’t have a dog. Brad pictured opening the passenger door and having to pivot clear as a wave of refuse rolled out from inside.

  In reality, his hoarding wasn’t too bad. It was clutter rather than filth. Thaddeus kept clothes he didn’t wear, but then again, who didn’t? Brad wasn’t exactly a neat freak, but he did like things tidy, and regularly expunged the stuff in his closet he didn’t wear. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few old threads from concerts, or shit he kept for nostalgia. He still had the olive green sweater he wore on his first date with Suzy Norman back when he was 19. By contrast, it looked like Thaddeus kept everything he ever bought, and since his closets didn’t have room to hold it all, his ephemera spilled into every room.

  Each of the rooms seemed to have at least one non-working TV — the bathroom had two — with stacks of old VHS tapes piled beside them. Though the living room was the largest room by far, it was also the most claustrophobic, with the largest number of piles, and a jumbo fridge that was too wide to fit through the narrow door leading back to the apartment’s tiny kitchen. The fridge was surrounded by a thrift shop’s worth of assorted electronics and appliances — all probably broken, especially the pre-Internet printers, which had tall stacks of perforated paper beside them.

  Even with an apartment harboring an apocalypse of clutter, dealing with Thaddeus was better than telling Courtney and hearing her worry out loud.

  The toilet flushed, the sink ran for exactly one second, then Thaddeus came back through the kitchen and into the living room, his hair in a hundred different places and big eyes bugged out like always behind thick glasses. An over-swollen gut stretched his sky blue Van Halen “1984” T-shirt to fraying threads, spilling just enough from the bottom for Brad to see his blotchy, red skin.

  It was hard to believe that Thaddeus was once one of Division 69’s best and brightest scientific minds, at least he was back before he went batshit crazy from one too many DMT trips.

  DMT was a psychedelic, and depending on the dose and means of ingestion, its effects ranged from a short-lived and rather mild psychedelic state, to a powerful and perhaps even out-of-body — fully immersive — experience. Thaddeus swore on every branch in his family tree that DMT allowed him to break connection with the conventional and tap into the alien realm. Maybe it did, but old Thaddeus had done the DMT at least one too many times, and now seemed to live in the “alien realm” more than anywhere else.

  “So,” Brad asked, crossing his legs at the ankle and trying to make his body smaller. “Any thoughts?”

  Thaddeus picked up the glass jar holding the small silver square that had been in Brad’s arm until Thaddeus dug it out 30 minutes before with instruments Brad hoped to fuck were more sterile than the rest of his trash heap. He brought it closer to his eyes, squinting from behind his lenses, even though Thaddeus had already looked at it under a high-powered microscope while making many mumbles and grumbles, refusing to “speculate out loud” until he had time to think on it.

  “If I had to guess,” Thaddeus pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, “I’d say it’s a transmitter, but not like anything I’ve ever seen.” He pushed the jar away from him and toward the table’s center, as if proximity equaled danger. “This is some future ass shit on a level we’re not even close to yet.”

  “What is it transmitting?” Brad asked.

  “Fuck if I know. I suppose you’ll find out when whoev
er put it in you comes to see why it’s no longer there!”

  “Great,” Brad muttered.

  Thaddeus looked at Brad closer, squinting his eyes almost suspiciously. “You think it’s the aliens, don’t you? The ones who took your girlfriend?”

  “The thought’s crossed my mind. I’ve been having these weird dreams — horrible — where I wake up on an operating table and there’s these shapes hovering above me. Then I wake up in bed, totally freaked. The dreams stopped for a while, and I figured I was finally free. Then last night I had one again, and for the first time I thought maybe they weren’t really dreams.”

  Brad reached across the table, picked up the jar, then held it in front of his eyes, examining the small, silver disk inside. It seemed so much bigger when it was a bulge beneath his skin.

  Brad set down the jar and turned to Beaker. “Why is it so small?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The transmitter, or whatever it is, it’s so small. And yet it made this big-ass bump in my arm. Any idea why?”

  “Hard to say,” Thaddeus shrugged. “It might just be the swelling, then again, it might be something else. How do you feel about leaving it with me? More time means more answers, and I can reach out to a friend of mine, get his four eyes on it, too.”

  “Do I know this friend?”

  “Um, well sort of.” Thaddeus hemmed, hawed, then finally said, “Derek Spatz.”

  Brad shook his head. “Spatz? Isn’t he the one who got busted for fucking the Bigfoot we had in captivity?”

  Thaddeus first blushed, then made excuses for the Sasquatch fucker. “Well, yeah, but Spatz was lonely. It had been a helluva long while for him, and who among us doesn’t get lonely every now and then? Besides,” he waved his hand as if swatting the thought, “it wasn’t like it was a male Sasquatch. What are we talking, two steps down on the evolutionary ladder? Maybe three?”

  “Oh, excuse me, well I guess that makes it OK,” Brad joked, ashamed that he could at least sort of relate. “So, what’s Spatz been doing these days, if not fucking semi-humans?”