The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8)

by Maxxwell, Lexi

  “He’s writing erotica e-books, under a pen name as some chick. Tons of weird shit, like Bigfoot fucking, and way worse than that!” he laughed. “He has one series where this girl is prisoner of these werewolves, and they’re trying to breed her. People love that shit. He’s making an ass ton of money — definitely more than we are.”

  “Damn, who knew there were so many Bigfoot fetishists out there? I’m in the wrong line of work. Wait ... ” Brad paused, trying to pull a memory from the bottom of his brain to the top. “Was the werewolf pack based on the lycan tribe out in the Gobe?”

  “Well, of course,” Thaddeus shrugged. “How else would Spatz know about mating habits, or be able to describe their lairs in detail? Of course, names and places are changed and all that jazz or jizz or whatever. And it’s not like anyone would believe it anyway.”

  “Are all his books based on Division cases?”

  “Pretty much,” Thaddeus nodded, “Yeah.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about his work.”

  “Professional courtesy,” he blushed, then changed the subject. “So, can I show it to Spatz or not?”

  “Sure, that’s fine. How long will you need it?”

  “I dunno,” Thaddeus scooped the jar from the table and wrinkled his nose. “Give me a couple of days, and I’ll get back to you with whatever I find.”

  “OK,” Brad said, standing to leave and nearly tripping over a pile of “Popular Mechanics” as he stepped away from his pile of crates. He was eager to flee the dark apartment. “But listen — you don’t tell anyone where you got this. Understand?”

  “Yeah, sure thing, Hammer,” Thaddeus said from behind a nervous grin.

  Brad stepped toward him, broadcasting his most serious fuck-me-over-and-pay glare. Brad’s reputation was practically legend throughout Division 69, and among both active and non-active agents and associates. It only took one look from Brad for Thaddeus to know he wasn’t messing around.

  The answer man fell a step back and, like Brad, nearly tumbled over a stack of magazines, except his mountain was made from “Victoria’s Secret” catalogues. Thaddeus must have known the layout of his garbage trail by heart since he managed to swerve, while making it look easy, even though the pile was behind him. He landed flat on his feet and said, “OK, Brad, I swear — I won’t say shit to anyone, including Courtney. Promise.”

  His face was exactly as serious as it needed to be. “Thank you,” Brad said, then stepped through the living room as if walking through a minefield, then made it outside into the bright morning light and crossed the lawn to his Lincoln.

  His cell rang a few feet from the door. He opened the Lincoln with his left hand while pulling the phone from his pocket with the right. He looked at the screen: Courtney.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Division needs us in Florida, more weird shit going down.”

  “In Florida? Wow. Giant shock,” Brad said. “What is it this time?”

  “I think it’s better for you to see for yourself. I’m sending a video clip. We’re behind on this one, Hammer. It’s already viral.”

  Brad waited for the video to download, then clicked Play.

  The video opened with the camera focused on a giant yellow sign which read, “Happy 60th Anniversary Frank and Stella!!!” The camera held the sign for six seconds, then panned down to a long table piled with a full buffet’s worth of food, then lower. Brad nearly threw up in his mouth.

  On the floor was more wrinkled skin than a rescue shelter full of Shar-peis; a mountain of nude blue, gray, and no-hairs all bumping uglies on the restaurant floor. It looked like at least 50 people, most old, but a few younger, at least by comparison. Some ancient, all were swimming in a seething sea of the weirdest orgy Brad had ever seen — and he’d seen a helluva lot more than most.

  “You believe this shit?” a young guy’s voice said, narrating the footage.

  Suddenly, a large, old lady with tits to her knees spotted the man shooting the video and ran toward him, arms parted and screaming, “Come here, Sonny, show me what you got!”

  The man ran for his life, and the video ended.

  “You ever seen anything like it?” Courtney asked. For a second Brad nearly forgot she was on the line.

  “No,” he said, stunned, and rather embarrassed to acknowledge, totally turned on.

  Wow, now I’m getting hard from the Betty White Brigade. My life just dipped into an all new low.

  After what must have been a long silence, where Brad stood on his end imagining what it would be like to be sucking for air at the bottom of a pile of wrinkles, Courtney said, “Hey, Hammer, you there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just imagining all those old people. Definitely not pretty.” He imagined liver spots and wrinkles, along with the scent of pee and aspirin. He wondered if pussy smelled different after turning antique.

  “No, definitely not pretty,” Courtney agreed.

  “So what’s the deal, with the video I mean?”

  Courtney explained: “The video was for the anniversary of Frank and Stella Goldblatt, held in the Shady Palms Retirement Village. A waiter working the on-campus restaurant shot the video before he was thrown to the ground and assaulted by three women old enough, and I quote, ‘to be my grandma’s grandma.’”

  “What happened?” Brad asked.

  “Nobody knows. That’s why we’re headed there now. Cooper’s being a dick and wants us to check in with Division — in person — before we hit the plane. So I’ll take one for the team and check in for both of us. I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll even pack. All I need you to do is finish whatever it is you’re doing and meet me at the airport in two hours. We’re at Gate B29.”

  “OK,” Brad said, thinking it was both amazing and wonderful how much Courtney trusted him. “I’m on my way.”

  Brad hung up the phone, hating himself for knowing what he was about to do, and life for the mountain of sticky geezers who made him want to do it.

  XXX

  CHAPTER 2 — Brad Hammer

  It wasn’t like Brad had a choice — he had to get his dick wet before meeting Courtney at the airport. Red Breath had him by the balls and had filled the pair with what felt like a gallon of cum.

  And from fucking old people.

  He couldn’t imagine sitting in the plane, a prisoner of certain claustrophobia and too many variables to count. What if he sat across from a piece of ass as good looking as that Mandy from the sex meeting? He might be able to get Courtney to go “mile-high” with him once, but what about after that? What if the sweet piece of ass who may or may not be seated beside him on the plane turned around and smiled, or winked? What if she was wearing something low-cut, and had honey-kissed tits spilling from the top and begging for his mouth? What if they served the turkey sandwiches they sometimes did, and she accidentally squirted mayo on her lips while he watched. What if she didn’t know it was there and it stuck to her lips as she took a half hour to eat her goddamn sandwich?

  FUCK! I need to find a hole, the wetter the better.

  Brad didn’t feel like hunting for pussy. He wanted to get his needs taken care of, then get to the airport as fast as he could. And he didn’t want Courtney to suspect him, so that meant it would be best if he managed to beat her.

  Brad wasn’t looking for a wife, he was looking for a hot hole. There was no mystery or intrigue. Hell, he didn’t even need variety. He needed open legs and an invitation. The easier the better. That meant a strip club, and if Brad was home and not on the road, Pole Position was the only club that would do.

  Brad had been to every strip club in the city more times than he could count, but Pole Position was the best, by far. A few years back, the only place Brad had ever seen a Pole Position was up the I-69 in Inferno Falls, back when he and Courtney were investigating a string of disappearing whores. Now the clubs were popping up everywhere, spreading its brand of bacchanal like a gospel across the land. The landscape of women shaking their titties to hair metal
and hip-hop would never be the same.

  There were some great clubs in the city, with friendly dancers and even surprisingly delicious food, but Pole Position was in a league of its own. The club was large enough that Brad felt like he could easily disappear inside it, their beer list was better than most restaurants, and the food was damn tasty, and cheap. It was also decorated with what Brad considered the perfect blend of slightly classy, to keep the prudes happy, and downright nasty for the folks who liked their shit to look roadside. Shockingly, the thing Brad liked most about Pole Position was the comfort. The music was always terrific, and he was surprised by how often he didn’t hear hair metal or hip-hop, but rather many of the same songs he had on his iPod, and the club never played the music too loud. Despite its size, the club was cozy, and the dancers were always easy to talk to. Best of all, Pole Position had Starla.

  People judged strip clubs with different criteria. There were things Brad loved about Pole Position that others wouldn’t give a shit about. But for him, the place ticked all the boxes: dancers, drinks, food, general vibe, and above all — diversity. Brad cared about the selection of girls more than anything, and Pole Position had them in every size, shape, and color. Whether he wanted to be surprised, or he was thinking of something specific, he could drive out to Pole Position certain he’d find it. Tonight, he wanted a redhead. More than that, he wanted a redhead who would give him exactly what he wanted, then forget about him the second he left.

  Pole Position was reasonably close to the airport, making Brad wish they had showers. It would be fantastic if he didn’t have to double back.

  He paid his cover, then went straight to the bar and ordered a bottle of Guinness. The not-too-hot but perfectly tasty waitress asked if she could get him anything else. “Sure,” Brad smiled. “Do you have anything in red?”

  The waitress laughed. “Yes, of course. Tall or short? Do you like meat on your bones?”

  Brad’s cock was already throbbing. “Tall or short, skinny or healthy, it doesn’t matter to me,” She smiled again, then turned from Brad. He added, “A couple of tattoos would be nice,” knowing that would guarantee a return trip with Starla.

  “You got it,” the waitress winked.

  She was back in less than two minutes, towing a stunning strawberry blonde behind her.

  “Hey there,” the stripper said. “My name’s Starla. I heard you were looking for a good time?”

  “I am,” Brad said. “And you look to be exactly that.”

  The waitress disappeared, and Starla said, “Can I interest you in a private show?”

  “There’s nothing in the world I’d love more.”

  Starla grabbed Brad’s hand, then led him across the floor to one of Pole Position’s many, many private rooms.

  Starla waited for a new song, then started to strip, knowing exactly what Brad wanted without him having to broadcast a word. The Red Breath did that for him. She pulled a tiny, sheer, gauzy slip-like dress over her head, spilled her tits into Brad’s face, then started massaging them, turning her nipples hard on contact before twisting her body so Brad could stare at her creamy ass — nice and round in her lacy pink thong.

  Brad was seconds from throwing her to the floor and doing whatever the fuck he wanted, but he leaned up into Starla so she could more deeply inhale the scent of Red Breath in his blood instead.

  He nibbled on her ear, and she started to lightly moan.

  Starla parted her body from his and whispered, “I take it you want full service?”

  “Definitely,” Brad said.

  Starla smiled, pulled her panties down past her ankles, then stood in front of Brad naked, running her fingers along the line of her slit. “Mmmm,” she moaned.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s hot,” Brad whispered as his hand dropped to his cock. He moved closer, then ran his thumbs across Starla’s nipples before leaning in to suck them. She set her hand on his head, pushed it deeper between her breasts, and quietly moaned.

  After filling his mouth with each of her tits, Brad pulled himself from Starla, then pointed to the short bench running along the wall. “Sit down and spread your legs.”

  She did, and Brad dropped to a crouch, not getting his knee on the floor, then inserted his middle finger and started probing her overheated hole.

  “Mmmm,” she moaned again. Brad spun her around, added a second finger, then started sliding them both back and forth as juices slid down Starla’s ass. He moved closer, licking her clit and enjoying one of his life’s great pleasures: a woman in heat. Brad’s good looks made it easy, but the Red Breath made it cake.

  Starla’s pussy was already a fountain. “Oh, God,” she whimpered, taking his stabbing fingers for another minute before she started begging him to fuck her. Brad bent her over instead, fingering her fuckhole faster and harder, adding a third finger then shoving all three digits deeper inside her.

  “Oh, yeah; oh, God; oh, yeah; oh, God; oh, yeah;, oh, God,” she groaned over and over, as if all her other words were broken. She pushed her ass hard against his hand until her body tensed, she arched her back, and screamed loud enough for the entire club to hear her. “Oooooo, MY GOD!”

  Starla came hard gushing all over the bench and floor.

  “Fuck!” Brad groaned, now ready to fuck her.

  “What are you waiting for, Mister? Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

  “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready,” Brad said, getting to his favorite part. “But you’re gonna suck my dick first. And the better you do it, the faster I’ll fuck you.”

  Starla fell to her knees as if she’d been waiting for the invitation, then pulled Brad’s dick from his pants and shoved the entire thing in her mouth, sucking on it hard for several seconds before she popped it from her mouth and started lapping fast at his throbber, first with greed, then slowing to suckle him gently, then almost immediately harder as she slid him down her throat and back, slightly schizophrenic, as if trying to meet the sop of her own burning cunt with Brad’s instructions that the better it was the faster he’d fill up her pussy.

  “Oh, yeah,” he grunted, pushing her head forward. “That’s how you suck it.”

  Starla painted Brad’s shaft for a full minute before his body started to twitch.

  “You want this big cock?” he moaned. “You want it, don’t you? You want this big dick inside your hot little cunt?”

  “Mmm ... yeah, so so much,” she moaned.

  Brad bent Starla practically in half. She slapped her hands on the private room’s mirrored wall as he rammed his dick inside her.

  “Oooooo, MY GOD!” she groaned, cumming again. Her pussy squirted everywhere, all over Brad’s pelvis before raining on top of his puddled pants. He rammed her harder, grabbing Starla’s hips as he pounded himself into her soaking hole, smacking her ass as he pumped her harder.

  “Spank me,” she screamed through ragged breath.

  Brad smiled, getting exactly what he wanted. His dick felt right inside her, making him glad he came to the club. A thought of Courtney fluttered to his mind’s surface, but he shoved it down, drowning it before it could come up for air. Another thought, this one of Willow, rose in its place. Brad let that one slip through as he slapped Starla hard enough to leave a bright red mark on her creamy cheek. She grunted, groaned, then squirted again, her pleasure obviously blending with her pain and sending her over the edge.

  “You’re a naughty little slut, aren’t you?” Brad said, banging her twat.

  “Mmm ... yeah, I’m so, SO naughty,” she groaned.

  “Hmm ... I wonder how naughty?” Brad said, suddenly wanting more, and willing to run late to the airport to get it. “Are you ready to take it in your ass?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Starla screamed. “FUCK my ASS!”

  Brad slid his cock from her cunt then shoved it into her pucker and started banging with fury. Starla moved her hand to her honey pot and started furiously rubbing her clit while Brad fucked her tightest hole.

  “Ooohhhhh, oooohhh
, oooohhh, oooohhh ... ” she grunted, cumming again. Brad’s cock pounded hard into her ass as she repeatedly moaned. Wanting to elasticize his pleasure, Brad kept himself from exploding. He was impressed with how long he was lasting, considering his throb when he entered the club.

  “UUUUhhhh,” Brad grunted. “I’m gonna shoot my hot load into your tight ass. Are you ready to take it, you hot little stripper slut?”

  He shoved himself deeper into Starla’s asshole as far as he could go, pounding relentlessly as she screamed in pleasure. “Yes, yes! Please, Mister, please cum in my ass!”

  Brad dug his fingers into Starla’s skin, slammed his pelvis so hard against her he was sure she would bruise, then blasted through his grunting.

  “Oh, yeah, there it is, I’m filling your hot ass with my sticky cum!”

  As always, Starla came with him, squirting her own cum all over the floor of the private room.

  “Mmmm ... ” they moaned together. Brad slowed to a stop and pulled himself out from inside her.

  Starla was on the floor in a pile.

  That was fucking awesome.

  As usual, Brad offered to pay. And like always, Starla refused through her whimpers, shuddering on the floor. “See ya next time,” he said, tucking his dick back in his cum-soaked pants, then stepping out from the private room.

  Twenty minutes later Brad was launching another shot of hot vanilla onto his shower tile as hot water blasted his back and he thought of Willow’s beautiful face, wondering if she would own a piece of his mind forever.

  He missed having her deeper in his thoughts, he missed being able to reach out and touch her in his mind, no different than if she were actually there, swimming in his sheets.

  It’s been seven months since I felt her. I wonder if she’s still alive?

  Brad stepped out of the shower, dried himself with a towel, then quickly dressed while still thinking of Willow. She had been so respectful, the way she pulled away once she realized how much he loved Courtney. And yet, a part of him was still connected to her, and he couldn’t help but think of her, often, especially when banging nympho redheads.