The XXX Files Season Two (Episodes 5-8) (2 page)

Brad imagined Mandy’s fingers sloshing in and out of her sopping pussy, pink and puffy and perfect; pictured her twisting her nipples, stretching them out from her beautiful breasts while calling his name.
 

FUCK!

“Of course, when you’re in your teens and always wanting to have sex, it’s easy to get taken advantage of. And I did. Lots. I was never raped, but I was manipulated — not that I blame anyone other than myself. I had a self-destructive streak, and it seemed like I was
looking
for the bad guys to do awful stuff to me. I was so attracted to them it became almost impossible to say NO. I was 16 the first time I ever managed to shake my head in the right direction. I was with a guy who wanted me to have sex with him and four of his buddies. I was a little turned on by the suggestion but thought it was over the line, especially since I was already starting to change my behavior.” Mandy held her breath for a second, as if trying to keep her voice from cracking. She exhaled and continued.
 

“I held my ground for a few days, then went ahead and did it. By the end of high-school, I wasn’t just fucking my two male teachers for better grades, I was fucking them to get my friends’ friends better grades, too.”
 

He felt bad, mining enjoyment from Mandy’s obvious misery; picturing her getting passed from person to person in a sweaty circle. Brad was grateful for the Red Breath to blame his depravity on.
 

“It took me years to get everything under control, but I finally did. I made it through college and am now one year from graduating with an art history degree ... ” Mandy paused to acknowledge the smiles the smiling crowd. “ ... But I’ve recently started stripping, and doing some webcam stuff to pay my bills. I don’t feel bad, exactly. I actually like it. But now I’m worried I might be feeding my addiction. I don’t know,” she shook her head and stared at the carpet, “it would be like trying not to overeat while working at a pizza place that also sold donuts. I thought my worst impulses were finally buried, but lately I can’t look at any guy without wanting to have sex with him.”

I’m in love.
 

Brad stared at Mandy, his cock so hard he thought it might throb through the denim. He slipped his hand past the waistband of his jeans, straightened his dick, then stood from his hard plastic seat and practically sprinted into the bathroom.

He flew through the door, ran inside a stall, slapped his left hand on the tile wall, then freed his rager with the right, stroking his shaft as massive, heaving moans rippled up from his chest and poured from his mouth. He tried thinking of Courtney, but couldn’t. Instead he saw Mandy on her knees, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, ready to take his load.
 

Cum blasted from his cock. The first shot slammed into the tile, then the second bull’s-eyed the first, hitting it in the middle and splashing it into a rippling pool that oozed down in long lines on the wall. Shots three through nine rocked his body hard as Brad moved his left hand to the stall wall, gripping the top, while squeezing and aiming his broom handle with the other hand, trying to keep his cream from spraying in every direction.
 

Brad shuddered to a standstill, then wiped himself clean and tucked his dick back into his pants. He washed up and left the bathroom, just in time to see the addicts spilling from the finished meeting. Brad turned right instead of left, racing ahead of the crowd, out to the parking lot where Courtney was waiting in her car.

“So, how did the meeting go?”

“I think I’ll definitely have to go back,” he said. “A lot.”

He climbed inside the Lincoln and started the engine. As they drove off, he hoped Courtney hadn’t spotted Mandy as the yummy looking model headed to her car.

XXX

CHAPTER 2 — Courtney Grayson

“Jesus, what is this?” Courtney asked, staring at the dried white crust coating the girl’s locker room of Saint Ursula College like a drying layer of paint.

“Looks like cum,” Brad said smiling as the nun’s face bled crimson. “A whole lotta cum. I mean, Christ on a cross, Courtney,” he squinted, looking closer at the yellowing white scabs, crusted to the metal. “This guy is prolific!”

“Sir!” Sister Theresa said, probably giving Brad the same look she used to terrify hundreds of coeds per year.

“Sorry, Sister,” he said, his face suddenly redder than the nun’s, though for an entirely different reason. If Brad were a dog, his tail would be between his legs.

“So,” Courtney said, mashing her heel quietly but hard into Brad’s big toe and turning to the sister. “You’re saying there’s a ghost haunting the women’s locker room?”

“Yes,” the nun said, her annoyance drifting toward fury. “That’s why I called the police. Didn’t they fill you in? I thought they were supposed to share information with the feds.”

“You would think so,” Brad said, “But these fuckers, er, sorry, I mean, local cops really hate it when we step in and take their cases, especially when it’s fun stuff like this.” He squinted at the dried cum again, trying to hide his smile, though he knew it was twitching anyway. A jizz-squirting ghost — this they hadn’t seen before.
 

The nun’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “Fun? You call a ghost spying on our young women and doing God-only-knows-what to himself, and covering the locker room with his demonic seed fun?”

Courtney, knowing it was time for a woman’s touch, rather than Brad’s, which would probably have been more like a dozen horny men even without the Red Breath in his blood, pushed her partner to the side and took a step in front of him, again mashing her heel on his toe.

“What Agent Hammer means to say,” Courtney started, but didn’t finish as the Sister held up her hand.

“Enough! Just do your job and get rid of this thing. I don’t need, or want, to hear another word.” The sister turned on her spinster foot and left the agents alone with their investigation.

“Who does she think we are, the fucking Ghostbusters?” Brad said as soon as Sister Mary Uptight was out of earshot.
 

Courtney turned back to the lockers, which were almost uniformly painted — from one side of the locker room all the way to the other — in what looked like at least five gallons of ectoplasmic spunk. “So you think a 50-foot talking marshmallow did this?”

Brad laughed.
 

She loved his laugh. Of course, these days Courtney loved everything about him. Ever since the whole thing with Willow Monroe, things were definitely different between them. Better. It had taken them years to accept the inevitable, spent with the two of them forever circling the truth of their attraction. Now they were finally together. Courtney loved Brad so much that she doubted she would, or even could ever stop, which made it hard for her to imagine being with anyone else, and harder to acknowledge his undying need, and know that it might be satisfied somewhere other than in between her legs, or her mouth, or sometimes the mashed valley between her tits where he thrusted until he gave her the only pearl necklace he could ever afford working on a Division salary. Courtney even let Brad have her ass, though they were together for nearly a year before she finally did, and that was only after she caught him with a hand fisted in Adeline’s hair, while he fucked her from behind, screaming that she better get his order right. Courtney stood in the doorway behind them as Adeline screamed, “Cover my fries with your ranch!” which might have been the least sexy thing she had ever heard, and wondered if all waitresses brought work to their bedroom talk.
 

Once they got together, Courtney loved Brad even more than she ever thought she could, and that was already a lot. She adored his eyes and smile, and not just his laugh, but the way he made hers so easy to find. She loved how they had started finishing one another’s sentences, but not in that stupid Gerard Butler movie sort of bullshit way, but in the way it was between two people who spent most of their hours together. She loved even the simplest things, like how they would look into each other’s eyes from two sides of a suspect and the entire world would suddenly disappear, or when they would load that suspect into a car and Brad would brush her shoulder as if she were a precious jewel. She loved that they had started planning a future life, with grand adventures together — like going to Europe for fun, instead of traipsing across the continent to track down some sexbot ring in Barcelona, or shutting down botanists developing a deadly lupine aphrodisiac in the South of France.

Courtney loved that Brad valued her opinion, took stolen pictures of her with his phone when he thought she wasn’t looking, and loved her even more than he did a year before, despite her extra 13 pounds. More than anything, she loved that she could always be herself around him.
 

But through all the love, Courtney hated that no matter what, she would always feel like she wasn’t enough.
 

Brad scrunched his brow as he moved gazed his list from top to bottom. There were two lists — one a running tally of names provided by the cops, detailing each of the staffers who had reported weird sightings. The list dated a month back to when the sisters first thought something strange was afoot in the abbey. The second list, Brad’s, was filled with students.
 

Courtney said, “What do you see?”
 

Brad looked from the list to Courtney. “Not much,” he shrugged. “I don’t really see any sort of discernible pattern. He looked up at Courtney and shrugged. “Wanna trade lists?”

She did, no doubt about it.

“Yeah,” she said. “The last thing I want you doing is interviewing a bunch of impressionable, virginal sorority girls!”
 

“Aw, crap,” Brad laughed, handing her the list. “What was I thinking?”
 

“Careful,” Courtney teased, even though she meant every word, “you might just hurt my feelings.”
 

“Ha,” he laughed, “that’ll be the day.”
 

For the thousandth time that month, Brad proved he didn’t know all that much for a guy who knew a lot.
 

Courtney ignored her man, then said, “This should go pretty fast. I’ll question the girls then meet you out at the quad when I’m finished. Sounds great. And you suck.”
 

“You suck,” Brad said.

Courtney blew him a kiss. “Maybe later. If you’re a good boy, I’ll suck
and
swallow.”

Brad said, “Fuck, Courtney, now why would you want to go and do that? Don’t you know I’m going to have a hard enough time not thinking about you, without the teasing?”
 

Yes, and that’s exactly what I want.
 

Courtney glanced around the locker room, made sure they were alone, then leaned into Brad and whispered, “I don’t want you to stop thinking about me, and if you promise to think about me while I can’t be near you, I’ll tell you exactly what I promise to do once we’re back together.” She purred, “Would you like that, Brad Hammer?”

He whimpered yes.

Courtney stood on her tip-toes, nibbled his earlobe, and whispered, “I’m going to drag my tongue across your cock, then swallow the whole thing while it’s still soft, enjoying the two seconds it’ll take to get rock hard in my mouth. Then, with my hands, mouth, and tongue, I’ll explore your every inch; running my wet tongue along your throbbing shaft, getting wetter as it laps the length of every vein.”
 

“Uh huh...”

She could see the bulge in Brad’s slacks, and feel the moisture now seeping between her legs.
 

“I’m going to suckle your balls until you beg me to cum, then,” she dropped her whisper into an even softer pitch, “I’m going to let you do whatever you want to me, wherever you want to do it.”
 

Courtney fell back from her tippy-toes and said, “How does that sound Agent Hammer? Does that sound like something you would like?” She reached down and softly pinched his dick between her pointer and thumb.
 

Brad lightly moaned and nodded, but said nothing.
 

“Excellent,” Courtney finished her whisper. “Consider it a date. But remember, you
promise
to think about me.”
 

“Of course,” Brad leaned in to kiss her, then stumbled back several feet in surprise as the locker room door burst open. An old janitor, as sad looking as Paul Giamatti but three times fatter, came into the locker room dragging a bucket behind him. It looked like it would take an army of clowns to make the man smile, though Courtney couldn’t blame him with all the crust to scrape and clean.
 

Brad laughed. “Man, I’d hate to have your job.”

XXX

CHAPTER 3 —
 
Brad Hammer

Brad spent 40 minutes questioning Saint Ursula staff, and after two-thirds of an hour had exactly dick to go on. About half of the school’s teachers were nuns, which made Brad’s job especially difficult. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect their more conservative views — not everyone worked for Division 69 and dealt with spunk as a regular part of their normal workday — it was that Brad thought the clinical words for stuff like dick, pussy and jizz were stupid. Who said penis, vagina and sperm? No one, that’s who, and using words that felt wrong on his tongue made Brad feel like an asshole, especially since he couldn’t have imagined their reactions being
that
much different if he went balls to the walls with his language in the first place.