The XXX Files Season One (Episodes 1-4) Page 7

  “Fuck YEAH!” he moaned. Brad waited until he was about to cum, then said, “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll be having aftershocks when you take a piss tomorrow morning,” then thrust himself inside her.

  She screamed, then caught her breath and moaned, “Oh my fucking LORD, you feel so AMAZING!”

  Brad continued to pound her, forcing the street whore to feel every pulse and throb of his cock.

  She came, hard, then screamed in pleasure. “OOOOOHHHH!!!!”

  Brad was nearly ready to shoot his second load. “Fuck yeah, your cunt is a fucking campfire out of control. It’s so HOT. I’m gonna have to put it out with my cock. Are you ready?”

  “YES!” she screamed.

  “You wanna cum with me?”

  “YES!” she repeated, even louder than before.

  The hooker’s pussy tightened, then she dug her fingers into Brad’s shoulders as her entire body started to rattle. “I’m cumming!!” she screamed as Brad pushed harder into her honey glazed ham.

  Brad’s balls tightened as hot cum shot from his cock, and splattered against the whore’s inner walls. He kept pounding her pickle jar like he was just getting started.

  She was moaning, nearly delirious: “Fill my hot hole with your cum, fill me up as much as you can.” The whore’s body rocked with a final, lingering sequence of sharp orgasms as she bucked her hips hard against him.

  Brad hammered her into several more orgasms, shooting another two of his loads deep enough inside her to bang her head on the glass, then paid her anyway.

  He left her smiling, then drove home and jacked himself to the memory.

  XXX

  Chapter Two – Brad Hammer

  Brad tried watching TV, eating an entire chocolate cake, taking six cold showers, watching a marathon of Tarantino flicks, followed by a series of infomercials that made him wonder what the Shamwow guy would be like in a threesome, and whether the ring with the giant artificial ruby was really worth $10.

  He felt like crying.

  His appetite was bottomless. All Brad wanted to do was leave his apartment and fuck anything in the city between the ages of 18 and 45, though in his current state he could be convinced to flip those last two digits around. Hell, who was he kidding. He’d fuck Betty White if she was on her knees and looking up.

  He lay on his back, eyes squeezed tight, clutching his pillow in bed and remembering what Willow had said: he was infected.

  Though he couldn’t push the thought from his mind, he had no idea what it meant.

  Did infected mean he would always want to fuck, or did it mean something else? Something worse?

  Did he have to get it out one way or another?

  Would it turn him violent?

  Holy shit balls, what if it meant he would have to get castrated?

  He cringed at the thought, cradling his package and stroking his cock as though he were saying goodbye to an old friend.

  Might as well go out in style, he figured. Brad rose from the bed, rock hard, went to the kitchen and devoured the rest of the pizza he had ordered an hour before, then set a full bottle of whiskey on his nightstand and crawled back into bed.

  He stroked his cock, thinking of Grayson, wondering if he’d ever get to fuck her. He’d fantasized about it more times than he could count. And while she probably would have denied it, Brad was certain she’d fantasized about him, too. There was something between them, though they both knew it was too dangerous to explore. Things would be easier, though, if she wouldn’t talk about her sex life so freely. She probably saw it as some way to bond with him given how sexual he was, but her telling him how easily she climaxed made it infinitely harder not to want to fuck her blue every second they were together.

  That was the thought in Brad’s mind as his spunk brewed like magma in the volcano of his cock. He pictured Grayson, bent over and screaming, as his cock plunged inside her sopping hole.

  Grayson’s face turned to Willow’s as Brad’s volcano erupted, coating the villagers of his fingers and thighs, and bedspread – along with a few gobs which splattered everywhere from the posts of the bed to the sides of his face.

  Brad took his hand from his dick, poured himself a massive glass of whisky, and continued to down it until he was drunk.

  He was snoring six minutes later.

  XXX

  When Brad woke up, he was sucking air through his left nostril, and slowly blinking his eyes against the harsh, unfamiliar light of who in the hell knew wherever the fuck he was. He heard himself snore, then rapidly shook his sleep from his body as his blurry eyes tried to focus on the bottle of Duck Duck Gooze brand beer wrapped inside his hand.

  He could feel the eyes on him, behind him, and from everywhere around the bar, but most intensely from his immediate right. He opened his blurry eyes wider, wondering if the bleach bottle blonde to his right actually had the biggest set of tits he’d ever seen, or if it was just an illusion of his still blurry eyes. The way they were spilling from the top of her too-tight black dress, Brad figured it was probably the former.

  He lifted his head, wiped the drool from his mouth, and turned to face her. She was obviously fucked up. Maybe not as drunk as he was, but her eyes were glazed and her mouth was hanging open. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep at a bar. But one look around told him that he wasn’t the first.

  She had been waiting for him, and Brad could smell it on her. She wanted to fuck, which was great because even though he wasn’t a big tit guy – anything more than a handful was a waste – he wanted to pull her milky white fun bags the rest of the way out of her too tight black dress and shoot a giant load all over them.

  Brad felt a twitch of danger, though he figured it was mostly from waking up without any memory of how he got there. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep drunk in his own apartment. No surprise he was at a bar, since he’d obviously come looking for a loose set of lower lips, but it bothered the fuck out of him that he couldn't remember leaving the house, getting to the bar, or whether or not he’d already shot a load.

  Or 10.

  He remembered waking up an hour or two after the whiskey had crashed him under the covers, jacking off and shooting a quart or so of goo, then falling back to sleep. But that was it.

  Whether he’d cum once or ten times since, he had no idea. But a carnal hunger was swelling inside him, and if he didn’t find something to fuck in the next few minutes, he’d go out of his mind.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Like any red blooded American, Brad was used to craving pussy, and heading out on the town for the thrill of the hunt, but that was nothing like the raw emotion of the Red Breath, or whatever was, coursing through him, swallowing his normal impulses, then buzzing through his mind and blood, and putting a deep, aching throb in his cock.

  “Looks like you’re waking up, Marshall.”

  Fuck. She called him Marshall, which meant he was using the stupidest of all of his aliases – Marshall Arts – the one he used when he was too drunk to see the difference between clever and stupid.

  He stole another glance at her huge tits, hovering dangerously, or conveniently, close to his lips.

  His bottom lip quivered and his cock started to pulsate, as if it might pop right out of his pants if he wasn’t gonna do the gentlemanly thing and set it free.

  She leaned closer and the scoop of her dress teased the edge of her massive rosy-pink nipples. Brad tried to force his memory into telling him how in the hell he got to the bar, but covering her cock warmers with a giant load of his hot milk was the only thing Brad could focus on.

  He wanted to kiss them and suck on them, then fuck them all the way to blastoff. Brad wanted them smothered and covered. He pictured her wrapping the fat of his fuckstick with the meat of her melons, as he thrusted himself hard between them; her open mouth taking his tip at the end of every belligerent thrust.

  Brad felt a slight squirt in his pants, and knew he was seconds from a full blastoff.

 
He thought about making some small talk, maybe trying a one liner, but he could smell that he didn’t need to. “So are you gonna come out back with me so I can fuck you silly?”

  “You mean again? Sure thing, Marshall. You can fuck me every day ending in Y. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for over an hour now. You have the biggest dick I ever saw, and I’ve not been able to think of anything since. Oops,” she covered her mouth like she said something she shouldn't have. “I never had anyone fuck me so hard,” she leaned closer, then whispered, “or cum so much.” She ran her hand over his cock, squeezing him over the denim. “If you can do it again, I’d love it forever.”

  It was then when he noticed the cum caked in her hair and a few drops under her chin. It looked like she’d done her best to clean herself up, but was drunk enough to miss a spot or two or several.

  FUCK!

  He had to get out of here.

  Brad dropped a couple of twenties on the bar, figuring his tab couldn't be more than that, and not willing to wait the time it would take to find out. He grabbed her by the wrist, and hurried out the back of the bar, spying his car on the side of the street as the metal door slammed shut behind him, echoing in the empty alleyway.

  His boots sloshed through the soaking, filthy alley as he pulled her toward his 4Runner.

  “What Marshall, you mean you’re not gonna do me up against the wall like last time?”

  XXX

  The backseat of the 4Runner was already folded down into a bed, and two seconds after they climbed in, the barfly with the massive tits had her dress pulled up past her waist and Brad was fucking her cunt with his tongue.

  He shoved her into the corner, then pushed her legs up over his shoulders, holding her ass up towards him so he could smell her hunger, which made him feel better about his own. He unzipped his pants, then jammed himself inside her pussy, cumming with a deafening moan and a throb of his cock in less than a minute.

  Cum poured from her pussy like water from a busted faucet, but Brad was still hard and throbbing, so he pulled himself from her as she screamed at the top of her lungs: “NEVER STOP FUCKING ME!!”

  He put his hands on her tits, one in each hand, then flicked his thumb across her rock hard, inch-long nipples until she began begging for more.

  Brad groaned, then thrust this cock between her tits. “Open your mouth!” he ordered.

  She did, so hungry and ready that drool dripped from both sides of her mouth. Brad was thrusting so hard he tapped the back of her throat with his tip. She was gagging, but shoving her eager face forward anyway, as though she were starving for more.

  He closed his eyes, fucked her harder, and remembered their earlier encounter:

  He was in the alleyway, a couple of hours earlier, just a few minutes after getting to the bar and picking his target. He led her to the alley, then smiled like a wolf.

  He pushed her hard against the hard brick, then smothered her with his mouth, his hand pulling her too tight black dress up above her waist. She kissed him back, her mouth sloppy and soaking with beer. Brad didn’t care, kneading her tits through the rayon of her top, licking her lips as he freed his cock from his jeans, then violently ripping her panties off.

  He shoved his fingers inside her to see how sloppy and wide her hole was already. It could’ve taken a melon, so his 12” wouldn’t be a problem. Brad shoved his dick inside her as she pistoned her pussy against him.

  He fucked her until he was about to cum, then he ordered her to her knees. She did, and he sprayed her with spew.

  They traded places, with Brad dropping to his knees and shoving his face in her pussy, inhaling her scent and making her whimper like a dog. His lips swallowed her swollen slit, as his tongue lapped at her glistening lips.

  She clenched his hair tight as he ate her, moaning and shrieking and practically crying and almost ripping his hair out.

  Brad rose to his feet, spun her around, then shoved her against the wall and took her from the back, slamming into her as hard as he could.

  The first orgasm made her scream, but it was nothing compared to the second. Wave after wave of OHMYFUCKINGLORD rocked her body as Brad slammed it inside her.

  His third leg throbbed inside her, as blast after blast of cum shot from his cock, flooded her cunt, then ran down her leg and puddled into the filthy alley.

  Brad opened his eyes to see the blond was losing all the color in her face. Her eyes were glazed, rolling to the back of her head.

  Holy shit. I’m going to kill her if I don’t stop!

  A flash of memory went through him, how he’d been on the other side of this feeling with Willow. Had she almost killed him?

  Brad needed another dead body like he needed a dose of Viagra.

  He stopped thrusting, closed his eyes, and relaxed his body as his cock emptied inside her. Feeling like an asshole, but not knowing what else to do, he pulled out, shoved her unceremoniously from the back of the 4Runner, and closed the door behind her.

  The bottle blond staggered for a moment, lowered her dress to just below her thighs, as low as it would go, picked up her purse, and tottered off towards the bar, looking back and yelling, “Stupid asshole! You’re a big fucking freak!”

  He fell back onto the sticky floor of the 4Runner, finally spent.

  The ripe scent of sex saturated the car. His body was tingling from the rapture, and for a moment he was no longer hungry. Even so, like a man finishing an unforgettable meal, he was already wondering when he’d be feasting again.

  Yet, beneath the pleasure was a beating pulse of pain. Brad wondered whether he was strong enough to fight the hunger inside him. But worse, for the first time, he also wondered whether he was strong enough to survive.

  And the note’s warning played through his mind again.

  “I’m sorry.

  Now you’re infected, too.”

  Was it the Red Breath, or had Willow done something to him?

  XXX

  Chapter Three – Courtney Grayson

  Courtney and her freshly assigned partner, ex-fuck buddy Reggie Noonan, sat side by side on their end of a scuffed up coffee table, across from a pair of wild-eyed coeds.

  Noonan was asking the coeds a series of questions, pretending like he wasn’t really staring at their tits.

  “Ah... so you saw this spirit in your dorm room?”

  “What?” they said together.

  “Did you see the ghost or not?” Courtney cut in, impatient. Noonan had already given the girls nearly 10 minutes and they’d said exactly dick. Worse than nothing, their stories were inconsistent. She smelled a rat, and her nose was pretty damn good.

  “Uh, yeah,” the girl on the left said. We definitely saw the ghost.”

  “And you say these ghosts were copulating with the entire dorm floor?”

  “Um...yeah...like...every night.”

  Courtney didn’t like the tone a bit, and would have called bullshit if her eyes hadn’t caught the flashing red LED, blinking from the upper corner of a bookcase.

  Courtney smiled. “What’s that?” she said, pointing to the light.

  Both girls looked up, but the one on the right said, “Umm...the smoke detector?”

  Courtney said, “I don’t think so,” then stood from the coffee table, looked around the corner of the bookcase, then yanked open a utility closet door backing up onto it.

  A cameraman was squatting on a stool inside, operating the camera mounted on a wall. He jumped from the stool, slamming his back against the wall as Courtney uncovered his hiding spot.

  “Out!” she yelled, clearing the room of both the cameraman and the two coeds with a growl from her throat and a jerk of her thumb, leaving Noonan with his jaw scraping the floor.

  Courtney bent to the floor, picking up the rumpled piece of paper abandoned by the fleeing cameraman. On the top was a logo with the words Inside Look Studios written in all caps.

  Grayson wadded the paper into a ball and threw it at Noonan, who wasn’t fast enough to ba
t it away before it smacked him in the eye. “It’s a fucking production schedule, and apparently we’re the highlight of Scene II.”

  XXX

  Hammer may have been a full-of-himself horndog, with a loose understanding of the letter of the law, but he was damn good at his job and always made her feel safe.

  Noonan was a horndog, with an idiot’s understanding of the law, who was marginal at his job, and always made Courtney feel like she was skating on the razor’s edge of jeopardy. Above all, he was an asshole, which made her miss Hammer more with every stupid sentence from Noonan’s stupid mouth.

  But, he was a damned good looking man. A former Marine, with a hard body and square jaw. He hit all the right buttons.

  And even though he was the world’s biggest tool when he opened his mouth, there was no denying the spark between her and Noonan, which was why she found herself agreeing to a drink at the end of their shift. Noonan was safe, someone she could screw without getting attached to since he was such a brain-dead womanizer.

  Courtney wasn’t sure if she would fuck him or not, but she knew she wanted to. And that was enough to piss her off. Having a drink with the asshole, then leaving him alone with blue balls would make her feel a helluva lot better about herself, and the situation Cooper had put her in.

  Besides, even if she came to her senses and decided that hooking up with Noonan was a terrible idea, there would be plenty of willing candidates in the bar. She could lose him after her third drink, and still go home with a prize in her box.

  They drove from Division, in separate cars, and met at The Alco-hole, the bar where she and Hammer usually shot the shit and bitched about Cooper. They slid into a booth as Courtney scanned the room, searching for any prospects who might provide her with a quickie, along with a tension release and an excuse not to fuck Noonan.