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

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.

And sometimes — more than he wanted to admit — when he was fucking Courtney.
 

XXX

CHAPTER 3 — Courtney Grayson

Brad had been napping for a while, with his head rolled to a stop against the window, but had managed to not snore, which was slightly unusual when he was as deeply under as he seemed to be. Courtney watched him, trying to untangle her thoughts and figure out how she should feel.
 

He had nearly missed his flight, which pissed Courtney off, though no more than the other hundred things that he’d done to piss her off in the last week alone. She had packed their bags and gone into Division to deal with Cooper, leaving him with
only
one thing to do. And he’d
barely
done it. Yet, she let it go with only a single, semi-sarcastic barb. It was like she was barely herself, constantly making excuses for him, regardless of the circumstance.
 

She called him three times and got his voicemail each time. When he finally showed up at the airport, running toward the gate, his cheeks were flushed and Courtney could only describe his look as
freshly emptied.
She’d seen the look in bed more times than she could count. There were plenty of times in the last few months when she’d seen the look several times in one day. Beyond his freshly emptied look, Brad had also showered. Maybe he wanted to scrub himself clean after slipping out of the house early that morning — without a note — but maybe he wanted to clean the guilt and evidence from his body.
 

Courtney sat beside Brad on the plane, wondering what he had done in between the time she hung up with him, and when she saw him running toward the gate — wondering if she was right in her suspicions.
 

She hated that Brad might be lying to her, but more than that she hoped he was OK. If he
was
cheating on her, as much she loathed to believe that he was, it wasn’t
exactly
his fault, and she didn’t really blame him. What bothered her most was that he felt like he couldn’t be honest with her, probably because he was afraid of what she would do. Truth was, the only thing she would do was stay by his side until the two of them figured things out.
 

Courtney wanted to trust him, but gun to head she was sure he was back to cheating. She’d felt it for a few days, almost like a switch had been flicked from OFF to ON. At first his sudden distance seemed more emotional than physical, like he wasn’t
all
there while the two of them were making love — or dancing in the sheets, doing the deed, dipping the wick, plugging the hole, poking the whiskers, probing the membrane, or any of the other idiot things Brad called it. She could tell when he was truly with her and when he wasn’t. The last couple of days, it seemed like he wasn’t, and if she were being honest with herself, which wasn’t always easy to do, Courtney would bet every cent in her 401K that he’d found a coed to fuck at Saint Ursula.
 

He just
seemed
guilty, making his little jokes and acting coy, not answering any question outright — she assumed because he didn’t want to lie — and using humor to navigate through them. Courtney didn’t want to accuse him of anything, not until she knew for certain, and even then it would only be so they could figure out what to do next. Maybe she could finally get him to reach out to Division.

Despite her certainty, Courtney had to be careful, because there
was
a chance she was wrong, and if she was, then accused him anyway, she could be doing tremendous damage to a relationship they’d been working so hard to build together.
 

She continued to watch him as he slept. He seemed so peaceful, as if all the things that bothered him when his eyes were open faded to vapor when they weren’t. He looked almost like a different man. The face of the man
almost
snoring in the seat beside her would probably tell her everything. That was the Brad she loved most. The other Brad was OK, bending the truth like a bitch over the back of the sofa. If she knew the other Brad, and years as partners and one as a couple said that she did, then he swung by a strip club — probably
Pole Position —
before coming to the airport.

That she could get over, the lies were much harder.
 

Courtney’s emotional brain was injured, damaged even, but her logical brain had a voice, too, and it loudly declared that Brad had little if any choice. Men were prisoners to impulse already, add in the Red Breath that physically altered the molecules in her man’s blood, and she couldn’t very well hold him accountable for his behavior, at least not any more than she could blame him for going bald if he were in the middle of chemo.
 

Courtney’s face twitched into a smile as she looked over at Brad and noticed his cock twitching in his pants. She almost laughed. She had no idea what he was like before the Red Breath since the two of them only got together after Willow Monroe, but Brad admitted that his dick was definitely much bigger than it had been before. When he got excited, or hadn’t fucked her in more than a day, he was practically hung like a two liter bottle.
 

Before Brad, Courtney didn’t believe there was such a thing as too big, as long as she could open her mouth wide enough to slide it inside and wrap it with her lips. But Brad, or at least the Red Breath inside him, challenged her assumptions. Most days she felt like the luckiest girl in the world, but after a too-long day — either from work or Brad going for thirds or fourths — it felt like he was trying to wedge her body in half with the fatter side of a bat.
 

“Excuse me?” Courtney said, holding her hand up to a passing flight attendant. “Would you mind grabbing me a pillow and blanket?”
 

“Of course,” the flight attendant said, her glance falling to Brad’s still — and now more obviously throbbing cock —before quickly flitting away. An old lady one row across the aisle smiled at Courtney, looking as if she wanted to say something, but Courtney turned her eyes toward Brad before the old woman said a word.

The flight attendant returned a minute later with Courtney’s blanket and pillow. She said thank you, waited for the attendant to leave, then set the pillow behind Brad’s head and draped the blanket over them both. Her hand slithered beneath Brad’s side of the blanket, then unbuttoned his pants, reached into boxers, slipped his cock through the hole, and started to wake her best friend and lover with a handjob.
 

She didn’t start stroking immediately, just a bit of gentle squeezing along his shaft, brushing her thumb against the top of his head. He was impossibly hard, at least she would have thought it was impossible had Courtney not felt his hammer inside her for the last year — the biggest and hardest she ever had, and was certain she ever would, even if they were to break up tomorrow.
 

She adjusted her weight, turning toward Brad and away from the aisle. He moaned, slowly waking as her hand held his looser skin at the bottom, then pinched it lightly before raising her slackened palm back to the top where she twisted his dick in slow, rhythmic circles. He was now awake, but quiet, his body churning beneath her and cock growing even thicker in her hand as she wrapped her palm more tightly around it, moving it up slowly, around, then quickly back to the base.
 

“Faster,” he whispered.
 

“Like this?” Courtney blew into his ear, stroking him faster.
 

“Yes,” Brad said through heavy breath.

“I want you to spill under the blanket,” Courtney purred, still in his ear. “Will you shoot your cum all over my hands?”
 

Courtney was oven-hot, suddenly wondering what she was doing giving him an old fashioned when she could have woken Brad and dragged him into the bathroom. She was in her 30s, and had yet to join the Mile High Club. Then again, with the force of his usual fucking and inevitable blast, Courtney could see him alerting the entire plane to their coitus at best, and sending it into a tailspin at worst.
 

She was a minute from milking cum from his tip, but knew it would be several endless hours until she got hers.
 

Courtney stroked faster, hoping she could finish him off in enough time to chance seconds in the bathroom, when the old lady from one row across inexplicably engaged her in conversation.
 

“Have you ever been to Florida before?” the old woman asked.
 

Courtney ignored her, shifting in her seat so she was facing Brad even more than she already was, but the old woman reached across the aisle and tugged at her shirt to get her attention.
 

“Excuse me, Miss?” Courtney looked over and the woman repeated, “Have you ever been to Florida before?”
 

“Um ... yes, several times,” she said, then turned back to Brad.
 

“I’ve never been. Is it nice?”

“Don’t even think about fucking answering her,” hissed Brad from his seat.

“I’ve never been,” the old woman repeated. “Is it nice?”
 

“It’s OK,” Courtney said, not turning.
 

The old woman must have thought she asked her if she could please start her life story because she started spewing shit Courtney didn’t care about, right from her pie hole, starting with how one of her oldest friends, Michael Diamond, had been living at the Rosewood down in Florida for seven years now, and was loving it more all the time. Both of her children, Rebecca and Adam, thought she should move down there, too. They were paying for her to fly to Florida so she could check it out. Adam was driving east from Georgia to meet her.

Courtney slowed her jack, suddenly frightened the woman might realize what she was doing.