Lexi Maxxwell
The XXX Files Episode 1
Chapter One — Brad Hammer
Special Agent Brad Hammer tried to open his eyes, but if felt like someone had fucked them shut forever.
Bright light spilled into the $197 a night hotel room, harsh against the shattered fragments of fractured memories. He eased them open slowly.
Where in the hell am I?
Brad rubbed his neck, then moved his fingers to his temples, kneading them deep into his flesh as if the deeper they went the more likely he was to massage the pain and confusion away.
Brad wasn’t sure what was throbbing harder, his head or his morning pride. He forced his eyes open despite the light, then stared at the tent of sheet covering his cock. No girl had ever complained about the size of Brad’s dick — at a nice, thick nine and a half inches, the second hammer Brad’s daddy had given him on the day he was born had never had any problem pounding pussy into submission, but in the bright light of the muggy Atlanta morning bleeding through the windows, it looked two inches thicker than normal, and felt a full fifteen taller.
Brad pulled the sheet from his dick.
Holy fucking WOW. That one eyed Sequoia can’t be mine!
Brad was staring at a fat slab of monster meat, a good twelve inches, and nearly half as wide as a baseball bat. He couldn’t imagine a slit in Atlanta, or the entire South for that matter, who wouldn’t get slippery as a bar of soap after swallowing that.
He curled his fingers around his throbbing cock, then closed his eyes, searching for a thread of memory to stitch his thoughts together from the previous night. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. He remembered checking into the moderately priced Atlanta hotel, just expensive enough to give the bean counters in Division 13 something to bitch about. But he didn’t remember which hotel, and sure as shit didn’t remember why he was in Atlanta, or if he had come with Grayson or alone.
Then again, how could he remember anything when every drop of blood in his body was swelling the walls of his cock? There was a saying about how men couldn’t think when their little head was in charge. While Brad had been led to many dumb decisions, thanks to his cock, he’d never been so pre-occupied by thoughts of sex that he could do nothing else… until now.
He had to cum and he had to cum now. It wasn’t an impulse, it was a biological fucking imperative!
Brad wrapped his fingers tighter around his dick, his eyes widening at the surprising girth, then started to pump his pain into pleasure. He closed his eyes and sank into the images that were strobing through his mind — powerful, conflicting, and some of them smothering all sense of the reality he knew.
Brad pumped himself harder, as thick veins thrummed against his fingers. He eased his digits down to the base, afraid that he would start jacking so fast that the friction would burn him at the tip.
“AAAaaaahhhhh,” he moaned, throwing his head back and driving his dick faster toward its inevitable spill.
Images he didn’t understand tumbled through his mind like mislaid memories:
He was in a bathroom with jade green tiled walls and mahogany colored wood. A girl with lightly bronzed skin was on her knees, looking up at him with wide doe eyes, and long cascades of coffee-colored hair showering each shoulder. “Please,” she begged. I have to suck your cock.” Her tank top was pulled over the top of a pair of unbelievable tits, with blush-pink nipples pointing straight like two tiny bullets.
That must’ve been the girl from last night. He must have brought her up to the room.
No, that’s not what happened…
He suddenly remembered the girl who had actually been in the room, riding his reamer like she was training for the rodeo.
The memory sent a strong current of testosterone surging through his body.
Brad spotted a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand. He twisted his body and reached over to grab it with his left hand, then tipped it upside down over his dick, pouring it like syrup on a tall stack, as he stroked himself fast enough to start a fire.
The girl was riding him reverse cowgirl, so he couldn’t see her face, just her dirty blond hair swinging in circles, as her gorgeous ass swiveled in a series of swift halos. He caught her face in the mirror, the glare from the fractured memory made her look like a goddess. She smiled in the mirror and drove Brad to orgasm.
Cum erupted from his cock in fat globs of hot white lava, the first flying so high Brad figured he must be seeing things since the last time he saw seed slap the ceiling was never. But the next several shots flew nearly as high, each one thicker than the last.
Brad’s shoulders dug deeper into the mattress as his body made a rainbow across the bed. He continued pumping his still throbbing cock, milking every drop and sprinkling his splatter all around the hotel room.
Brad heaved and shuddered, then collapsed, still slightly shaking from pleasure. He pulled the sheets around him, trying to think of the last time in his life he’d ever felt so damned good. He couldn’t remember anything close, though something inside him said it was only because he couldn’t remember the previous night.
What the hell happened?
He kept wracking his brain, trying to stitch his thoughts together, but everything was too frayed to fit.
As an agent for Division 13, Brad made his living from first noticing the tiny details, then drawing the right connections. Not being able to remember even the largest details from the night before was like not being able to cum. He had figured that emptying his dick would allow him to find some clarity to think. But his head was still buzzing in confusion.
Brad rolled toward the window, and felt the heated light spilling through the cotton shroud. From nowhere, a blurry memory popped into view and invited Brad to follow.
He kept his eyes closed and chased the memory.
Brad remembered checking into the hotel with his partner, Agent Courtney Grayson. Division had sent them to Atlanta, though he couldn’t remember why, at least not the specifics. It had to be some sort of sex crime that couldn’t be explained with the same playbook used by 99.99 % of the other agencies in the U.S., since that’s the only sort of case Division 13 ever assigned.
He remembered his cell phone ringing in the early evening, then looking at the screen and feeling happy to see whoever it was. Brad didn’t know who it had been, but he did remember that the call led him downstairs to the hotel bar. He remembered being nervous to leave since he was leaving something valuable behind, unprotected. Whatever was waiting for him in the bar must’ve been worth it.
But fuck him if he could remember what that was.
Brad kept chasing the memories, then broke into a smile as they started to flow in a steady current. He remembered ordering a double shot of Patron, then sipping it slowly while waiting for whoever was worth it to show. Then he remembered the barfly, with her coffee-colored hair and doe eyes. And the unbelievable tits.
He felt a twitch in his dick at the memory of her 36 Cs, natural and full, her tight tank top pulled up past her nipples while she was on her knees in the bathroom begging to deep throat him. Brad couldn’t believe there was already blood rushing to his just emptied dick, but sure enough he was well on his way to hard as a rock.
He had to have her immediately. He said, “You do know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” Coffee-colored hair laughed. “Of course. Follow me,” she said, then skipped from the bar, across the lobby and over toward the bathroom, stepping into the men’s room. His hands went straight for her tits as she freed his cock, and said, “Holy shit, dude, that’s the biggest dick I’ve ever seen!” She then dropped to her knees and looked up at Brad, her eyes
