Fifty Shades of Lexi Maxxwell

by Lexi Maxxwell

  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 pleading. “Please, I have to suck your cock. Let me suck you off, I want to so, so bad. I want to swallow your cum and have you cum on my face and tits. Then I want to make you hard again so you can fuck me in my pussy, and make me cum like I did for you.” He fucked her mouth for a few minutes, but stopped just as he was about to flood it with spunk, then pulled her to her feet, reached under her skirt, ripped off her panties and played with her clit right before he fucked her into...

  There was something else, something the smartest part of Brad was begging him not to remember; a memory pushing at the edge of a creeping horror.

  The next thing he remembered was getting the fuck out of the bathroom and running back to the bar where the something that had to be worth it was waiting.

  Brad saw her standing at the bar.

  More memories flooded his brain, muddled, almost too much to absorb.

  It had only been five minutes or so since his last explosion, but Brad was back to twelve inches and throbbing. He wrapped five fingers around his cock while the others curled into a pillow.

  The impossible pleasure from a few minutes earlier was only a warm up for now, as every jack of his shaft sent a new and sudden bolt of lightning soaring through his body.

  Brad smiled, remembering three things: Red Breath, her, and the case that would change him, and the face of human sex, forever.

  But there was something else ... something his brain was hiding from him, and as he emptied himself again, a different feeling overwhelmed him – dread that he’d done something awful.

  Then a memory flashed through him — not his memory, but a memory nonetheless. Something in the bathroom, and a note on the mirror.

  What the?

  He got up and walked across the carpet to the heavy hotel room bathroom door and pulled it open.

  In the tub was a nude woman with dark hair and a yin-yang tattoo on her left bicep. Dead.

  And on the mirror, a note.

  XXX

  Chapter Two – Brad Hammer

  24 hours earlier...

  “I was the one who single-handedly brought down the underground mob outfit that was growing the porn star lips in that seedy, two-story lab, right?”

  Agent Courtney Grayson rolled her eyes and made her face ugly, which was hard for a looker like her to do. Brad wasn’t sure if her expression was directed at the conversation, which she was surely sick of after the hundredth time hearing it, or the memory of the lab and the forty or so rows of mouth pussies, grown in a sub-basement beneath an apartment building filled with squatters and drug addicts. She said, “Yes, you were the one.”

  “And I’m the one who proved the link between the Red Square bombings and alien orgies at the Kremlin, right?”

  She nodded, rolling her eyes again. Like Brad figured she would, Grayson finally put a stop to it. She had to. Otherwise he would have kept going, case by case. Brad was relentless on the topic. He was sick and fucking tired of being called “Agent BallGag” by the other agents.

  “Look, Hammer, it doesn’t matter how many nicknames you think you’ve earned. No one gets to choose their own. You’re stuck with BallGag until something funnier comes along. If you didn’t want the nickname, you shouldn't have agreed to wear it.”

  “I didn’t know it was a dude,” Brad insisted for what felt like the billionth time. “And I didn’t know the room was under surveillance.”

  “For the last time, Hammer, live under the assumption that you and I are always under surveillance, including right now, here in the car. The work we do affects the entire world, and yet no one can know we exist. That means Division wants to know what we know, as we know it, if not before. If you can’t see that, then you need to have more than your overactive libido checked.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you, to always be looking over your shoulder for the very government you’re working for?”

  Grayson shook her head. “Not at all. Keeps me honest, which is what you need to be when working Division 13.”

  “Ah,” Brad said smiling, “I see what you’re doing. You wouldn’t say it even if you did care. You think we’re actually being watched right this second.”

  Brad looked into the rearview mirror, raised his middle finger to whoever might be watching, not that he thought anyone really was. For as paranoid as his partner was, Brad knew that budget cuts meant that it would be impossible to track them to such an extent unless there was good reason to do so. Sure, their phones and computers were tracked, traced, and recorded, but nobody gave a shit what they were doing in their car. Hell, of those who even knew it existed, few even cared about Division 13.

  Division 13 was a mostly secret division within the FBI that investigated paranormal sex crimes. Oftentimes they worked hand-in-hand with Division 51, which investigated non-sexual paranormal cases. For some reason, Division 51 was a respected group which many agents aspired to join, while Division 13 was considered something of a joke, since most paranormal sex cases turned out to be of the delusional crackpot variety. Most, but not all.

  And it was the real cases that made the work rise above being a joke. Cases where they could help bring closure to people’s lives or help the guilty to justice.

  Sex was the one thing in the world that everyone was interested in. Yet few admitted exactly how much they were interested, which meant it seeped into every crevice of life, and bubbled beneath the surface like a brewing volcano. It was in that soft, pink underbelly where Hammer and Grayson got most of their cases. Sure, they had to deal with horny ghosts and aliens, and even a Bigfoot in heat every once in a while, but those were the sorts of cases that were reported at the fringes, then dripped into the culture, schlocked up, with their truth twisted into unbelievable tabloid cover stories, Internet B-Movies, and trashy eBooks.

  Division 13 had plenty of more ordinary cases, too. The sort where the circumstances of the sex crime were just odd enough to defy explanation, like the case they’d been brought to Atlanta to solve.

  They arrived at the hotel just as the sun peeked out from the clouds for the first time since they landed at the airport that morning.

  No one could explain the crime scene, but anyone who had seen the far side of puberty knew what they found in the hotel room wasn’t humanly possible. At least not human alone.

  “Got nothing to say?” Grayson turned to Brad, wrapping up their ‘Agent Ball-gag’ conversation. “Have I really finally shut Agent Hammer up? I thought you were the man with the 10 mile tongue.”

  Brad grinned like the rascal he w
as, then said, “No chance, Grayson. I was just thinking. I do that every once in a while whether I need to or not, you know, just to keep the gears moving.” He tapped the side of his head.

  Grayson tried not to smile, but Brad saw it anyway. She turned the Lincoln into the hotel roundabout, then pulled up to the front valet. “You ready for this?” she asked, gesturing toward the mob of cops and reporters crowding the entrance of the St. Regis Hotel.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Cool it, Hammer.”

  Grayson had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t like he would charge from the Lincoln and start clocking reporters. Not again, anyway.

  “I’m fine,” he said, loosening his tie and scowling out the window. “But this is the sorta shit that makes a hard job a helluva lot harder. I’d like to know why we can keep pregnant werewolves from hitting the six-o’clock news, but this pedestrian crap gets the paparazzi posse? Is it so hard to keep simple shit quiet?”

  Grayson didn’t need to say a word, Hammer already knew what she was thinking. Of course it was hard to keep the simple shit quiet. Much harder. It was as easy to clean up a pregnant werewolf as it was to bury anything paranormal. It was easy to discount witnesses of paranormal events as crackpots and often just as easy to convince witnesses that what they ‘thought they saw’ wasn’t what they really saw. And if the news agencies happened to get some scent of truth, Division had a way of burying most stories. Everyone had skeletons in their closets, even reporters. And those that didn’t, well, they usually had a friend or family member with skeletons. In other words, everyone had something they wanted to keep quiet, and most times that was enough to shut down the stories.

  But stuff like this, news that got out ahead of them, was the shit that made their job harder. There was no way to control a mob of reporters.

  Grayson put the car in park and turned to Brad. “Seven dead humans, all naked, in a $800 a night room, with all four walls completely covered in cum? You know the local cops couldn’t keep that quiet, Hammer. Someone was gonna talk.”

  The agents stepped from the Lincoln, then flashed their badges to the cop standing guard in front of the hotel and entered the lobby.

  “Top floor I imagine?” Brad said, half-way to the elevator.

  Grayson nodded.

  They crossed the hallway, nodded at the two officers standing guard in front of the private elevator, then rode the lift to the top floor. They sent the two officers standing in front of the hotel room door downstairs, then repeated the order for the four inside.

  Both agents had seen a lot of crime scenes, some with enough DNA evidence to blind you when you clicked on the black light. But they’d never seen anything like this.

  “You ever seen anything like this before?” he turned to Grayson.

  She looked around the room, shaking her head.

  “Not even when you worked Utah?”

  Agent Grayson shook her head. Her eyes were fixed on the wall. She walked across the room, stopping just inches away. Then she put on her gloves and ran her pointer finger in a long line down a six foot length of hardened semen.

  Brad muttered, “What the fuck?” under his breath, then started combing the room.

  The room smelled like gallons of sex and a sprinkle of death. There was semen everywhere, coating the inner thighs of all six female victims, along with their breasts and mouths. It even glazed the face of the man in the middle of the harem, the scientist who had to be the center of it all.

  They wouldn’t know without lab work, whether all the spunk had been shot from the one scientist’s sack, but there were no other men in the room, and the hotel had no record of anyone else coming or going from the private elevator.

  Grayson was kneeling next to one of the women, a leggy blond with store-bought tits. The agent’s face was in her pussy, until she turned around and looked up at Brad. “Have you seen this?” she asked.

  Brad squatted, then whistled. “Looks like salmon pounded with a mallet.”

  She shot him her usual look, ignoring the crude remark.

  “How many times would you say this guy shot his wad?” Hammer asked.

  “That’s what I can’t get my head around,” Grayson said. “Several dozen at least. But there had to be other guys in here. An orgy gone wrong?”

  Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so. Usually with orgies, you’ve also got lots of food, drinks, drugs, and other stuff laying around. These people look like they were here to do one thing and one thing only.”

  “It could’ve been ghosts,” Grayson suggested.

  Brad shook his head again. “That doesn’t make any sense. The girls were too willing. No signs of resistance. Besides when have you ever seen spectral spunk that thick? It looks like they were filming Big Bang Bukakee Seven and Eight back-to-back in here.”

  Grayson shot him another dirty look. Brad said, “What? You don’t like the series?”

  “No,” she said dryly, “I stopped watching after Number Four. After a while, it just felt like they were recycling plot-lines.”

  Brad laughed, then held up the locked black briefcase, the only thing in the room not covered in cum. Brad had found it tucked neatly in the back of the closet. “I’m sure the answer’s in here. So do we report the briefcase to Division, then head over to Helix, or do we forget for a little while, until we see how deep we can dig.”

  Brad was hoping Grayson wouldn’t think it was worth the fight. For once, it wasn’t. She didn’t even reach for her cell. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, heading toward the door. She called the Division’s lab geeks, who had been held up at the airport to see when they’d get there.

  “Forensics will be here in about 20 minutes, and I don’t feel like waiting, so let’s get going. We’ll catch up with them later.”

  Brad followed Agent Grayson out the door, to the elevator, and out of the hotel, happy to leave the company of six naked women for the first time in his life.

  XXX

  The male victim’s name was Richard Madsen, a 58 year old employee of Helix Pharmaceuticals and Advancements, just as he had been for the last 29 years. Helix was one of those giant corporations with their hands in everything from medicine to military defense, so Brad could already feel the clusterfuck it would be working the case. Companies with that much money, power, and connections, didn’t exactly play by the same rules as everyone else.

  No one was willing to say what Madsen had been working on at Helix, at least not over the phone. They were sure as shit trying to hide something, which irritated the holy hotbox out of Grayson, but Brad figured the climax was always better when you had to work it.

  Sure enough, the agents were expected. Before Grayson even killed the engine, there was a tall man with a beaming smile and floppy hair trotting toward the Lincoln to meet them.

  “How do you do?” he said, running his left hand through his hair as he held out his right. “I’m Arthur Rothstein, Head of Public Affairs for Helix. Truly terrific to meet you. I regret it’s under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  Brad stepped in front of Grayson and gave Rothstein his right hand. “I’m Agent Hammer,” he said. He turned to Courtney. “This is my partner, Agent Grayson.”

  “Thank you for helping us out with this,” Rothstein said, as though the agents had agreed to help him move a sofa. “We’re all so distraught about what’s happened with Dr. Madsen. If there’s anything any of us can do, please let us know.”

  Brad said, “Well, first we need a list of employees who worked in any capacity with Mr. Madsen, along with contact info.”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified information,” Rothstein said. “I can however introduce you to the employees who worked closest with Mr. Madsen. I will, however, need to be present, to make sure no confidential information is revealed.”

  “Of course,” Brad said offering a thin smile. This guy seemed more lawyer than PR douchebag, and Brad could tell things were gonna get ugly quick if he didn’t bite his tongue at least a
little more than usual.

  “I’m certain you understand the need for discretion, Agent Hammer. Our research here is quite sensitive and much of it’s classified.” His smile thinned. “I’m quite sure things are similar where you come from. I assure you that classified materials aside, we at Helix are at your disposal.”

  Grayson thanked the PR douchebag.

  Rothstein said to follow him, then led them to Dr. Madsen’s research team and nearly four hours of bullshit interviews that didn’t yield a single minute of anything worth giving a fuck about.

  After finishing an interview with a dipshit scientist who looked slightly older than Bob Hope and nearly as dead, wasting nine minutes Brad would never have back telling him about Helix’s first experiments back in the 60‘s. He surrendered, thanked the scientist for his time, then stepped from the lab and turned to Grayson.

  “Listen, Grayson. I don’t want to argue about this so I’m just gonna do it. You can yell at me on the way back to the hotel. But something is going on here, and whatever it is got Madsen killed. I want answers, and they’re going to be infinitely harder to get once we leave here. They were prepared for us this morning, but not nearly as prepared as they will be when we return with a court order. I need you to cover for me, it’s now or never.”

  Because Grayson knew she couldn’t argue, she didn’t. She went on with the interviews while Hammer slipped back into the lab, asked the receptionist to show him the bathroom, then entered the little boy’s room feeling the eyes of the receptionist, a few wandering scientists, and the hallway cameras on him.

  Brad took a piss in the urinal, then left it stewing at the bottom just to prove he had been there, then headed back to reception, patting himself down and slapping a worried expression on his face.