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MAU: Accidental Addict free porn video
MAU: Accidental Addict
Synopsis: Agents C and D are trying to track down a victim of an
MAU. Even they are surprised at the changes the device made to
this one person.
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MAU: Accidental Addict
C glanced once more at the dingy building. Even if it had been
full daylight instead of the shadowy, dreary world of twilight, he
doubted the run-down three-story building would have looked any
better. Calling the owner of this trap a slumlord would have been
paying him a complement. Involuntarily, he wrinkled his nose. He
knew that he'd smell urine and human waste inside. "Are you
sure this is the place?" he asked hopefully.
D glanced at the street sign, then back into the manila folder on
his lap. He rummaged through the papers, extracting two. "Yup,"
he answered without a trace of enthusiasm. "It's the address she
gave the hospital, and it's on her rap sheet."
C closed his eyes and sighed. He'd been briefed by his partner,
and he knew the sordid details. "Nineteen arrests for prostitution
over the past year. Charges dropped on eight of them," he
recited from memory.
D nodded. "Three hospitalizations for severe withdrawl, one
apparent overdose of an unknown substance, and one attempted
suicide." He shook his head sadly. "Let's go." He reached down
and pulled the door handle, stepping smartly to the curb as he
slammed the door shut behind him. He didn't need to look back
as his partner pushed the remote and secured their car, which,
like them, was out of place in this particular neighborhood.
Clad in their dark suits, the two men appeared far more menacing
than even they realized. Here, in the inner city, in a world of
shadowy figures and lurking dangers, that appearance caused
more than a few heads to turn, and more than a couple of minds
otherwise inclined to violence to think a second time.
Appearance was everything, and the two men looked like they
meant business.
D stepped over a wretched wreck of a human being sprawled
against the building, a half-empty bottle of cheap wine spilled
unceremoniously on the sidewalk from where the drunk dropped
his bottle as he passed out. As one, the two men climbed the
short concrete staircase to the main entrance. The door to the
tenement building opened with a creak, and just as C had
expected, a foul odor slammed into their nostrils, making the men
wince.
"Twenty-two," C reminded his partner needlessly. Without
another word, the two climbed the creaky wooden staircase,
stepping carefully around the garbage and debris that littered the
treads.
With only one dim light bulb to guide them, it took the agents a
few moments to locate the proper door. C barely suppressed a
shudder as he rapped his knuckles on the dingy, peeling paint.
The knock echoed hollowly through the hall, and a similar but
fainter echo could be made out on the inside. No other sound
could be heard, especially from inside the door. After a few
moments, C glanced at D uncertainly.
D grimaced. "Try again." C rapped again, louder this time.
From behind the door came the sound of soft shuffling. D shot
his partner a quick sideways glance, then turned his attention
back to the door, to the sound of hands fumbling on a lock.
Accompanied by a slow unearthly creaking of the hinges, the door
slowly opened a crack.
The face that peeked out from the crack looked like it was only
half human. The sandy brown hair on her head was long and
disheveled, tangled into a matted knotted mess. At one time, the
eyes may have been pretty; now, however, they were sunken,
hollow, and utterly devoid of even the faintest spark of happiness.
No rosy glow dotted her cheeks; her entire face was ashen, and
her lips trembled as if in the grip of uncontrollable spasms. She
looked at the agents. "Did Timmy send you?" she begged in a
pathetic tiny whimper.
C glanced at D, then he shook his head. "Are you Paula
Garman?" he asked firmly.
It took a second or two for recognition to dawn, and then the girl's
eyes lit up, ever so faintly, with fear. Her face hastily backed
away from the crack and the door slammed.
If it weren't for C's foot wedged in the door, the girl would have
slammed it in the agents' faces. D nodded solemnly to his
partner, and with almost no effort, the two agents pushed the door
back open, letting themselves into the girl's apartment.
As C closed the door behind himself, the girl collapsed into a
heap on the bare floor. "Go away!" she whimpered in a voice that
cracked. "I haven't done anything!" She was convulsing, her
limbs trembling visibly.
C shook his head sadly. The girl was a pathetic sight; a wreck of
a person, huddling miserably in a tiny little apartment in a slum.
Through an open door, he could see her bed - a small mattress
lying on the floor. A tiny table and a single chair, refugees from a
second-hand shop, passed for her dining furniture, while a
broken-down couch completed the meager furnishings.
D reached down and grasped the girl's arms. Effortlessly, he
pulled her to her feet. With no spoken words, his partner pulled
the dining chair for the girl to sit in.
The girl glanced up at the agents, sinister in their dark suits.
"What do you want?" she begged, her voice trembling like her
body.
"Are you familiar with the name Paul Hollings?" C asked simply.
It didn't seem possible, but the girl paled even more. "Leave me
alone," she wailed. "Let me go find Timmy." She glanced at C.
"Please!"
"You need something?" D asked in a knowing voice.
The girl glanced at him, her eyes pleading. "I need it," she
begged. "I need a ... a fix. Real bad." Her voice was a pathetic
whimper as she pleaded desperately with the agents. "Timmy
said he'd take care of me," she added in a voice that sounded
more like a scared little girl than an adult. "Did Timmy send you?"
She seemed to have completely forgotten that neither C nor D
had said Timmy sent them.
C looked at her, shaking his head sadly. Her eyes were
bloodshot, and the dark circles under them contrasted sharply
with her pale complexion. With her matted hair, she looked more
dead than alive.
D grasped her arms, then pulled them up. His eyes traced quickly
up and down them. "See it?" he asked his partner, seemingly
oblivious to the girl's whimpering.
C shook his head. "I don't see anything."
D let go of her arms. "Exactly. She's this strung out, obviously
addicted, and she needs a fix."
"And no needle tracks," C added after a microsecond's thought.
"She's not a needle addict." He started and looked down as he
felt something. The girl's hands were at his waist, struggling
feebly with his belt. "Hey!" he rebuked.
The girl didn't seem to have heard him. She continued to fumble,
her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, trying with the
desperation of a junkie after a fix to undo the fly of C's trousers.
C grabbed her arms. "Hey!" he called again, half lifting the girl to
stare into her eyes. "We didn't come for that! We're here to talk
about Paul Hollings."
The girls' eyes dropped from C's face to stare at his crotch.
"Please!" she begged once more, her voice weak and cracking. "I
need it!"
C let the girl slump back to the floor. She sat, half whimpering,
half begging, as C grasped his fellow agent's arm. He jerked his
head to one side, and D followed him away from the girl.
"Well?" C asked simply, one eye on the miserable lump of
humanity on the floor.
"Well, what?" D asked. "She's so strung out she can't even think
straight. We're not going to get any answers from her."
C nodded grimly. "Not until she gets a fix, anyway."
D's eyes narrowed. "You're not suggesting..." He glanced at the
girl, then back at the determined face of his partner. "That's
against regulations."
C shrugged. "Not really. It's against regulations to coerce
someone into such a situation. It is, however, permissible to use
whatever means are necessary to get a ... client ... to talk."
"But..."
C shook his head. "If we're going to get anything out of her..."
**********
C leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. His eyes were
half-shut, and a contented smile seemed fixed on his features.
After a moment, he glanced at his partner.
D, likewise, sat as if transfixed, the same satisfied grin on his
face.
"Well?" C asked slowly.
D smiled. "She's good."
C grinned. "She's a guy."
"_Was_ a guy," D countered quickly. "Now she's a ..." He sat,
lost in thought.
"A cum-happy sucking machine?" C completed the thought,
laughing softly. "Damn, but she was good." He paused, thinking
for a moment. "She's got a mouth like a vacuum cleaner." He
sighed again, a soft sound of contentment. "I don't think she has
a gag reflex, do you?"
D took a deep breath, then smiled. "_You_ ever meet a girl who
could deep-throat like that?" He sighed again at the memory.
"Nah. And I bet her suppliers like it that way."
C nudged his partner and pointed toward the entrance. "Look at
her," he said softly.
D followed C's gaze. "Hard to believe it's the same girl." If
anything, D was guilty of a serious understatement. With her 'fix',
Paula was past the uncontrollable craving, and with a little time in
her bathroom, she was sauntering down the walk. Her hair was
now attractive - wavy with one lock that seemed to defy control.
D knew it was a strategic 'do - it had the innocent yet playful look
that would help her ... business. Short leather skirt, low-cut red
knit top that seemed to be stretching to the breaking point, three-
inch heels. Paula was a walking advertisement for sex, and she
was on the prowl for more of her ... peculiar ... drug.
C took another deep breath, then shook off his reverie. "Her story
fits with the other reports. Paul Hollings. Nineteen year old
college freshman. Pledged the Beta Beta fraternity. The
fraternity found one of the boxes, and as a gag, changed all their
pledges for Hell Week, including Paul. Paul ... disappeared."
"Only they didn't know it would be permanent," D interrupted.
C nodded. "Paul's big brother changed him into a nice 'girl next
door' - with a physical addiction to cum with a corresponding
narcotic high. Thought it would be a great prank."
D nodded grimly. "Paul was humiliated to find himself a bimbo
addicted to give blowjobs. He ran away, and has been living like
that for the past year and a half."
"I wouldn't call that living," C said as he shook his head. "More
like ... surviving." He sighed again. "Girl next door. Hah! "Those
aren't 'girl next door' tits!"
D nodded. "If she could think straight, she'd be making a lot more
money. As it is, she did manage to pay cash for her breast
augmentation. How did she put it? They attract more
customers?"
C nodded. "Like any addict, she hates herself every time she
gives a blowjob, but she needs the fix. She doesn't have enough
willpower to stop, and even if she did, she probably won't ever be
able to since it was programmed as a physical dependency."
D sighed and shook his head. "Won't they ever learn?" His brow
wrinkled. "You think she'll move back to the fraternity like they
offered?"
C shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. It's a steady supply for her,
and the frat did offer to pay her room and board and some kind of
compensation." He shook his head. "I don't think there's enough
of Paul left in her to feel any shame or embarrassment if she
_did_ move back."
D stared straight ahead, wondering if his partner was thinking the
same thing he was. "How are you going to write this up?" he
finally asked.
C gave a wry grin. "We found her, we questioned her, we got our
answers. Case closed."
"Nothing about the blowjobs?"
C glanced at his partner. "Are _you_ going to write anything
about that?" After a moment of silence, he turned his attention
back to the car and started the motor. "I didn't think so." As the
car pulled out into the street, C shot his partner a quick glance.
"Well, that's one pledge down, sixteen to go."
FIN
Madison
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