PEG (Dirty Tricks Book 1)

by Carrie Breeze

  “I know you like that, don’t you. Yes, after I’m done you’ll be a lot more sensitive to women. Isn’t that right?”

  He mumbles in agreement around my prick.

  “Mmm, that’s right. You like my cock, don’t you?”

  Nodding, saliva drools down from his choking mouth.

  “Well, being that you’ve been such a naughty boy, I’m going to give you the full treatment. C’mon, up on your feet,” lifting him up by the armpits. “Lower your trousers. Do it. Now.”

  He fumbles with his belt, gets it unfastened.

  “Too slow.”

  I yank his pants and boxers down. His cock flops out semi-erect. “Hmm, not bad, Iron balls. Turn around.” I shove him forward so he’s kneeling on the couch. In the drawer of the end table I keep lube handy because you never know when you’ll need some. I squeeze a few dollops onto my fingers and lube up Blunt’s anus, probing him with one and then two fingers until he’s loose and slick as a goose. Then I lube up my stick good and slimy and poke around his hole with its head. Teasing him.

  “Yeah, you want it, don’t ya? You want my cock inside you. Well, you’re gonna have to beg for it.”

  “Please, no. No. It’ll ruin me.”

  “Ha, flattery will get you nowhere. You just earned yourself twenty strokes.”

  I push inside of him.

  “Ah, ah ah,” he gasps and whimpers.

  I show no mercy. Pushing. Pushing. All the way to the base of my cock, pressing it against my throbbing clit. I’m flying high as a kite. I’m fucking one of the most powerful men on earth. I reach forward and grab his hair, yanking his head back forcing him to arch his hips. I ride him like a wild stallion. He’s grunting and snorting and screaming for me to get off. But I got to tame this beast.

  I pull out. He relaxes. Panting. Catching his breath. Groaning.

  “You’re not done, bitch. Turn over on your back and spread your legs.”

  He complies but I have to help him. He’s fully hard. I put my cock up against his and compare.

  “Looks like I got you beat by a good inch, Agent Masters. Maybe after you’re through with me I can return the favor.”

  “In your wildest dreams, bitch.” I spit in his face for his insolence and then enter him.

  I clutch his pole and stroke him as I pump him. Faster. Harder. Faster. Deeper. His balls pull up with each stroke. He arches his hips. My muscles are trembling. He’s on the verge of coming. My leg muscles are spasming. Hes gasping and gasping.

  “Oh fuck,” he cries out.

  I pull out, bend down, and take him into my mouth just as he unloads a bucket of hot cum. I drain all his bitter salty semen and then fall forward onto Blunt’s chest. His mouth is open, panting. My mouth is full of his cum. I lock mine onto his, sharing that tasty treat. We share a long slobbering spunky kiss.

  When I release him. He looks up at me, his face, drenched in body fluids, smiles in gratitude.

  “Well, sir, how do you feel? A little more sensitive?”

  “Yes, Peg, I do believe I’m ready for Wisconsin.”

  More filthy good reads:

  The first time I saw my stepbrother pee it was by accident. It was at grandpa and grandma’s cottage on Pleasant Lake, at the family reunion last June. A ton of relatives were there so, I guess the bathroom was kind of busy. I was helping out in the kitchen - cleaning off the plates just after a huge lunch, scraping the scraps into the trash can. After I finished, the can was darn near spilling over. So, I decided to run the bag out to the garbage cans way out back behind the garage.

  The back yard was big and some of my relatives had a game of touch football going. The garage sat way beyond where they played - along the remote dirt road that winds past the property. Turning the corner of the garage, walking behind it, out of view from everyone, I was about to drop the bag into one of the cans when I stopped… and slowly and quietly set the bag on the ground. I had heard a sound like that of rushing water coming from around the next corner. Was it a garden hose or something?

  The side of the garage from which the sound came was concealed from the back yard by shrubs and brush. Was someone back there? I walked closer but then stopped when I saw the arc of a golden stream of pee. I calmed my breathing so as not to give myself away. Only the pee was visible to me at that point. I had to see who it was. I crept silently along the side of the garage - inching closer to the corner. Who ever it was, his penis came into view. It was long and thick and gorgeous. Pee was shooting out of its wide head with great force. He must have been holding it for hours.

  My pussy, for some unexplainable reason, started tingling. I reached down and pressed my fingers into my crotch. It started getting warm down there. I had to take a chance at being discovered. I had to know who this mystery peeing man was. With my head at the very corner, I silently inched out one eye. OMG, it was Carl, my stepbrother. He did not see me because of his intense concentration on his peeing. Seeing that only heightened my excitement. His cock was poking through the zipper of his jeans. He held it loosely in his right hand.

  A strange desire came over me? What would it be like to taste Carl’s pee? I imagined myself kneeling before him as he peed into my open mouth. The thought made me blush and feel warm all over. My panties started getting wet.

  Carl finally finished, put his cock back into his jeans, zipped up, turned and rejoined the football game. He never knew I’d seen him.

  I returned to the house - fielding questions from my cousins about what took me so long. “Got roped into a game,” I lied.

  That was three months ago. I’m back at college, now. I’ve fantasized about the incident almost every day. I can’t explain how my new pee fetish developed. I just like to lie in bed late at night, get out my vibrator and fantasize about Carl and his big beautiful cock peeing all over me.

  Carl and I go to the same college. He’s a senior and I’m a sophomore. We both live at home to save money. No matter how much I’ve desired it, though, I haven’t been able to see him pee since that day at the family reunion.

  It’s the first day of class of the fall semester and I’m in the bathroom applying my face.

  Knock on the bathroom door, it’s Carl, “Heather, will you be long? I have to go really bad.”

  Can’t believe my luck. This is the golden opportunity I’ve been waiting for. Have to play this right, though. Don’t want him to think I’m some kind of freak.

  “Come in, Carl. I’m almost done,” leaning over the sink, applying mascara. Through the mirror I see him rush in behind me. He’s got on a t-shirt and athletic shorts. Hair is a mess - evidently, just got up.

  “Sorry, sis. Look the other way,it’s an emergency,” lifting the toilet seat, he pulls down the front of his shorts and that gorgeous cock, hard from needing to pee all night, pops out. I’m watching at an angle through the mirror while pretending to apply makeup.

  He is so hard he has to manually force his cock down so that his pee won’t miss the toilet. He lets go and the sound is like Niagara Falls. I am so turned on. The air is hot and sticky from my recent shower. The odor of his pee fills the room - salty and bitter. I’m standing in my bathrobe - nothing underneath. I want to rub my pussy in the worst way. But I don’t want to give myself away to Carl. Like back at the family reunion, he’s concentrating heavily on his pee. Continuing to watch through the mirror, I press my mound up against the edge of the sink and subtly rub my aching clit into it. He has so much pee inside he seems to go on forever. I take a chance and slip my left hand down inside my robe and work my fingers into my pussy. He is so hot. His cock is way bigger than when I saw it before. So fucking gorgeous. Again, I imagine him pissing all over me and into my mouth. I’m going to cum. My hips are squirming. A tiny moan escapes my lips. My mascara pencil slits. My legs are quivering. Don’t know if my jelly knees will hold me.

  “Ohhh, god,” shit, Carl heard that.

  P CLUB

  God, I love Carl’s ride. The way it growls and rumbles and y
ou feel its motor humming all through your body.

  We pull up outside Humbert Hall just in time for my English Lit class. My best friend, Janine, is waiting there on the curb. She sees us and waves.

  “See you tonight, Carl,” I get out, slamming the door.

  “Have a good day, sis. Hey, Janine. Looking good,” smiling and waving before zooming off to his class.

  “Hi, Carl,” she smiles back with dreamy eyes.

  “Look at you, melting all over my stepbrother.”

  “You are so lucky, Heather, living in the same house with that hunk.”

  “Well, don’t have an orgasm. We’re late for class,” turning and heading into the building.

  “What’s that funny smell,” crinkling her nose. “You trying out a new perfume? Smells like real toilet water.”

  “Hot, ain’t it,” sniffing my pee-stained wrist. I hadn’t bothered to bathe after Carl gave me my golden shower this morning. Just let the pee dry and slipped on a tank and some tight white jeans. My skin has a sticky scuzzy feeling… like the rim of a urinal. Gives you a new attitude, like, petty shit like, how you look, and what others think, and rules and regulations don’t mean as much when you’re covered in pee.

  In Lit class Janine and I grab seats near the back of the room. There are about thirty students. My B.O. makes me horny as hell. My mouth starts watering. And, a few minutes into the period, while Professor Goodyjohn is lecturing on the great American novel, I start licking my arms. Just sneaking quick tongue touches on my bare shoulder so as not to draw any attention.

  “Today we’re going to learn how to create a blurb. An effective blurb is probably the independent author’s best marketing tool. For, after the book’s cover, it’s the reader’s first exposure to your story. And that’s where you snare him or her….”

  I’m nearly squirming with pee lust and boldly run my tongue down along the inside of my right arm - from pit to palm. Yum. Looking around the class, no one seemed to notice. They’re all focused on the prof. I look up at him. He’s wide-eyed as a cagey old owl. Probably a perv. Not bad looking though, in his open collared oxford, wisps of dark chest hair peeking out from his stocky chest. He sees me eye-balling him and lifts an eyebrow at me as he continues his instructions.

  “So, for the sake of today’s warm-up exercise, I’ve brought the old fedora out of mothballs,” picking up a dark felt hat that’d been sitting upside-down on his desk. “Inside it are thirty slips of paper, each labeled with the title of a novel from the class reading list….”

  I lick my other arm. Did he see me? His head is cocked in my direction, trying to see around big old Barney Liskey who’s sitting in front of me.

  “Heather, are you all right?”

  “Yup, I’m fine, prof. Just getting comfortable.”

  “Good. For this exercise you’ll need to relax and let it all hang-out, figuratively. As your name is called, come up and draw a slip from the hat. Then, without telling us the title of the book you’ve drawn, take a moment to recall what you’ve learned about it in class, and then give a brief summary of the book with the intent of hooking us into wanting to read it. Be creative. Be dramatic. Be humorous. Be provocative. Be seductive. Do anything you need to sell the book. Make us want to die to read it.”

  He’s onto me. I smile innocently at him. His eyes wander over the class but dart at me unpredictably every few moments. I sneak another lick. But, just a small one, slyly, slowly inching my left shoulder cap up to my lips.

  He calls the first student up. As the exercise begins, he and I play a cat and mouse game. He stealthily glances at me. I sneak licks. My panties are getting wet.

  ME, STUD

  January.

  Damn cold.

  It’s Monday and it’s snowing. But inside the public library it’s sixty-nine and every lowlife bookworm is seeking shelter from the big chill. I’m working the exit near the checkout lanes. My name is Saturday, Jack Saturday, book cop.

  There are six million books in this building and a million filthy fingered patrons in this city itching to abuse them one way or another. That’s where I come in. It’s up to me to investigate, enforce and prevent book abuse in its multifarious forms - from theft and defacement to scoring, scuffing and foxing. Minor offenses like absent mindedly pulling a book off a shelf by its spine cap are excused with a warning. Whereas others, such as intentional scoring with ink, carry a mandatory five dollar fine. Serial abusers are banned from the building for one year and must complete twelve hours of book sensitivity training before reinstatement of borrowing privileges. But theft is the most heinous book crime. As a deterrent, the library board has granted me the authority to conduct full body cavity searches on the grounds of suspicious behavior alone.

  The checkout lanes is a good place to hangout and look for suspicious characters. I lean with an open-stance against the counter, my thumb hitched in my side pocket, my long tall 24/7 perma-hardon clearly outlined in the crotch of my gray service trousers - just to let these dorks know I’m packing lust.

  Vivid images of the last strip-search flood my mind. An Asian college babe from the U gave me a funny look on her way out. I pulled her aside.

  “What’s the problem, officer?” she said, feigning innocence.

  “Oh, I think we both know the answer to that. Now, miss, we can either do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”

  “The easy way, please, sir?”

  “Wise decision. Will you come with me please?” I take her elbow and usher her to my office down in the sub-basement. “Okay, miss, empty the contents of your backpack on the desk, please.”

  “What is this about?” Tears trickled from her lovely almond eyes. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, miss. This is just standard procedure.”

  She slowly began emptying her backpack - school books, notebooks, laptop, lotion, her lunch…. I opened the plastic container. Inside was a half eaten chicken salad sandwich. I picked it up, sniffed it and then waved it in her face.

  “Do you know the penalty for eating in the library?”

  “No,” she shook her head.

  “Open your mouth. I need to check for evidence.”

  She complied. Her breath had chicken salad all over it. White bread residue screamed from the crevices between her teeth. I leaned closer, till our lips almost touched.

  “Do you know the penalty for eating in the library?” I whispered, looking into her pleading eyes.

  She looked down at my bulging crotch. Her hand was drawn to my cock by the irresistible force of my manhood.

  “Is there any way you can let me off with a warning, sir,” she unzipped my fly.

  “If you promise never ever to do it again I can be lenient.”

  “I do.”

  She took my engorged cock head into her tiny mouth….

  Stud on the Job

  I’ve only been my new job a week here at A-1 Pleasure Products and I’ve already found the woman I want to fuck. She’s the inventory control specialist. She counts all the dildos, vibrators, cock rings, butt plugs, blow-up dolls, lube, and other sex toys and paraphernalia that’s stored here and shipped out of our warehouse. Her name is Charity. What a big tease. Likes to flash her perfect tits at us guys as she breezes by the production line on her way to the stacks. Her laughter echoes through the spacious building - leaving us drooling.

  “All right, back to work, you lame asses,” Lonni, the supervisor yells. “We got two thousands orders to ship today,” her voice hard as gravel from years of cigs and beer. Lonni is a tall wrinkled old bitch but she’s tough as barbed wire.

  Today it’s just after starting time and I’m making boxes to send down the production line when it starts. A door opens and closes. The sound of a woman’s heels pounds the cement floor.

  “Lonni, mind if I borrow one of your men for a few minutes?”

  I look over from my stack of boxes. It’s Darlene from client services. She’s a fun-loving cu
rvy woman - a bowling ball with arms, legs and gigantic tits. Always kidding with us drones as she walks through the warehouse to and from smoking breaks.

  “Sure, go ahead, Darlene,” Lonni’s tone suddenly sweet as she smiles from the product staging area along side the production line. “Bumkowski,” she shouts over at me. “Follow Darlene, then get the fuck back here. We’re startin’ the line.”

  “Yes, ma-am.”

  Darlene leads me down a row of tall steel storage racks to isle J. We turn in and go down a long rack that hold pallets and pallets of various cock rings. She stops in front of open boxes of hundreds of candy-colored rings. I pull up beside her. We’re far out of sight from the others. They’re just barely visible through the grid-work of steel racks.

  “Hi Brad, how are you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “I hear you’re a writer.”

  “That I am.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Short stories.”

  “Oh, I’ll have to read one sometime. But right now I need your help. Just got off the phone with a client. He’s complaining about the effectiveness of the new Excalibur cock ring. But I believe it’s a good product. Darlene reaches into a bin holding hundreds and pulls one out. She turns it around in her hands and examines it. The ring is translucent metallic silver rubber with little spikes all along its outer perimeter. It’s sealed in a plastic bag.

  “Funny looking, isn’t it?” She laughs. “Ever use anything like this, Brad?”

  “Ah, no, ma-am. Can’t say that I have. What’s it do?”

  “It fits around your penis. That hole looks pretty small but the rubber expands around your cock, squeezing it and forcing more blood into it and giving you a longer, larger erection. Here,” she lifts the ring up to her mouth, bites down on the plastic bag, tearing it open with her teeth. She lets the bag fall to the floor and fingers the cock ring. “Think it would fit around you, Brad?” Smiling devilishly.