Saturday, April 3, 2010

Excerpt of Big Juicy Lipps: Double Dippin' 2 by Allison Hobbs

Here is an excerpt from the book Big Juicy Lipps by Allison Hobbs that I had Ana Marie reading at the end of the second episode this year. Like I said, Allison is on fire. You can get all of her titles on


“I wonder if those creams really work.” Misty trailed a finger over Brick’s soft penis, trying to caress the sagging appendage back to life.

Lying on his back, his head resting on his clasped palms, Brick jerked himself upright. “What kind of cream?”

“Stay-hard cream,” she said nonchalantly, knowing Brick would become incensed.

“What the hell do I need that for?”

“It’s supposed to make you stay hard…last longer.” Misty sighed, withdrew her finger, clearly giving up on any hope that Brick would become erect.

“Cut that shit!” Brick scowled, further distorting his face, which was already disfigured by a cruel scar that ran jagged from his hairline down to his chin. “I pounded on you for two straight hours—killing that pussy. But I held back, didn’t bust ’til after you did.” Brick gave Misty a look of disbelief. “What? You expect my jawn to stay hard for two, three days?” Brick gave a little chuckle, but the sound lacked mirth. “Come on, Misty, stop being so greedy. I gotta get some sleep.” Brick rolled over on his side. He pulled the top sheet over his mountainous body and also over his head. His back, broad and hard as granite, was turned stubbornly toward Misty.

“You claim you love me, but you’re so selfish, sometimes!” Being spiteful, Misty plucked Brick in the back of his sheet-covered head.

“Stop frontin’; you know you got yours,” Brick mumbled, his face buried in the pillow.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t get shit; I faked it! I knew you were tired, so I faked it so you could bust, rest up and start all over again. I didn’t think you’d lay your selfish ass down and try to get your snore on.” Growing more resentful by the minute, Misty swatted Brick with her pillow.

He threw the sheet off his head. “Stop lying. After all these years, you think I don’t know when your lil’ ass is faking?” He flung the pillow she’d hit him with, but used much more force than he’d intended. The thumping sound made by the pillow, as it connected with Misty in the face, resonated inside the bedroom.

Misty’s mouth dropped open, stunned that Brick had hit her. It didn’t matter that it was just a playful smack of a pillow and that no real harm had been done. She was furious at his audacity. The five-foot, one hundred and five pound little dynamo pummeled Brick’s hard-as-concrete arm and shoulder, but quickly realized that he barely felt the blows from her small fists. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?” she yelled and then, using all her strength, she elbowed him viciously, but couldn’t do any damage to the big man.

Brick laughed and said, “Ow! I might need an ambulance.”

Misty rubbed her cheek. “I don’t see anything funny about a big ass man whipping my ass and leaving welts all over my face.”

“Whipping your ass? Is that what you gon’ tell the po-po?” He laughed even harder, his loving eyes adoring her, despite her fury.

“It’s not funny, Brick! My face feels like it’s starting to swell up.”

Brick sat up. His unattractive, scarred face was frowned in confusion and concern. “I didn’t mean to throw the pillow that hard. Misty, baby. I’m sorry, aiight?”

“No! It’s not aiight. You threw that jawn like it was a football; acting like you Donovan McNabb or somebody.”

Gently, the giant of a man pulled Misty’s small, delicate hand away from her face. With increased concern, he scrutinized the right side of her undeniably beautiful face and then he inspected the left side. “It’s aiight, Misty. Ain’t no marks,” he said, genuinely contrite. “I didn’t mean it. You know I forget my strength. I’d hurt myself before I’d put a mark on your pretty face.” Involuntarily, his hand touched the gruesome, jagged scar on his face, taking both him and Misty back to the dreadful night it happened.

Shaking away the memory, Misty refused to dwell on the past. “You gotta stop playin’ all the time. If it wasn’t for me—the way I look—we couldn’t make any money. Shit, we wouldn’t get in all those clubs for free or nothing,” Misty sighed, giving Brick a look of disgust. Suddenly, she grimaced and clutched her stomach.

“What’s wrong? Did I go too far up in you?”

“No,” she uttered in a pained, raspy whisper. “Cramps.” She bent at the waist and commenced to rock and moan softly.

The worry lines that intermingled with his jagged scar made Brick appear more grotesque than he actually was. “I didn’t know you had cramps. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were acting all sleepy and everything, so I was going to try to get you in the mood—trying to get you aroused.”

Brick’s eyes saddened. “Misty, baby, why’d you let me fuck you so hard if your stomach was hurting?”

“It wasn’t that bad, yet.”

“So, why you have to come at me all shady, pretending that you were horny? If I banged you again, you’d be in worse pain.” He looked in her eyes intently. “You gotta let me know, when you feeling bad. It don’t matter how tired I am, I’d never go to sleep and leave you laying awake, in pain. And you know it.” His voice rose in anger.

“I said that I’m sorry for not telling you, so stop yelling. That’s not making it any better.” Annoyed, Misty sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Can I get something off of my chest?” he asked, voice lowered.

She nodded, her expression becoming increasingly pained.

“Why you got so much game, Misty? You be trying to get over when you don’t even have to?”

Misty smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Brick. You know that I have a big problem with honesty.”

“I know.” Brick caressed her silky hair. “It’s all good, though. You were a born scam artist. Real talk; your game is tight. But you act like you in this by yourself.” He shook his head. “I’m on your side. How many times I gotta prove myself? I’m ride or die.” Brick nodded, emphatically.

“I know you’re on my side, Brick,” she said, and tenderly traced his scar with her fingertip, silently acknowledging the sacrifice he’d made for her.

“This is our crib,” Brick went on. “This is where you rest your head at night. When you come home, you gotta leave all the game at the door.”

Pretending remorse, Misty lowered her head, while Brick continued to adoringly run his fingers through her long hair. Misty spoke softly. “I hear what you’re saying, but don’t get it twisted. I like you and everything, but there ain’t nothing but larceny in my heart. That’s how I keep us living good. My brain is working overtime, always figuring out new ways to scam mufuckas. I don’t have time for that lovey dovey shit. Feel me?”

He nodded, head bowed in sorrow.

“Don’t take it personally, Brick. It’s hard doing what I do,” she said, pouting.

“I know, I know.” Brick raised his head, reached up and massaged Misty’s shoulders.

“And tonight…dealing with all this pain—” She winced and pressed her hands against her stomach. “I can’t think straight. Brick, you gotta make a run to the store. Get me some Midol for these cramps.”

“Midol! You don’t need that! Whatchu think you got me for? I got the best remedy for your cramps.”

“Well, do something. I’m in pain,” she whimpered, biting her lip as if fighting unbearable agony.

Brick repositioned Misty, pulled her to the edge of the bed, allowing her legs to dangle. He bent low and crouched between her thighs.

Misty shivered when she felt Brick’s rough facial hairs scrape against her thighs. “I’m sorry for lying to you, Brick,” she murmured, speaking in the fake, tiny voice she used on tricks, Brick, and her mother to get what she wanted.

She could feel Brick’s semen starting to bubble outside her pussy, slowly saturating her pubic hairs.

“Hold up,” he said. “I’ll get a washcloth and clean you up.”

“Ow!” she blurted and rubbed her stomach frantically.

Brick looked in the direction of the bathroom and back at Misty. “You hurting, real bad?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh, God!” she cried out, and tried to sit up as if the pain had gone up a notch. The extra effort exerted inadvertently caused more semen to erupt and trickle out. Misty pressed her thighs together, while moaning in pain. “Hurry up, Brick, go get the washcloth,” she said, pitifully. She knew he disliked the sour taste of his own semen and only ate her cum-drenched pussy under extreme emergencies. But watching him suck his thick ejaculation out of her coochie aroused her like crazy; gave her a body-quacking orgasm.

She pretended to cry.

“Don’t cry, Misty, baby. You know I gotchu, girl,” Brick assured her with eyes filled with love.

Playing her part to the hilt, Misty continued to twist and writhe, all the while rubbing her stomach and moaning, “It hurts. Oh, Brick. Help me, it hurts so bad.” She could feel a thick stream of his semen, trailing down one of her thighs. Just in case the sight of it repelled him, she cunningly took her theatrics to another level, sobbing as if she were in critical condition.

“Relax, Misty. Open your legs.”

Misty wanted to break into a wide grin, but she grimaced as if in excruciating pain. Brick tenderly parted her thighs. She could feel the slimy ejaculation, now stuck on both thighs. Brick’s loving lips went straight to the center of her semen-saturated honey pot, sucking and kissing it; showing her coochie mad love. He gently separated her cum-stuck pussy lips with his moist tongue. Once he had her pussy wide open, he sucked on her snatch—healing it—giving it mouth to mouth resuscitation.

He went from sucking to licking. His tongue strokes felt so good, so soothing, it took an enormous amount of willpower for Misty to resist wrapping her legs around his neck and grinding her slushy coochie all over his scarred face. “Mmm,” she uttered spontaneously. “Oh, baby. I feel so much better,” she moaned, twisting and shuddering, no longer able to restrain herself.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded tentative.

“Go for it, then.”

“For real?”

“Yeah,” Brick said, huskily. “Don’t worry about me. Do you. Get your thing off, baby.”

That was all Misty needed to hear. She placed frantic pussy rotations on Brick’s lips for a few moments. Then crudely, disrespectfully, she slid her cunt up and down his face, abusively smearing cum and pussy juice on his forehead, eyelids, nose, mouth, and chin, all the while crying out and calling Brick horrible, degrading names.

Seconds later, Misty felt her coochie walls contracting. Heightening her arousal, she called Brick an ugly monster, a beast, and every other deplorable name that seemed fitting. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she geared up for an erotic explosion that would soon gush out and splatter Brick’s ugly face.


Misty’s body shook from the final, orgasmic tremor.

“Feel better?” Brick’s face was shiny, glazed from her juices. Misty sat up and looked at him. She turned up her nose. She scooted backward. “Eew! You stink, Brick. Your face smells rank; like cum.”

Misty’s spiteful words stung badly, but Brick kept the hurt from appearing on his face. “Yeah, you’re feelin’ better,” he said as he got off his knees. “You’re back to your same ol’ evil, ways.”

Recoiling, Misty grimaced. “Back up, away from me! I’m not trying to talk to you with all that stank cum crusted up in your beard and your mustache. Go, wash your face!”

“You must have a stank pussy ’cause your pussy juice is mixed up in there, too,” he retorted weakly as he headed toward the bathroom. Brick tried to play it off.

Misty could tell his feelings were hurt, but she didn’t care. “My coochie does not have an odor. Your foul-ass seed is funking up the whole bedroom,” she added, maliciously, scowling and fanning her face.

The sound of water running in the sink indicated that Brick was handling his business. Misty looked down at her thighs and recoiled. “Bring me a warm washcloth! Cum is smeared all over my legs. Why you so nasty, Brick?” Then she felt around and snatched her hand back in anger. “Damn, you get on my nerves!”

“Now, what I do?” he called from the bathroom.

“It looks like you shot a gallon of cum. Slimy shit is all over the sheets and everything. I can’t sleep overtop of no cum-stained sheets. You have to change this bed linen. Hurry up!”

“Aiight, gimme a minute. I got rid of your cramps and everything, but I can’t even get a half-ass thank you,” he said, glumly. “Brick, do this . . . Brick, do that . . .” he complained, mimicking her loud, high-pitched voice.

“Hurry up!” She’d been bossing him around for as long as she could remember. She squinted in thought. Hmmm. She’d met Brick back in first or second grade. He was in the class with the slow learners. She was in the accelerated class. His dumb ass wouldn’t know which way to turn if she didn’t point him in the right direction.

Brick was six feet four and two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle. Misty was barely five feet and weighed one hundred and two pounds. Tiny and mighty, Misty was the boss bitch in their relationship.

He entered the bedroom with a soapy, warm washcloth in his hand. A set of sheets were tucked under his arm. He laid the clean bed linen at the foot of the bed and cleaned the crusted cum off Misty’s thighs and outside her vagina. Very carefully, he separated her inner folds and cleaned the soft pink flesh. “Aiight, you’re straight. Get up so I can make the bed.”

“I’m tired,” Misty whined.

“You gotta get your lazy lil’ ass up if you want to sleep on clean sheets.”

Lazily, Misty eased off the bed. “You must not be working hard enough,” she informed him as she watched him pull the rumpled top sheet off the bed.

“What! It’s two in the morning . . . you sent me on that appointment. I came home and fucked you, I ate your pussy, I cleaned your pussy, and now you got me changing the bed. What more do you want me to do?” Brick sounded hurt, but Misty’s expression held no compassion.

“Yo, nigga,” she said, twisting her neck and injecting bass in her feminine voice. “You shot out a gallon of cum. There’s no way in hell you should be shooting a big load like that, if you’re working as hard as you should.” Misty snorted. “But that’s on me; I’ll take the responsibility for it. I’ve been too soft on you. But you better believe, playtime time is over. You gotta step up your game.”

Solemnly, Brick continued making the bed, his head hung low. Misty wasn’t moved by the ‘poor Brick’ routine.

“We got bills to pay. You can’t hustle a couple times a week and think it’s all good. Shit, just gassing up the new truck is costing us a grip. You gotta start bringing in more money and it’s my job to push you to make sure you do.”

Brick’s brows crinkled together. “Baby, I think it’s all the shopping you do that keeps us in the hole.”

Misty reared back in shock. “What! You expect me to go around looking like a ragamuffin?”

“That ain’t what I’m saying.”

“Whatchu saying, then?”

“I know you have to keep your gear up. I’m just saying, you shop two or three times a day; sometimes four. Don’t you think that might be a problem?”

“No! And you shouldn’t either. If shopping makes me feel good, you just shut the fuck up and keep that money coming.”

“I can take on some part-time work,” he said in a meek voice.

She gave a loud, derisive, snort.

“I could start robbing niggas again,” he suggested. “That’s an easy hustle.”

“Look at me, Brick,” Misty said through clenched teeth. He didn’t look up. “Look the fuck at me!” she yelled.

Prompted by her tone, Brick looked her directly in the eye. Curled, naked in a chair, Misty glared at him, making him squirm for a few uncomfortable moments. “How long have I been looking out for you—for us?” she asked with strained patience.

“A long time,” he muttered.

“How long!” she shouted.

“Since we were kids.”

“Don’t you think by now, I know what’s best for us?”

Brick nodded.

“Do you know how fuckin’ stupid you sound, talkin’ about robbing mufuckas? First of all, that shit is illegal. I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on doing anymore time. Second, robbing niggas only brings in a coupla dollars—it’s unpredictable employment. I’m not psychic and neither are you. I can’t point out a mufucka and calculate how much he’s carrying in his pocket or how much loot he can withdraw from the ATM machine. But the hustle we got going on is bringing in a lot of cheese. I have a master plan that’s gonna have us rolling in dough. But you have to cooperate.”

“I will,” he agreed.

“I’m gonna put up a website, featuring you. After I get that going, we’ll be counting so much IRS-can’t-tax money, we’ll have to hire somebody to set up an offshore bank account for us.”

Horror covered Brick’s face. “You wanna put me on a website?”

“Do you know how many people we could reach, if your King Kong dong was presented online? The way we’re handling things is requiring a whole lot of unnecessary legwork. Once I get the website poppin’, the sky’s the limit,” she said proudly.

“I don’t like that idea, Misty.”

Misty was momentarily silent. Seething, she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Oh, really? I guess you forgot where you came from.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Nigga, who took up for you when the kids teased your ass in school?”
“You did,” he mumbled, looking pained by the unpleasant and harsh shove down memory lane.

“And who was standing next to you, cheering like a fuckin’ Laker Girl, the first time you had the heart to go upside a nigga’s head?”

“You was, Misty, baby. You gave me the nerve to crack nigga’s heads.”

“I damn sure did,” she snarled. “You were scared of your own shadow until I made you believe you could whip everybody’s ass.” She stared at him for a few moments. “Did I lie?”

“No, you ain’t lie.”

“How did me and you—two fourth graders—manage to beat middle school niggas out of their lunch money?”

“’Cause you gave me my heart,” Brick admitted, looking resigned to having his image posted on a website.

On a rant, Misty sucked in a big burst of air. “So, how come when I got locked up two years ago you couldn’t do shit for me or for your damn self? You almost starved to death when I got popped. But as soon as I got out, we started eating again, didn’t we?”

Brick nodded, head held low. “True dat. You right.”

“I hate to talk about Shane—God rest his soul—but Shane was supposed to be your boy—your best friend, but he didn’t look out for you. Shane was all about self—” Misty paused and swallowed. “The only other person he gave a fuck about was his twin, or so he claimed, but after what he did to Tariq, we now know Shane only cared about Shane.” Misty and Brick both went silent as they mused over the night Shane Batista’s twin brother, Tariq, was hit by a car and killed after witnessing Shane in bed with his wife, Janelle. Shane lost his mind and was never the same.

Misty shook the memory away. “While I was doing that bid, you were ass-out, with nobody you could depend on.” Though she talked harshly of Shane, in her heart, she held no ill will toward him. In fact, she hated having to drag Shane’s name through the mud just to get through Brick’s thick skull.

True, Shane was selfish as hell at times, but he also had a sweet, giving side. To know him was to love and hate him—it depended on how he wanted you to feel. If Shane Batista wanted something—he turned on the charm. If he didn’t need shit from you, he gave you his ass to kiss, which was why Misty had fallen hard for him, and had loved him until the day he died. Despite everything, she’d always believed that Shane loved her too. It was a heartbreaking, soul-wrenching discovery, when Misty’s found out that Shane had knocked up and married some goodie-two shoes named Kapri.

Later, when she learned that he’d gotten a divorce and had turned around and married his dead brother’s ugly-ass wife, she’d damn near had a nervous breakdown.

When she’d heard that Shane had committed suicide, she was distraught over the loss of that good dick. Oh, well. Rest in peace, Shane. Misty returned her thoughts to the present, and gave Brick a scathing look.

“I’ve been carrying your weight too many years for you to tell me that I’m making a bad decision. One thing I can’t stand is an ungrateful, nigga.”

Brick abandoned the bed-making task and approached the chair where Misty sat. “I’m sorry for questioning your decisions and for acting ungrateful. I know we gotta eat, baby. I’m real sorry.”

“Yeah, we gotta eat steak and seafood. Fuck Ramen damn noodles,” Misty added with laughter.

Looking pleased that he’d been able to lift her spirits, Brick threw in, “Yeah, fuck Ramen Noodles and Cheese Curls.”

“That’s not funny, Brick. Why’d you have to bring up Cheese Curls? You always gotta fuck up my mood.” Her facial expression turned angry; her tone, resentful.

Brick stared at her, wide-eyed. “What did I do?”

“Why you gotta talk about prison food? Damn! You know how much I despise being reminded of that mess I had to eat while I was in jail.” She shook her head. “Ramen Noodles and Cheese Curls!” Misty repeated, grimacing as she spat out each word. She cut her eyes at the partially-made bed. “Why is it taking so long to change the sheets?”


Zoey said...

I wanna read the rest of this book.. Misty is on some other shit lol

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