Big Juicy Lips (4 page)

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?” he asked glumly as he opened the door to get out. When his two cronies, Muscle Boy and Ashy Cashy, approached, he became suddenly chipper. “Aiight, shawty. See you tomorrow. Be safe!” Monroe added in a cavalier manner after he closed the passenger door.

Oh, no this nigga ain’t frontin’ for his boys.
“Hold up,” Misty shouted. Monroe turned around, his eyes sparkled with hope. She reached in the back and scooped up her yellow thong and sent it zinging out the window. Monroe raised his hands reflexively. The thong hit him in the face before dropping into his hands. Monroe gawked at the soft yellow fabric and then turned a puzzled gaze at Misty.

“That’s a little something to remember me by,” she said scornfully.

“Shawty slapped Monroe in the face with her panties,” Ashy Cashy ridiculed, feeling redeemed from the scorn she’d inflicted on him earlier.

Misty sped away. The loud scoffing laughter of Monroe’s crew became a distant hum; a murmur in the wind.

B
rick was furious. Misty hated it when he mustered the strength to ignore her. However, being much smarter than he, Misty knew she’d come up with an idea that would break his resolve. With her eyes squinted in thought, she stepped out of the shower, prepared to seduce her way back into Brick’s good graces.

She towel-dried her hair. No blow-drying tonight. Brick loved the feeling of her long, wet hair being dragged across his body.

“Still mad?” Misty asked as she strolled into the couple’s bedroom, wearing just a towel and shaking her wet hair; allowing droplets to land on Brick’s bare arms. The pungent aroma of weed filled the air. Brick sat on the side of the bed, puffing on a blunt.

“Yeah, I’m still mad,” Brick barked, refusing to suppress his emotions. “And stop flicking water on me.” He wiped the moisture beads off his arm.

Too angry to further enjoy his favorite pastime, he dropped the blunt in an ashtray, and then flopped down on the mattress, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Slyly, Misty unknotted the towel. Naked, she straddled Brick. “Let’s see if I can do something about all that pent-up anger.”

“I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled.

Misty gripped Brick’s wrists, pulled his arms out at his sides, and pinned the big man down. “You’re giving me no choice; I’m gonna have to rape you.”

Brick didn’t struggle; he didn’t even attempt to topple the feisty, little dynamo. “I don’t feel like playin’,” his voice was low, but unyielding.

“I hate it when you’re mad at me,” Misty complained, releasing his wrists.

“How do you expect me to feel? I’m not feelin’ you, so get up off me before I toss your lil’ ass.”

“Want some head?” she inquired cheerfully.

Brick snorted. “Hell no, I don’t want no more head. My jawn’s been sucked enough for one night, but you don’t care about that. As long as I’m bringing home money, you don’t care what happens to my dick.”

“Want your balls licked?”

Brick sighed. “I want you to raise up before I get violent.” Brick took deep, angry breaths, his massive chest heaved up and down. “How you gon’ leave me out in the fuckin’ northeast for two fuckin’ hours and then lie about having to take your mother shopping? I called your mom. I know what time you dropped her off. Your lil’ ass was probably out on a shopping spree. I think you got a shopping disease.”

“Aiight, I lied,” Misty admitted. “But I swear, I wasn’t out shopping; I didn’t buy anything today, I swear.”

“Where was you at, then?”

Misty brought her lips close to Brick’s ear. “I was on my way to pick you up, but I ran into this fine-ass young buck…” She paused and watched curiosity replace the scowl on Brick’s face.

“Uh-huh,” he uttered. “And then what happened?” He asked hastily, unable to disguise his interest.

“The way dude was walking, I could tell he had a big-ass dick, so I pulled the whip over and asked him if he wanted to go for a ride.” Misty cut her eye at the bulge inside Brick’s boxers, which was growing larger with every word that came out of her mouth. “I was so horny, I parked in a dark alley—”

Brick inserted his hand inside the opening of his drawers. He pulled out his manhood, which was rigid and already dribbling pre-ejaculation. “What happened after y’all parked?”

“Um…” She looked up in thought and then started putting together a story. “We started out kissing, then dude bit me on my neck…my legs went on automatic, and started opening up.”

“You’re just making this shit up. You know you were out shopping.”

“For real, Brick. I was out there freakin’ with another nigga.”

“What was his name?” Brick challenged.

“Um…” She pretended to think. “Um, I didn’t even ask him his name and he didn’t ask me mine, because it wasn’t like that. It was all about lust.”

“How big was his dick?”

“Big as shit.”

“Big as mine?”

“Bigger. Way bigger. That youngin’ was packing about twelve or thirteen inches,” she whispered. She aroused Brick even more by dragging her mop of damp hair over his broad chest.

Brick moaned, he stroked his meat, shining up his knob with the oozing pre-cum. “Damn, Misty. You supposed to be my girl and you out there, giving it up like a straight ho, making me wait while you were giving up coochie to a total stranger,” Brick accused as he held his growing arousal in his fisted hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was going to take that long, but that young buck spent about an hour eating out my coochie.”

“Umph,” Brick grunted lustfully. “Did you give him head, too?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, using a tiny, meek voice.

“Did you swallow his seed?” Brick roared. His nostrils flared; the hand movement beneath his boxers ceased as he awaited Misty’s response.

“No!” Misty protested.

Instant relief appeared on Brick’s face.

“I wanted to,” she softly admitted. “I wanted him to nut in my mouth, but I had to be considerate of you.”

“So what happened then?”

“Well, you know…taking you into consideration and everything, I ended up letting him raw dog my coochie. He busted two big-ass nuts.”

Brick gave Misty a hard shove. He glared at her as if he were two seconds from killing her. “You let him fuck you raw?”

Misty nodded.

“And he came twice?”

“Yeah, Brick—he came twice. I wouldn’t lie about it.”

“So, why’d you come home and jump right in the shower?”

Misty shrugged. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Don’t be mad—I didn’t wash my coochie. You know how I do; I washed everywhere else.”

Brick’s contorted expression relaxed into a smile. “You still filled up with dude’s seed?”

“Yeah, I said that I didn’t wash my coochie.”

“Aiight, then, you better not be lyin’.” Brick plumped up a pillow and rested his head. He squeezed his manhood again. “Damn, that shit you talkin’ got my jawn hard as a rock.” He licked his lips and reached for Misty’s hand. “Get over here, girl. Mmm. Squat your ass over my face. Mmm. I can’t wait to clean out that nasty, lil’ pussy.”

Misty had to give herself credit; she was on top of her game. Brick believed the dirty talk she’d whispered in his ear was something made up—nothing more than a freaky, graphically detailed fantasy. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Misty had led him to believe that she’d been faithful to him ever since Shane’s death, but she got her freak on occasionally. Sure, Brick gave her orgasms all the time. But, sexin’ dudes who reminded her of Shane was the only way she could bust a heart-pounding, body-convulsing nut.

Playing their game, Brick pressed his nose against her pubis, seeking to get a whiff of a musky, masculine smell.

“What’s it smell like, baby?” Misty asked.

“Like sweaty dick.”

“You like it?”

Brick sniffed deeply. “Love it.” He circled his lips around the opening of Misty’s tight tunnel. Stretching the tendons in his tongue, he poked and probed, pretending to search for a sticky glob of another man’s cum.

Misty held onto the headboard while she winded her hips. “You’ll never find another woman like me. You know that, don’t you?” she purred.

“Nevah, baby. Ain’t nobody like you,” he mumbled against her clit, while his cupped hand frantically worked up and down his steely shaft.

“I always share everything with you,” she whispered. “Even while I’m out there, freakin’, I always bring a snack home for you.”

“Thank you, Misty, baby. I appreciate it.” With his face buried between her legs, Brick’s voice was muffled.

“Taste good?”

“Real good!”

The combined sounds of Misty’s soft feminine moans, Brick’s heavy breathing and lapping tongue licks, echoed inside the bedroom.

This session should have been taped. Weirdoes paid good money to listen to dumb-ass shit like the sounds of the ocean, the wind blowing, and falling rain; she was pretty sure there were some perverts out there who would pay to listen to the sounds of pussy-licking. She’d charge extra to allow freaks to view some footage along with the audio.

Yes, in addition to his big dick, Brick had a thick, well-endowed tongue. It was Misty’s responsibility to showcase Brick’s attributes. If she expected a major come-up, she’d have to take their hustle to the next level. The next step would be to videotape a couple of Brick’s sex performances, and feature him on a website so he could get the kind of national exposure he deserved.

Of course, she’d have to record in secret. Brick would get camera shy if he knew he was being filmed. Brick could be such a pain in the ass. Knowing how uncomfortable he was about his hustle, Misty would bet a week’s worth of income that his dick would go limp and refuse to get hard if he was aware that a camera was rolling.

Fuck it; she’d worry about that later. Right now, she needed to figure out a way to get this nigga off her. It had been a long day. Monroe had worked her over; her pussy was sore and Brick’s rough, hungry tongue was adding more aggravation to the situation.

Misty searched her brain for more sex talk. She needed to come up with some really freaky dialogue that would finish him off.

“The next time me and the youngin’ get together, I’m gonna let you watch.” Misty waited for Brick’s reaction. The sound of his rapid hand movement up and down the length of his shaft indicated he dug the change of script. “You can hide in the closet,” she continued, in a husky tone. “Keep the door cracked a little bit, so you can peep what’s going on. I know your dick’s gonna be rock-hard. You gon’ leak like a mufucka when you watch another nigga sliding his thickness up my slit.”

Painfully aroused, Brick couldn’t concentrate on eating Misty’s pussy. Irregular tongue strokes were her cue to dismount his face. She sat beside him and whispered seductively in his ear. “After the young buck shoots his load, you can burst out of the closet and kick his ass for fucking your girl and disrespecting your home. I want you to stomp that nigga—knock him out,” she hissed.

Brick groaned in ecstasy.

“While he’s out cold, you can wrap your lips around my coochie and suck out his salty nut—get it while it’s nice and fresh. Wouldn’t you enjoy that, Brick?”

“Aw, yeah. Fucking, yes. Stop teasing me, Misty. Bring that mufucka home.” Brick’s breathing was harsh; his eyes were glazed over. Too worked up to continue speaking, he could only emit garbled sounds.

Misty smiled with satisfaction; her freaky murmurings were driving him over the edge. Brick was seconds away from spurting.

“Ahhh!” he bellowed as a fountain of hot, white lust shot into the palm of his hand.

Misty smiled proudly. She deserved a pat on the back for being such a creative bitch. She knew exactly what to do and say to dissolve Brick’s anger. Keeping him dependent on her to indulge his fantasies was one of the many ploys she used to get him to peddle his flesh several nights a week.

Brick allowed himself to be pimped out, but he made it clear that he wasn’t pleased with the situation. He griped and complained endlessly about having to sling dick for a living. All his bitching irked Misty to no end. They were living good—so he needed to save his breath—accept his fate and live his life as a happy ho.

Brick made a guttural cry; he rose into a half-hunch as he squirted out the last drops of semen. A pool of cum overflowed from his cupped hand. Misty shot Brick a reproachful glance. The abundance of the load was proof that he wasn’t turning enough tricks. He wasn’t working to his full potential.

Misty sucked her teeth and glared at Brick. The tables had turned. Brick no longer had an attitude, but she was one angry-ass bitch.

Wearing an apologetic smile, Brick rushed to the bathroom to wash up.

A
s warm water washed away the glob of incriminating evidence from his hand, Brick stared intently in the mirror. He caught a glimpse of Misty’s picture hanging on the wall behind him. The image was beautiful and erotic. Her long hair was trailing down her back. There was another picture beside it; Misty cupping her small breasts. There were pictures of Misty in every room of the apartment. Her beauty was captured and blown up to poster size. She’d mounted her image on every available space, every wall.

He gazed into the mirror, shifted and zoomed in on his awful image. He cringed at the jagged, face-deforming scar. Suddenly, a fast-moving collage of elementary school photographs traveled across his mind, taking him back to times when he looked normal. He nodded and smiled broadly, warmed by the remembrances of his youthful, undamaged face. He’d been a handsome little guy.

Then, a sneaky, invisible finger hit the fast-forward button on the tape of his life. He heard the sounds, saw the swift images as the imaginary tape swiftly raced to the night that changed his life. Brick flinched when he heard the clunk inside his head that indicated the mental tape had stopped moving, forcing him to flash on a memory that was so cruel, so jarring, it wiped the reminiscent smile from his face.

Sparks of anger glinted in the eyes that stared back from the mirror. He touched the ugly, raised formation of skin. The sparks in his eyes flickered to raging flames. Brick pounded the ceramictiled sink and suppressed the urge to scream.

His face had been crudely carved when he was only thirteen years old. Bitter tears wet his eyelashes. Brick used to envision numerous ways to torture the man who’d disfigured him. Unfortunately, he would never get the chance to exact revenge; the mufucka who cut him was already dead. Rivaling drug dealers put two bullets in his head. And that was a goddamn, fucked-up shame.

Misty brought the news when he was locked up in the boys’ detention center for selling drugs. He’d taken that fall for Misty. He’d always covered her ass.

“Frankie got shot down like a dog in the street. You shoulda seen it, Brick. He took a bullet in the arm—probably only grazed, but he was crying and crawling around, trying to squeeze between parked cars, but those killas wasn’t finished with his ass.

“They came up on Frankie like characters in a gangsta flick. One dude pressed his pistol against Frankie’s forehead. Snot was running out Frankie’s nose while he was praying, out loud. Then the other dude placed a barrel on the back of Frankie’s head. Ya boy, Frankie, started boo hooing, real loud, like a fuckin’ bitch. He was pleading for his life. Talked some shit about his mother was on SSI and how she depended on him.

“Yo, the killas was like…pow! pow! Put a bullet in the front and the back of his head at the same time. Frankie hit the ground; boom! He ended up with four holes in his head.”

Misty had excitedly relayed the news with the expectation that Brick would experience an immense measure of joy—a feeling of euphoria, now that justice had been served. But, Brick slumped into a depression and hardly spoke for the duration of Misty’s hour-long visit. No one would have ever imagined the jolt of disappointment followed by a feeling of utter despair that Brick felt upon learning that Frankie, his torturer, the man who’d disfigured his face, would not die the slow, torturous death he’d planned for the sadistic child molester.

“Frankie the Freak,” Brick mumbled as he tried to stop himself from free-falling all the way down memory lane. He braced the sink, trying to stop himself, but he couldn’t break the fall. His mind travel exported him back to when the molestation had started.

Frankie counted the money that Brick had given him. With a cigarette clenched between his teeth, smoke swirling upward, Frankie cocked his head to the side. “You came up short, again, Lil’ Playa.” His voice held a solemn warning.

“I know—” Brick gave Frankie an uneasy smile and then looked down at his sneakers. “I’ma make up that money with my next package.”

“Who said you gon’ get another package? Why should I keep on letting you fuck up my money?”

Brick didn’t have an answer for that question, so he shrugged, which turned out to be the wrong answer.

Frankie snorted. “Oh, it’s like that? You all nonchalant and don’t give a fuck about my money?”

“Nah, I meant to say, I’m sorry and it won’t happen…”

“Too late!” Frankie said, cutting off the last word of Brick’s apology. Anger flashed in his eyes. “You took something from me, so it’s only fair that I should take something from you. Ain’t that right, Lil’ Playa?”

Brick nodded uncertainly.

“Aiight, then, come on downstairs.” Frankie nudged his chin toward the door that led to the basement. “We need some privacy to settle this debt.”

Brick’s eyes darted in alarm and settled on the sliding bolt on the front door that Frankie had locked in place after Brick had entered.

Frankie yanked him by the arm. “Lil’ nigga, I’ll break your mufuckin’ neck if you try to unlock that door. Do you think I’m gon’ let you run out of here, without paying your debt?” He smacked Brick upside the head. “Bring your ass on!” Sending a prayer to the man above that Misty would realize that it was time to take some kind of action, Brick inched toward the basement door that Frankie now held open.

Certain that he was about to be badly maimed or even killed, Brick trembled as his captor led him down the stairs to a dimly lit, unfinished basement.

At the bottom of the stairs, Brick took just a few steps. Hoping for an opportunity to make a run for it, he didn’t want to venture too far from the stairs. He stood near the hot water heater, with his hands in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Aiight, lemme see what you got.” Frankie took a deep puff of the cigarette.

“I ain’t got nothing. I swear, Frankie; I gave you all the money I had. Me and Misty can get the rest of the money for you, by tomorrow. For real!”

Frankie tossed the burning cigarette butt on the concrete floor and ground it out with the sole of his boot. “I know you ain’t got no money,” he growled in disgust. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to play around with you. Now, like I said, you took something from me and I’m gon’ take something from you.”

Brick had no idea what he had that could be of value. If this was a movie, this would be the scene where blood was spilled. His blood. “Frankie, please…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Frankie demanded. “Pull down your pants.” Frankie gestured impatiently.

Positive he’d misunderstood the command, Brick scowled and said, “Huh?”

“Pull your pants down, man; I ain’t got time to play with you.”

Brick was greeted with a terrifying image of Frankie demanding him to bend over so he could viciously whip his bare ass with a razor strap, a wet ironing cord, or a rusty hanger. He was used to normal ass-whoopings. At home, his foster father had been delivering a leather strap to his ass ever since he was six years old.

But Frankie looked like he had something
extra
in mind. “Why you want me to take down my pants?” Brick stammered.

Frankie’s voice boomed like thunder. “Nigga, pull your pants down, so I can suck that young dick!” Frankie’s face was a twisted mask of fury.

Brick stared at him, his mouth wide open. Speechless.

Bam!
Frankie punched him in the chest, knocked him across the room. Brick fell up against a washing machine.

“Come on, mufucka, throw up your hands! You wanna fight me over your manhood? Come on, let’s do it.” Tauntingly, he beckoned Brick to try to take him on. Grinning with confidence, Frankie started dancing around like he was Mike Tyson or Muhammad Ali.

In the schoolyard, Brick was the undefeated champ, but there was no way he could go toe-to-toe with a twenty-five-year-old grown man, who flexed boulder-sized muscles that he’d started sculpting while serving time in jail.

But, he could sneak him! Brick threw a wild sucker punch which, unfortunately, did not connect. Laughing cruelly, Frankie hit Brick with a gut shot. Clutching his stomach, Brick gasped and heaved. Frankie waited patiently for Brick to catch his breath.

“Lemme help you out, Lil’ Playa,” Frankie said, after Brick stopped gasping. He unbuckled the belt around Brick’s waist.

Terrified and in disbelief, Brick stood numb with fear while Frankie unzipped his pants. Where the hell was Misty, he wondered. It was her greedy ass who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. She was outside, hiding in the bushes, supposedly on alert to take some type of action if Brick was in Frankie’s house for more than fifteen minutes. Didn’t she realize he’d been in there with Frankie for about a half-hour? Why didn’t she throw a rock at the window or go knock on a neighbor’s door and try to get some adult help?

Brick sighed resignedly as he felt his pants fall past his knees. Knowing Misty, she was out there peeking inside her shopping bag, admiring her new pair of Gucci sneakers—the reason they had come up short. Yeah, Misty was out there gazing at her new sneakers and had lost all track of time, Brick sadly concluded.

Impatient, Frankie stuck his big hand inside the opening of Brick’s boxer drawers. “Goddamn, mufucka!” Frankie chortled gleefully. “You ain’t even hard yet, and your young ass dick is hanging long. You hung like a damn horse,” he praised. “After I swallow your white sap, I’ll probably be able to bench press about three hundred pounds or more.”

Huh?
Brick almost said out loud, but not wanting to rile Frankie into dispensing more body blows, he wisely contained the curious murmur. With his dick hanging free, a confused Brick watched Frankie meander over to a wicker clothesbasket. He pulled out a yellow bandanna.

He’s gonna strangle me and chop my dick off after he sucks it!

“You don’t need to see nothing.” Frankie’s voice was a low growl as he blindfolded Brick.

“See, everybody don’t know about this trick. I learned it while I was in prison,” Frankie revealed, slowly lowering his body. “Drinking the white sap from a young dude gives a man extra energy. White sap is more potent than eating raw eggs; it’s a real power boost.”

Being deprived of sight and Frankie’s warm breath breezing through his pubic hair was sending Brick into a state of trauma. His body shook uncontrollably. “Calm down, Lil’ Playa,” Frankie said and then ran a moist tongue up Brick’s semi-soft shaft. The next sensation was Frankie’s puckered lips pulling on the head of his dick, teasing it into an erection. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Frankie murmured when he brought Brick to a full erection. “I ain’t no faggot or nothing, so don’t get it twisted. I suck dick to build muscles and get more strength.”

No matter how he rationalized it, what Frankie was doing wasn’t right. Brick strained and groaned, tried to command his penis into going soft, but his dick betrayed him. Becoming an agreeable offering, his phallus hardened and lengthened inside Frankie’s mouth. Moments later, a rush of unexpected excitement caused Brick’s arms to flail. At first he gripped the sides of the washing machine, and then, without meaning to, he cupped Frankie’s head. His body was going crazy on him. He couldn’t make it stop. His back, his legs, his groin, thrust forward, assisting in pushing his dick deeper inside Frankie’s moist mouth.

Frankie removed the bandanna after he swallowed Brick’s cum. “Umph,” he grunted as he licked his lips. “I ain’t never sucked off no white sap from a juvenile before.” Frankie furrowed his thick brows. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” Brick mumbled, feeling deeply ashamed.

“Thirteen! Hot damn, that’s what’s up! I feel strong as a damn ox already!” Wearing a fierce expression, Frankie bobbed and weaved, jabbing the air if he were in the ring with a difficult opponent. Looking over his shoulder as he continued to shadow-box, Frankie told Brick, “Aiight, Lil’ Playa, fix your clothes and take your ass home. I’m ’bout to go out and collect some money. I’m gon’ fuck some shit up if niggas be playin’ with my cheddar. I ain’t for that shit tonight.”

Brick quickly obeyed, zipping up his pants, and tightly buckling his belt. He felt unclean. Unconsciously, he smoothed down his hair, as if a neat appearance would make him presentable and perhaps undo the sordid deed.

“So, uh, the next time you come up short, you know what it’s hitting for,” Frankie warned. “You gon’ have to look out for me, health-wise, you know what I mean?”

Brick nodded but promised he would never come up short again. It didn’t matter that getting head from Frankie gave him a rush like nothing he’d ever felt before—what he’d allowed Frankie to do was unnatural and nasty. It was a shameful secret, and he vowed to take that secret to his grave.