I named my cats Dildo and Sex Toy. I don't know why. One was a female cat with her parts "altered" so that we would have no kitties, the other a male cat with all his toys intact. I somehow felt it was cruel to castrate a cat for the fact of his being born male. I find it odd that anyone bothers to alter the males since they can't have unwanted kitties. Anyhow, that was a digression. This is about how I took Tiffany against her will, I think.
Tiffany was my next-door neighbor. Call her the haughty chick. She had that air of better than thouness about her. She wore high fashion clothes. She wore dark shades. She held her nose at that aloof angle. She usually dressed in mostly black. She may have worked. It was hard to tell. She drove a snotty red convertible. She dripped trust fund from her pores. Her dog was the haughty dog. It was one of those ultra purebred schnauzers. It held its nose high in the air and pooped ever so delicately as not to stain its own fur. It would strut out Tiffany's front door, look about, sniff the air, gloat at neighbor dogs, strut to a spot on my front stoop, then deposit its business. Of course Tiffany couldn't care less that we lived in a town with a pooper-scooper rule. Your dog poops, you clean up. That was the rule. No exceptions. The haughty dog, as I took to calling it, pooped on my porch day after day. Did Tiffany once come over and clean up the poopie mess? No.
This is one of those stories that makes you wonder about big government and where our taxes go. Animal control told me they could do nothing unless they witnessed the haughty dog in the act. Animal control has one officer who rides around in his truck when the mood strikes him. Local police said they could only write a misdemeanor citation if they witnessed the act and they had no plans to stake out my neighborhood to watch a dog poop. I left Tiffany more than one note politely inviting her to clean up after her dog, and the notes went unanswered. Most times Tiffany watched the haughty dog poop on my stoop from the safety of her own front door. I got the impression after a while that Tiffany actually had trained the haughty dog to poop on my porch and in my yard to save Tiffany the trouble of having to clean up the mess in her own yard. What a bitch.
So one Tuesday, when I was cleaning Sex Toy's and Dildo's kitty poop out of their litter boxes, I collected the kitty poop and deposited it on Tiffany's porch. Kind of an in-kind return of what the haughty dog gave me on a daily basis. Tiffany, the bitch, put the kitty poop back on my porch that night. She took one of those little kid beach sets with a shovel and pail. She picked up the kitty poop, put it in the pail, and dumped the whole pail load across the welcome mat on my front porch. She could see that I was watching the little drama unfold from my living room picture window. What is worse, while she was on my porch dumping kitty poop, her haughty dog dropped by and deposited another load of its pretty poop on my stoop as well. Tiffany actually stood and watched the haughty dog strut over to my porch and poop. Tiffany was careful to step around the fresh dog poop when she had finished dumping the kitty poop on my welcome mat.
I went over the edge at that moment. Tiffany is a small woman. She stands maybe 5'2". Dripping wet she might weigh 100 pounds. She is ball breaking hot, in that heroin chic kind of way. She has dark brown eyes, alabaster white skin, and nearly black hair. She may once have been goth. She usually wears that dark almost purple lipstick.
I stormed out my door and caught up with Tiffany as she reached her front door.
"Bitch." I said.
"Are you addressing me?" She asked. She arched her brow.
"Bitch," I repeated. "Dog poop." I pointed at my stoop.
"Not a typical greeting," She replied. "But hello. May I help you? My name's Tiffany."
I had that feeling you get when trapped in the voice mail system of a credit card company. Press 1 for no help, press 2 for less help, press 3 to wreck your credit report and cause us to raise your interest rate.
"Dog poop on my porch." I pointed more insistently.
"Well you should clean it up." Her reply. "Someone might step in it. Very unfriendly way to greet neighbors with dog poop on your stoop."
"It's your dog's poop."
"But it would seem to be on your stoop. And it does make an unsightly and unsanitary mess." She replied. "You should clean that up."
I am not a man usually provoked to violence but Tiffany had just, more or less, walked her dog over to my porch and watched him poop on my stoop. She then had the gall to walk home and tell me to clean up her mess. This is the essence of outrage.
She was about to step into her house and end the conversation, but before she could close her door I pushed my way in and shoved her into her living room.
"What are you doing?" she asked as a tone of incredulity crept into her voice.
I pushed her to her floor. Her face wore a look of dismay tinged with anticipation.
In a fit of—I will show you that you are a total bitch—rage I undid my fly and pulled out my penis and started to pee—on her face. I think she was too shocked to move, or maybe not. The haughty dog yipped. I wanted to kick it, but that would be cruel, so I just aimed a shot of pee at the dog and it scurried away to hide lest manpee somehow sully his fur.
I think to mock me, Tiffany opened her mouth to drink in the pee stream. She took on that look of a child on a playground saying, "nah nah nah, you can't hurt me I rather like drinking your pee."
"Bitch," I said, as she seemed to savor the pee.
At this moment the logic of this kind of story would dictate that I dropped trow and moved to poo on her face—trade poop for poop as it were—but I am not that trusting of a dismayed unrestrained woman on her back whose face has taken on a mocking tone while she drinks my pee. My rational brain told me that this woman would smack my balls, or do something to hurt me were I to squat over her face to take a dump, not that my rational brain had been speaking when I chose to pee on her face in the first place, or that I had listened to it had it said anything..
I grabbed her wrists, I am quite a big bigger and stronger than her so her struggles didn't really mean much to me, and I dragged her in search of some restraints.
"You will have to wipe up the pee on the floor. I don't like a mess." Was all she said.
"Bitch."
We reached her bedroom. I used a pair of stockings and the cord from her laptop computer to bind her wrists. I pulled her arms above her head and lashed them to a bedpost. At this point it dawned on me that while the local sheriff may not have had the time to come out and write a citation for dog poop, I was deep enough into a major felony that the sheriff might find time to talk with me. Well, if I was going to spend the next many years in a cell sharing my man butt with a smelly guy named "bubba," I could at least have fun tonight.
I moved to pull off her skirt.
"Don't rip it." Tiffany's command. "It's an
EliseElise
and they cost a lot. Be sure to fold it."
"Bitch."
I eased the skirt off gently. Tiffany wore the cutest black thong and had really tight strong legs shaved achingly smooth. I went to work on the blouse but realized that I would have to rip it since her hands were bound.
"If you rip the blouse you buy me a new one." Tiffany's only words.
I ripped the blouse.
Tiffany wasn't wearing a bra as she has the chest of an eighteen-year-old boy. Her pink aureole and nipples are the size of dimes. When aroused, aureole is swallowed whole by nipple and the nipples poke out like angry grapes.
I pulled down her panties and thought I would die laughing. She had the cutest trimmed pussy. She looked groomed for a model's fashion shoot. No real woman's pussy is that cute or so neatly coifed. All the hair was shaved away from top of her large pussy lips to her tight puckered asshole. A little runway of uniform quarter-inch hairs ran up from above her clit. The strip was narrow with the skin on both sides neatly shaved and desperately smooth. This was a high maintenance puss.
I pointed and said, "how tidy," with a sarcastic bite to my words. "What a pretty pussy," I made a sharp biting "t" sound on the word pretty.
"Of course," her nonchalant reply.
