Surprised by her outburst, Buford and Tiffany stared at each other, wide-eyed. Tiffany laughed, a little embarrassed. “Well, am I right?”
Buford smiled. “Yes, you’re right,” he mused. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her otherwise. “The only thing I might add is how it came about that I started cleaning the soles on your twat in the first place.”
He looked out through the window at the barn as he thought back to the time he had first used her nether lips to clean his boots. He began: “I had stepped in something really nasty that day, and at feeding time I was still in a bad mood thinking about having to clean that crap off, maybe with a stick. Anyway, when I got to the barn with my spittoon, you weren’t ready yet, which didn’t exactly help my mood any, especially since I knew you had already finished cleaning the fresh droppings out of the chicken house and had had plenty of time to get ready. I dumped the contents of the spittoon into the bucket of droppings and picked up a thick rubber hose while I waited until you were in position, head down, ass up. You didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get fed, so I smacked your ass with the hose to let you know that I was getting pretty damned impatient.