Author's Note: *gasp* Could it be? Why, yes! Two updates in a week! It's like Christmas in July! Well, in November at least. I received so may favorites and alerts and tweets for the puppy business, I figured I'd give you a little something. I would love to see some reviews from you all instead of all this private message business. If you want something from me, shout it from the roof tops! If you want me add in some Edward and the Cullen gang, leave me a review and demand it! If you want me to lay off of all the curse words, well too f*cking bad because I curse a lot!

I hope you are all finding as much fun as I am in all of this. Thank you for the support.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or Mr. Pigbottom. Stephenie Meyer owns all. Except Mr. Pigbottom, he belongs to my friend Christina. No copyright infringement intended.

JPOV

.

Worst.

Fucking.

Idea.

EVER!

.

I should have fucking known that buying Alice a puppy would come around and bite me in the ass.

Literally.

The little fucking shit with legs that she picked out at the animal shelter has actually bitten me on the ass. And my fingers, ankles, toes, and mouth. Yes, the mini piss machine has, in fact, had the balls to bite me on the mouth. Well, he doesn't have balls any more – something I silently take victory in knowing – but still. I hate it.

I didn't even think that something so fucking tiny could constitute as a dog. Alice picked out the smallest, ugliest little runt I've ever seen and "fell in love with him." The vet technician calls it a French Bulldog. I call it a rabbit-eared, stump-tailed fucker, but Alice calls him Mr. Pigbottom.

Mr. Fucking Pigbottom.

I guess I can see where the name comes from; it has a cropped nub for a tail, but I don't give a shit. I actually have no shit to give because the little poop machine impersonating a dog has shit enough for the both of us. He has shit so much in the two weeks since we've had him that our house smells like shit. Alice says its "new puppy smell" and that I should take him out for walks more often.

Yea, right. Like I would be caught dead rolling around the park with a rat on a leash. Think of the humiliation. The guys would give me so much shit if they ever saw me with this – this, thing. Could she have picked a more girly looking dog?

I was all fucking excited, thinking we'd leave with a pitbull, or a golden retriever, or a mastiff, or some other dog equally as awesome and manly. But no, we leave with a Ferby they're trying to pass off as a dog. I would have even settled for the half poodle, half mutt they had there, but Alice got all misty eyed and pouty and that bitch knows I can't resist the fucking pouting. I even pinched her, like, four times!

Fuck that! This shit sucks! And stinks! I'm taking it back!

"This thing sucks," I point to Alice's lap, indicating the thing she's currently stroking when she knows very well there's something else she should be stroking. "I'm taking it back."

"The hell you are!" And I don't think I've ever seen my wife so mad that her face is actually purple. Well, until now. But fuck that! The thing shits and pisses everywhere and isn't even cool looking! I tell her as much.

"He's just a little puppy, Jazzy. Mr. Pigbottom is bound to have accidents." And here she goes with the fucking baby talk. "Isn't tat white meester pwigbottom? Momma's widdle man needs wuves and attentions. Huh? Yes he does! Yes he does!" She even shakes her head a bit as she pouts and kisses his head and rubs his belly.

My dick is instantly disgruntled. She doesn't pout and nuzzle my cock like that. The lisp alone isn't that hot, but I'm getting more turned on by all of her baby talk. She's such a selfish bitch.

She continues to coo at the shit machine and totally ignores me and my rejected cock. I've had enough. She needs to know who runs this shit.

"Aye, Alice! Your fuckhot husband who bought you that thing in the first place has a lonely cock over here," I remind her angrily because I'm fucking angry. "And I do believe he and his cock were promised blowjobs and pussy! Bring your ass." Has she forgotten that I'm the man? That I am the king of this castle? That all of this and more has been provided to her by the awesomeness that is me?

She just sighs dramatically – because she's so fucking dramatic – and gives me the stink-eye. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure the fleabag smirks at me. I hate that fucking thing. I'm two seconds from dumping his ass on the floor and taking back the position that I should rightfully be in when Alice cuts my focus.

"Jasper, what the fuck is your problem? Don't –"

"Watch your mouth woman! Your man demands services promised." She knows better; I run this shit.

She gently places the mongrel on his plaid feathered dog bed on the floor near the end of the couch. This gives me pause. I hadn't noticed that before. In fact, now that I'm looking around, I'm starting to notice that this dog has a lot of shit lying around everywhere. And not just his normal shit-shit, but like, nice shit. Like, toys and shit, shit. And now that I'm looking at him, he seems to have on a white, brown, black, and red plaid collar. He even has a matching sweater, too. Really, a lot of his stuff has that color scheme. I'm not a girly-man, but I do have a shopaholic wife; I know those colors are significant, but I just can't place them.

I had completely tuned out Alice, so it scared the shit out of me when I realized she was standing in front of me with her hands on her hips. She's in the bitchin' stance, but I don't know what I did this time! But that doesn't even fucking matter because something's not right here.

"Aye, Alice. What do those colors stand for again?" I swear it's on the tip of my tongue. It's like a fucking trademark or something. There're like the certain colors for a certain store, but I can't remember the name.

Alice's eyes go wide and her face pales. Goddamn it! This can not be good!

"W-wh-what do you mean?" The bitch is stuttering. Oh God, I know I'm on to something now.

I narrow my eyes at her. Something's up. "The color on all the dog's shit. You know, the plaid looking stuff. What's it from?" I ask her real slow like. I feel like she has clothes and purses and shoes and socks with that same pattern on them. She better not have gotten custom shit for that ass licker. She better not have! "Does that cock gobbler have custom shit?"

Alice looks relieved, but she's the only one. "Oh, no, Jazzy-poo, I didn't do that. It's just stuff from the dog section, that's all." She immediately drops to her knees in front of me. I guess she came around. About damn time, but something's nagging me in the back of my mind. I swear I've seen that pattern before.

My cock is incased in warm, wet heaven before I can give a second thought. Alice's mouth is like magic. Her tongue is swiveling all over my dick and I can't even breathe, let alone think. She cups my balls and applies the slightest pressure.

"Oh, shit…that's it, baby," I encourage because she knows exactly what gets me harder.

My head limply rests on the back of the couch and she feels so fucking good. Alice starts a slow rhythm with barely-there suction, using her other hand to palm what she can't fit into her mouth. She's a real pro at this.

But, I swear, something just doesn't quite make sense. I feel like I'm missing something bigger here and I feel like that little nut-muncher of a dog is a big part of it.

Instantly, it comes to me.

"Blueberry?" It doesn't sound right as I say it in a whisper because Alice's ministrations on my dick are making me breathless. God, she's good. It's so warm…

Alice's speed increases and I forget what I'm thinking about again. The sounds of her suction are echoing throughout the room. And since this is our house and no one is around, I do a little fist bump action to myself. Complete with explosion.

The all too familiar burning spreads from the tips of my toes and up through my thighs before settling in the pit of my stomach. I'm so close, so fucking close I can't stand it.

"Jesus fucking – oh, Alice that is…just – so, so good…" The English language is failing me right now. My wife knows how to work me like a champ.

Before I know it the burning reignites and I'm soaring on the cloud nine of semen and it's oh so fan-fucking-tastical. I made up that word because, as I said before, the English language is failing me right now. My surroundings are hazy as shit and I can't care less.

At some point Alice must have left to walk the dog because when I'm semi-coherent again, I'm alone on the couch and the house is empty. I make my way to the fridge to snag a beer in my post coital bliss only to be stopped short. In the corner of the kitchen are matching food and water dog bowls.

And they're in that same fucking plaid pattern.

On a whim, I book it – top speed – into our bedroom and fling open Alice's closet, seeking out a sign of that now prominent pattern. I look around until I can see some plaid on the high shelf. The high shelf where she puts all of her expense shit. The expensive shit that I always make her take back to the fucking store. On a high shelf is a purse. I pull it down and read the tag.

Burberry.

Burberry, not blueberry.

Did that bitch…? I can't even complete the thought. There is no way. There is no fucking way that Alice bought that dog designer clothes. Designer clothes and collars and toys and plush as fuck feather beds! Oh, hell nah! Fucking bitch was going to get it!

I don't even know whether to be pissed the fuck off that I didn't notice these past few weeks, or that that bitch totally just gave me a mind erasing blow job. I mean, I knew she was good, but I had no idea her dick sucking abilities could cause memory loss. I thought I was teaching a grasshopper only to find out I've been getting schooled by a Jedi. Fuck! I wonder how many times this has happened. Has it only been for these past two weeks, or has this shit been going on our whole marriage. Shit! Has this been going on since I met the fucking girl?

Oh, she's a slick one, that girl.

I put the purse back and sit on the couch to plot. Alice has had the upper hand too many times as of late and I need to rectify the situation as soon a possible. I don't even come up with anything by the time I hear the front door open. My anger boils over and I shout for her to bring her ass into the kitchen.

"Yes, Jazzy dearest?" She was already batting her fucking eyelashes. Bitch was going to get it.

"What the fuck?" I go in for my classic line. She knew she had done wrong. I was almost too afraid to ask how much she spent.

"What's the matter, Jasper?" One of her eyebrows is cocked as she starts to kneel in front of me and for the life of me, I can't figure out what's going on…until starts unzipping my pants. "Ish shumbody's widdle man needing sum attentions and wuves?"

Huh? Baby talking my dick?

I nod because she's staring at my junk while pouting and she's like, three inches from nuzzling it. My mind suddenly goes blank as she completely engulfs my now raging hard-on, encasing it in nearly searing wet warmth.

I feel like something isn't right here…but my thoughts quickly dissipate as slurping and groans bounce off the walls.

God, she's so good at this. So wet, so warm.

A/N: Do you hate me? Do you love me? Would you please, oh please, just tell me! I had to reword the end of this chapter a few times and I still feel like I couldn't convey the memory loss well enough. Alice is a sneaky witch, that one. If you haven't noticed, I like my women a little more in control than Mrs. Meyer. Even if they are all a bit h00r-ish.

Okay peeps, lay it on me.

~Tay

Ps - you can come see me on twitter shantytown005.

Also, I have an entry called 'The Befuddlement of Jasper Whitlock' for a contest and I would love for you all to check me out as well as the other entries. It is "The Many Faces of Jasper Contest" hosted by Jaspers_Darlins. Devour the one-shots!

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