Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2024 19:36:06 -0400
From: patrick@mudcub.com
Subject: Stinker's Jobs Part 2: Shit Cleaners

Stinker's Jobs Part 2: Shit Cleaners

by Mudcub

patrick@mudcub.com

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Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't
interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be
interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually try any
of the unsafe practices here.

***************************************************************

As I said, most guys at work didn't mind my smell. There were a few who
it could have bothered them, but they didn't seem to mind if I quickly
sucked them off behind the maintenance shed or in the open air. But my
stink also got me a couple guys that I would call friends, and one or two
I would call "lovers".

However, working for the City was earning me less and less money. It
wasn't just that it was getting to be winter, and the "Parks and
Reeks" department had less landscaping and outdoor work. What was worse
was the whole economic slowdown -- tax revenue was down, so the City was
cutting back on maintenance work. And that meant me.

That's when I met Fred Schmidt, owner of Schmidt Cleaners. Or as we
called it, "Shit Cleaners", because Fred's team handled all the tough
consulting jobs from port-o-potties to crime scene cleanup.

Fred was short, a little Italian guy that people called "Super Mario"
behind his back. But I thought he was sexy, with a huge black mustache,
and body hair covering him all over his back and all around to his front.

I was sitting in his work truck. It stunk -- but that was to be expected
for an old Ford F-150 that looked to be over ten years old and was beat
to shit. It looked like nobody had ever cleaned their boots off before
getting in the cab -- there was at least two inches of dried mud all over
the floorboards, and tons of muck even spattered on the dashboard all the
way up to the window. There were tons of garbage thrown in the back seat;
empty dip tins, cigar butts, bottles filled with piss, and I think I even
saw a used diaper. It all added to the funk of the truck, not to mention
what Fred and I smelled like after a day of hard labor.

Fred started the conversation as we drove. "I heard about you."

I was nervous at how this line of discussion would go. It could go very
bad. "Yeah," I replied. "What did you hear?"

Fred smiled at me sideways while he drove. "I heard you were a lot of
fun."

Whew! I laughed. "Well, I guess you have to find that out fer yerself!"

Fred laughed too. There was that feeling of electricity in the air. We
were gonna fuck. It was just a question of the time or place. I was so
horny after getting all sweaty that I wouldn't have minded to stop the
truck right there or find a private parking spot somewhere.

"Want to make some extra money?" Fred asked.

I grinned at him, "Now, I'm not a whore... you don't need to pay me fer
sex." I grabbed my cock through the front of my rubber overalls.

Fred shook his finger, "No, no no! You misunderstand!" Fred's Italian
accent comes out when he gets excited. "I want to HIRE you."

I paused for a moment. True, the City wasn't paying as good as it had.
And I had a bunch of travel coming up that I needed to save for.

"I get my paycheck from Parks and Reeks," I said. "Plus benefits. I
can't give that up."

Fred said, "This would be... under tables? How do you say... extra?"

Oh, now I got it. "Sure," I said. "I have weekend and evenings free."

Fred nodded his head and seemed satisfied. He turned his truck and
trailer full of port-o-potties into a big workyard that had a sign:
SCHMIDT CLEANING

He parked, but turned to me before he got out. "You have time now?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The yard was a mess. Full of mud, and the disassembled parts of various
projects in progress. For example, after an event or a month of use, all
Fred's port-o-potties would be disassembled. They came apart in slabs,
all the plastic walls fit together like Legos, or jigsaw pieces that snap
together. Somebody had started to take apart a bunch of shitter, and the
evidence was everywhere laying on the soggy ground.

Fred did more than clean bathrooms, though. There were three "honey
trucks" parked at one end of the yard. These are the vacuum trucks that
suck up everything out of Fred's toilets. I wondered where the crap was
stored.

There were also several huge piles of garbage. One of them must be used
for compost, and it stunk like rotting vegetables. The others were the
usual combinations of things in a junk yard: car parts (and entire cars
that looked like they'd been in smashed-up accidents), mysterious stuff
covered by partly blown-away blue tarps, 55 gallon barrels or stuff
arranged in a pyramid, and piles of raw materials like straw, hay,
concrete blocks, roofing materials, plywood and 4x4s, and rock piles. I
wondered what Fred was intending on building with all this crap. There
was even what looked like a pig wallow at one end of the yard fenced in,
with an actual pig in it.

The parking lot wasn't paved at all. It looked like a series of mud
puddles, with entire lagoons of oil -- the rainbows of colors glistening
on top. Fred walked over to a large free-standing barn, big enough to
hold four or five cars, with a huge garage door on the front. "Doors
busted," Fred said, and he opened a side door that was unlocked. He
walked into the barn and I followed, closing the door behind me.

The inside of the barn was like a disaster area. There were two cars up
on blocks, as is some mechanic had started working on them, and then
stopped mid-job. If the yard was muddy, it was even dirtier inside the
garage -- about three inches of mud and crap sitting on top of the
concrete pad. There were huge lakes of oil under the cars, and lots of
trash, wrappers and empty beer cans, just sitting in the mud that was
everywhere. A brown stain spattered up the walls like cattle had lived
there.

I thought it was funny that Fred's company was all about cleaning (That
WAS what Fred did for a living, wasn't it?) but his home base was so
disgusting. I guess it's like the shoemaker's children who have no
shoes.

There were a whole bunch of smells to be fighting each other. Dirt and
mud, with the accompanying moldy wet smell. Oil, gasoline, and grease
from all the machinery. I think the guys who worked for Fred has been
pissing inside, because there was distinct ammonia reek, and even a hint
of a tang of shit.

There were boxes piled up on top of each other, so it looked like a
"jump and platform" level of a videogame. It was pretty bright in the
building, those it looks like the industrial lights twenty feet up were
dirty, giving off a pale yellow gloom. There were shelves and tables all
lining every wall, with projects and small engines disassembled and
separated into more greasy parts. In one corner by the back wall I could
a see a tent set up -- was someone living here?

Fred sat down on a sofa that was near the door. There was a small
refrigerator and a TV set up like it was a little sitting area. But
everything was covered in grease -- if the sofa was white at one time, it
wasn't now. There were stains on the seat and arms as if a bunch of
oil-covered grease monkeys had sat on that sofa and not cared if they got
it stained.

"D'ya wanna beer?" Fred asked.

"No, I'm cool," I said.

"Good, because I wasn't gonna git you one anyways."

Fred unsnapped his dirty work jeans and pulled down his zipper. He slid
down on the edge of the sofa, and pushed his pants and underwear down to
his boots, and sat back down on the blackened greasy sofa. He pulled on
his soft dick with one hand.

I didn't need a second invitation. I dropped to my knees on the
dirt-covered concrete in front of Fred. I turned my sweat-stained
baseball cap around backwards on my head -- the universal signal that
some dick-sucking was gonna git started.

I scooted forward and knelt on Fred's jeans that were still connecting
his legs together. I noticed that Fred has pushed off a pair of white
briefs that weren't too clean. There was a huge brown skidmark in the
seat, and piss up front. I made a note to try and steal those short later
and bring `em home.

I pitched myself face-forward, my hands on Fred's hairy thighs. Fred
moved his hand away, and I could see that his dick was getting hard. Fred
was uncut, and the foreskin was long enough to cover the head, even when
Fred was hard. With one go, I swallowed Fred's shaft all the way down to
the balls. I stayed there, feeling Fred's dick pulse in my mouth,
getting harder every second.

But I didn't start sucking quite yet. Instead, I buried my nose into
Fred's pubes. Damn this guy had a huge bush! And he smelled REALLY
pissy. Dark hair started right below Fred's bellybutton, and got denser
and thicker down to his cock. His dick was only about six inches long, so
it barely poked out of the thick underbrush like a prairie dog peeking
out of the top of a tumbleweed.

Fred moan, like it was a word, "Oh-oh-oh-wow-eee-oh!" so I knew it was
good to start. I sucked down as much saliva as I could, and tried to
generate a lot of friction. My mouth turned into almost a dick pumping
device; I was trying to suck all the blood I could into Fred's dick, and
it worked. By sucking as hard as I could, his cock was getting really
hard. Maybe seven inches, maybe longer and thicker than it had been in a
long time. It seemed like I was turning Fred on.

Fred reached down and grabbed the sides of my head. I usually don't like
guys doing that, but here is was ok. I let Fred's cock pop out of my
mouth, and I kissed his greasy right hand. He looked down on me and
rubbed my beard like I was a puppy dog. It was a quiet moment of
tenderness -- kind of strange coming from such a brusque man.

But there was work to be done, so I went back to sucking. Up and down, I
tried every trick I knew. I hollowed out my mouth so the only thing
touching Fred's dick was my lips going up and down his shaft: no head
stimulation at all. Then, if I really pressed forward, I could touch the
head of his dick with the back of my throat. I mashed my nose back into
Fred's public hair and did that for a bit -- just tightening on the
lower part of his root with my lips while my his dick got as long as it
was going to, and rammed into my throat.

Then, after Fred had had enough of that, I went up and down the full
length. Long strokes with my whole tongue. I could feel Fred building up,
his balls tightening below my chin. I took one hand and circled his balls
like a ball stretcher, pulling them down and away from his cock. Fred's
balls were large, but didn't hang very far down. He seemed to like the
slight painful sensation of me pulling on `em because he started moaning
some more. "Nnnnn! Ohhhhhh! Mrrrrrrr"

I pulled off and just worked on the head for a bit. Precum was starting
to flow out of the peeslit. Not just a few drops -- at first I thought
Fred was pissin. Instead, it was like a constant leak that filled my
mouth with cum. It tasted great and made everything sloppy.

Fred was taking a while. Some guys say that's the problem with older
men, but I kinda like it. It allows me time to try a lot of things to see
what works. So, I stopped yankin on Fred's balls and shoved one hand
palm-up between Fred's taint and the filthy sofa. My middle finger found
his butthole, and it was really greasy. It was like sliding your fingers
into a jar of peanut butter.

This drove Fred crazy. I knew the guy was a buttsex fan. I curled my
middle finger up Fred's butthole, and slid just the first joint of my
knuckle inside. It felt gritty. I wanted to pull my finger out and smell
it. Hell, I was tempted to flip Fred over and eat out his smeary asshole.
But I thought that should wait until next time.

I found a rhythm, making circles with my middle finger, driving Fred's
hole insane. When I sucked on the head of Fred's dick. Usually, I have
to pull my face away, and give a guy a handjob to finish him off. Some
guys are just too used to jacking themselves off and can't quite cum
with a guy's lips stroking'em. But instead Fred stiffened like a board,
his back straight and his head driven back hard into the sofa behind him.
I swear only his bootheels and top his head were touching anything, the
rest of his was arched up and in the air.

"YEEEEEEAAAAAAARRRRRGGGH!"

Cum shot out of Fred like a bullet. It wasn't a LOT of cum, but it was
thick. I tried to do this thing where I suck just a little every time
Fred squirted. Some guys can't take a lot of stimulation after they cum.
But I've found if I suck down right as they are shooting, most guys
really like it. It's like I'm sucking the cum out of them.

But after a few shots and the spasms slow down. I make sure not to touch
the head. Instead, I just had a mouthful of cum, and I was trying NOT to
touch Fred's dick with the inside of my mouth. I just let him lie back
into the sofa with his dick swimming in a huge load of cum. But hopefully
it wouldn't overstimulate him none.

I did this for a full thirty seconds, Fred panting and he even patted the
side of my head. I took that as a signal to pull off, and I sucked one
last time to make sure not even a drop got out.

"Ergnd!" gasped Fred. I knew that last "pull off" can sometimes feel
strong for a guy after he's cum.

I knelt up in front of Fred. With me kneeling and him slumped back on the
sofa, we were about the same size. I looked him with a frisky look in my
eye and a huge mouthful of cum. This is the part where I really judge a
guy -- how much of a pig is he?

I was smiling as I leant forward, and Fred looked kind scared, kinda
apprehensive, but still opened his mouth, and accepted a kiss.

Cum kissing is the best. I could feel it as I pushed the giant wad of
semen from my mouth into his. His tongue was short, but wrapped around my
tongue as I licked the inside of his mouth in a French kiss. Fred spit a
little of the cum back into my mouth, and we kissed for a while back and
forth. It was a REALLY wet kiss, but it tasted good like cum does. Like
sweet paste and clean-smelling somehow. The kiss lasted so long that some
cum was dripping down the side of Fred's face. Future note to myself:
Fred like to kiss. A LOT.

I could have kiss for a lot longer time, by Fred made motions to push me
away, so I stood up.

"Damn, yer a good cocksucker," Fred said.

I looked down on him. Fred was real cute, like a "pocket bear". I liked
his mustache, currently glistening with his own cum. I hope he would let
it dry there.

"Does that mean I got the job," I asked?

"Be ready tomorrow by 6 am," Fred said, awkwardly getting up... his
jeans and dirty underwear still dragging on the muddy floor.

"I'll draw you a map," he said.