Michelle always liked the process, the rhythmic movements, uniforms if there were uniforms, anything involving people systematically performing a task. From watching her high school band doing its routine, to the military drill teams marching along in a parade in Washington, DC. From movies showing assembly line workers building the old model T to a more recent video of the song "Chain Gang".
But her favorite has always been garbage men. Garbage men rolling down the street grabbing the heavy sodden tubs of garbage and heaving them into the bucket of the garbage truck. She listened for the rumble of the diesel engine on the mornings when she knew the trash was taken out and, when she heard it coming, along with the squeal of brakes tired of holding back the truck transporting it from her home to the dump, she squealed and ran to the window to watch.
She'd burst with excitement, her whole body tense and she'd watch as the men worked their way down the street. It didn't matter to her whether the men were black, white, or Hispanic, or whether or not they rippled with sinewy muscles or had a significant spare tire around their waist, it was the process.
And watching it made her wet.
She never understood the connection, but this was a case where understanding wouldn't make a difference. It was a thrill, and Michelle was addicted to thrills.
Her penchant for showing off her body, still fabulously curved well into her middle years, was something her husband had appreciated and even encouraged (not that much encouragement was required). Her typical dress was short ... both on the bottom and the top. She had a body which fit most men's desires. If you're an ass man, hers is curvaceous and flows from a tight waist on down to shapely dancer's legs. If you love breasts, hers are superb. Between C and D they rest nicely below shapely shoulders and provide as much cleavage as anyone not fixated on the absurd would ever want. Her nipples pleasantly large and her aerola nearly non-existent which make it possible for her to pull her tops down further than most ladies and enjoy the ministrations of men trying to look her in the eyes.
This morning she'd gotten up early, taken out the trash in her negligee, a see through babydoll piece that wrapped snugly around her and tied at the waist, it strained to conceal without concealing her ample chest. She'd done most of her morning tasks, made her iced coffee, grabbed the paper, and taken care of her man. While she loved giving him a blow job in the morning and she did a splendid job this morning thinking about the thrill of both the garbage and recycling men coming
She work Robert from his slumber by pulling his manhood into her mouth and gently rolling it on her tongue until it was hard. Then, as she knew he preferred slow rhythmic movements to a more hurried pattern, she pulled him into her mouth and used her tongue on the underside 'petting him' she called it. And when she felt his stiffness getting even harder, she smiled to herself as he came. Today she backed away from his cock rather than swallow his seed. Today she wanted to feel it on her face, to rub it in, to smell it. After his orgasm she rubbed her face with his cock smoothing his cum into her skin, kissing 'him' and then repeating the process.
She loved the process.
"Bark, bark."
"Dang it." she thought "I'm going to miss them."
Robert, her husband, usually took the dog out before he went to work but this morning he was in a bit of a rush and had to leave without finishing up on this task. On such occasions, when 'Lil shit' needed to go she'd normally take him out on the leash and he'd wander down to the neighbor's house two doors down to do his business but that would take her off the street where the trash men were going to come soon. It would break her routine and mess up her whole day if she couldn't check out the men from the bathroom window as was her habit.
"Crap." "Come on Lil shit! Let's go." and she took him out still in her babydoll. The sun was just coming out and she thought she could get back in if he did his stuff quickly.
"Damn!" she heard the sound of the brakes first. The high pitched squeal of the brakes straining against the weight of the truck. Then the sound of the diesel engine roaring to the next set of garbage cans. Squeal, thud, roar. Squeal, thud, roar as the truck moved down the street, stopped, the cans were emptied, and then roared off to the next set of cans. "Hurry up."
LS finished his business, looked at her and wagged his tail as if he'd just given her the best present in the world and started off to the house. She followed him her mind racing figuring out whether or not she could get in the house and at the window before they could get to the house. "Squeal, thud, roar." No way. Today was going to have to be different and it was Lil S that provided the surprise.
Just as she rounded the corner to the house he took off. Even though he was a tiny, tiny dog, his racing to the sound of the truck and her mind so intent on watching the trash men took her so off guard that he managed to pull the leash out of her hand. Running after it, him, she looked up quickly to see that they were right there, in the front yard and Lil S was barking at the man who was at first serious about his work and then laughed out loud as he saw this little chipmunk of a dog barking at his red men workboots.
