Once the party is over, that’s when the fun begins. As the youngest pledge for the Delta Lambda Phi fraternity, I’m on clean up crew. Ever since our chapter advisor realized old men with deep pockets love tight, frat boy rumps, we’ve been volunteering our services for charitable causes once a month or so. But after so much messy fun, someone has to put on the apron and clean those cum-soaked backsides, and that falls to the newest member of the house. Not that I mind collecting cum from ten tall, sweaty jocks enjoying a beer with the bros after a hard day’s pounding. I’m just the right size, too; rodent stature runs in the family, so my snout fits right under the short, flickering tail of a caribou, or the inviting curl of a husky. I grip those tight cheeks for support and drag my tongue into each welcoming, pink hole, letting my whiskers and fur sop up the sex and sweat so the stink lingers on my muzzle, a buffet of different animal musks piling on and mingling until I can’t tell them apart. 
I always leave Jacques for last, a hockey player with a bad habit of not showering after games. His ass smells like a zoo, and I can’t get enough of it. I take my time with him, which he seems to appreciate, burrowing my nose into the horse, enjoying the contours of his puckered tailhole with my mouth, all the while stroking my little cock as slowly as my trembling paw can manage, until that donut shines like a Stanley Cup trophy. If I’m lucky, Jacques will lift me into his lap and let me huff the coffee musk that radiates from under his arms, and that’s always more than enough to send me over the edge. And don’t I deserve it? There’s always more room for one more cum stain on this apron, after all.