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Deadpool: Population 896. Please Drive Carefully! The battered, dusty sign at the edge of the road exhorted. Deadpool, as stagnant as the abandoned millpond that gave rise to the town's name; a truck stop, row of shops and payphone in the middle of nowhere made up the town and the faint glow of lights in the distance outlined "Deadpool Memorial Airport", the life support that kept this corpse alive; employing nearly all the residents in one way or another.

Resident 890 stood at the solitary bus stop, scowling into the distance for a bus he knew wasn't coming. Another day of missed school thanks to the laughable public transport provided by the neighbouring town; Deadpool wasn't big enough to warrant its own high school, so the 16 year old blue bunny waited for the connection to Larchfield High. In six months, he'd been to school a dozen times; it was too far to bike, he was too young to drive and, he sighed to himself, it wasn't as if it really mattered if he were there or not. The only anthro in a school full of preppy, Aryan kids; he was treated warily at best, with contempt at worst. Not actually bullied, but just... Ignored. Another five minutes passed and he gave up, slouching over to the cruddy, scummy phone box that stood adjacent to the steel flag of the bus stop.

"Mom? It's Ollie. I've been here over an hour and the bus didn't show again... How is it my fault..? Mom, I can't walk 20 miles to school!..." Ollie closed his eyes, fighting the urge to slam the handset back into the cradle, he'd had this conversation at least a dozen times and he knew how it was going to end. "... If you're not going to go to school, you need to get a job!" Without another word, Ollie racked the handset. A job? In this town? His parents had been shipped in by the airline to run charter flights from this backwater nowhere; the airport had a full complement of ground crew, service crew and support staff. He wasn't qualified or competent enough to work with the planes. The small stores that lined the main road were all family affairs, staffed by generations of inbred, closed minded idiots that wouldn't give him a second look. Tears pricked at the bunny's soft, silver eyes. He hated it here and wanted nothing more to go back home to the city he knew, loved and understood.

Snarling furiously, Ollie kicked his way out of the booth; the door flying backwards, hinges squealing in protest as the powerful shot connected with the flimsy frame, causing some calling cards to drop from the walls, a shower of brightly coloured, glossy cards for sex lines and whores drifting to the floor, leaving only a handwritten index card taped firmly to the glass. Ollie was surprised he'd not seen it before as he scanned over the poorly written text:

CLEANER WANTED!

Full-time, good rates of pay for the right person.

Must be flexible in attitude, uniform provided. APPLICANTS IN PERSON ONLY.

Ollie snatched the card & turned it over, an address on Airport Industry Way was stamped on the back, no business name. Not much was out that way, just a couple of bars & cheap hotels; he guessed it was one of those. He knew his parents would flip, knowing he'd quit school to become a cleaner, so all the better if it was in a fleabox hotel. It was a short enough detour on his way home to go find out. He pocketed the card & set off, kicking up the dust along the side of the road; behind him, he heard a roar & a squeal of brakes, the hiss of pneumatics - the bus. Shrugging, Ollie kept on walking, fuck school. Fuck that noise.

The sun was beating down as Ollie walked onto Airport Industry Way & he was hot, tired & uncomfortable, fur wasn't ideal in this weather & the clothes that he'd been forced to wear made him itch, but he smiled ruefully, knowing if he could do this his parents would be mortified and there'd be nothing they could do about it, he'd done has he was told! His smile became a grin as he stopped outside 1710 Airport Industry Way, it was EroZone!

EroZone had been formed about 10 years previously and rapidly became a nationwide chain, specialising in "Erotic Anthropomorphic Entertainments" It was a peep show, with an all animal cast. They knew their target audience & set up close to hotels and airports, places where bored businessmen would be passing through, where their wives weren't around and titillation was thin on the ground. It turned out humans had a bigger thing for animals than they really wanted to admit.

Ollie slipped through the door into welcome, air-conditioned darkness. A small box office, staffed by a bored looking man reading a tatty copy of Hustler being the only source of light; Ollie coughed. "Whaddyawant, kid?" the man growled, not looking up from his read.

"I'm here about the job" The bunny spoke, quietly; suddenly feeling very nervous about the whole thing. The guy looked up, leering at him with undisguised, perverted lust "Dancer auditions are tomorrow, wear the cutest panties you got, but don..."

"Uhm, the cleaning position?" Ollie corrected, flushing deeply at the lewd comments. "And oh, I'm not a girl..."

The guy shrugged "Office, up those stairs." & went back to his magazine. Ollie grinned, it wasn't the first time he'd been mistaken for a girl, slender and shapely around the hips and with long, muscular legs; it was an easy mistake to make. Composing himself, wiping the smile off his face and making sure he looked halfway presentable, he mounted the stairs and knocked on the office door.

"AUDITIONS ARE TOMORROW!" a gruff voice from behind the door.

"I'm here for the cleaning job, sir." Ollie replied, reaching down and turning the handle, stepping over the threshold into a dank, smoke-stained room.

"Well, why don't you come in?" The man behind the desk sneered, looking over Ollie in much the same way the guy downstairs had. "Well, well. You sure you're not here for the dancing job?"

"I don't think your clientele would appreciate my cock, sir..." Ollie grinned. The man stared at the bunny for a moment, chewing on the stub of a cigar.

"You wh..." the thought cut short as the bunny's statement registered, replaced by a deep, hacking laugh "Dammit, I like you already kid. You said you want the cleaner's job?"

"Uhuh, I mean, yes sir."

"Knock it off with that sir shit, I work for a living. I'm Don. You call me Mr DiFranco or Boss. Depends on how well the next five minutes go. Got me?"

"Yes si.. Mr DiFranco."

"You got any experience? How old are you?"

"I used to work in a burger joint. Cleaning mostly, sometimes on the counter; it was pretty grim, especially on Friday nights, and I'm 21 sir, err, Mr DiFranco."

"Bullshit" DiFranco growled. "If you're 21, I'm George fuckin' Clooney. Show me your ID!"

Ollie flicked his ID over the table nonchalantly, he was used to being carded and he knew most humans couldn't place his age, fur was good at making that difficult. The ID was a forgery, a good one; he'd saved up all summer last year to get it. Oliver Mayweather, 21, Student. It'd stand up to anything except being swiped. The card was blank. Ollie's heart sank as DiFranco reached into his desk and pulled out a handheld computer and inserted the card into it.

"This is a fake. It's not even a good one. You know, for an extra 100 you could have got a programmed one? Now, how old are you really?" DiFranco held his gaze, level and impassive; brown eyes boring into the bunny's silver orbs.

"Sixteen."

"You need to be 21 to work here, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah. Give me my card back, I'll get out of your hair." Ollie mumbled, staring at his shoes.

"Fuckin' look at me when you talk to me. I had that advert out for months and nobody even called about it, let alone take it up. The job is yours if you still want it, but if anybody asks, that ID is real. It stays between us, you got that?"

"Yes sir!" Ollie almost punched the air, everything was going his way.

"What did I say about the sir shit? Don't get too excited, you don't know what you'll be doing yet. I wouldn't make up your mind so quick. You'll be a booth cleaner.

"Booth cleaner?"

"Yeah. We're a peep show, I know you know that. Our Johns all get a private booth. Payment is made in the booth by credit card. It's your job to make sure the booth is tidy after each customer leaves. We get regular inspections by the commission."

"Tidy?" Ollie tilted his head, not quite understanding. His eyes widened as the penny dropped "You mean..?"

"Yeah. Most of 'em do, and they do it up the glass. You go in with the gloves & biocide, clean it all down, spray some air freshener and clean up any glasses or liquor bottles. It's fucking gross, but I pay more than minimum. You still want it?"

"I'll be a jizz mopper?"

"Uhuh. Give the kid a cigar."

Ollie suppressed a shudder of delight, the thought of cum didn't bother him that much, it'd be worth it just to torture his parents. "Yeah, I think I can do that. When do I start?"

"You got school?"

"I'm home schooled" Ollie lied "Airline perk."

"Fine. You can start today, one month trial. I'll ring down to Frank and let him know. Some ground rules though, capiche? You stay out of the booths when they're in use, you don't ever use the booths yourself and you don't go into the performance area. At least that way, if I get caught employing a minor, they'll only give me a fine. You work from midday until we shut. You alright with that." It wasn't a question.

"Yes... Boss?" Ollie ventured uncertainly.

"Damn right. Now get downstairs and get to work. Payment is weekly, in cash. Frank'll give you a teeshirt. That's your uniform. Well, whatcha waitin' for, an engraved invitation? "

"No Boss!"

Frank didn't glance up as Ollie padded down the stairs. "Heads up!" He growled, tossing a film-wrapped package and a 2-way radio in his general direction "Uniform. Welcome on board, kid. Your office is under them stairs."

"Office?"

"Go look. I ain't no tour guide. Key's in the lock for you."

The door under the stairs was marked simply "Staff" and was firmly locked. The key turned with a well-oiled snick and the door opened inward, revealing nothing but black. Ollie reached in, found a light switch and flicked it, a dim light appeared, reflecting from the walls down a short, steep staircase. Slipping the key from the lock & clipping it to his belt, Ollie descended into the gloom.

The stairs opened out into a large basement & plant room, stacks of amplifiers & sound equipment blinked & hummed in racks & ranks of power cabinets lined the walls. Ollie's radio crackled "Kid. Cleanup in 1,3 and 10. Hurry up, got people waiting!"

Ollie thumbed the switch on the side of his wakie-talkie "Uhm.. What do I do?"

A sigh issued from the tinny little speaker "White folder in the desk in the Janitor's office. Cleaning kit in the cupboard. Read. Grab. Get your ass up here. Use the staff door at the back, Don't cut through the foyer in work hours." The radio went silent.

Rifling through a desk in the corner, Ollie found the manual & skimmed it; it seemed simple enough; clean, disinfect and tidy. Restock complimentary lubricants and get out. Ripping open the package he'd been tossed, he scanned the room for the cleaning kit, noticing a supply cupboard in the corner. Pulling his teeshirt off & tugging the new, tight-fitting uniform top over his head & down over his torso, smoothing the material out under his paws. A soft clatter as something wrapped in the teeshirt fell to the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he recognised it as an electronic card on a lanyard. The black, shiny plastic marked "Probation Staff - All Access." He grinned & slipped it over his head. The radio barked again "Kid, do you work here or not?" the voice snapped. He dashed over to the cupboard, pulled the specially designed holster over his shoulder & dashed through the door in the corner of the room marked "Booths - staff access".

The door opened out into a dark, plush hallway. Thick black carpet covered the walls and floor, the ceiling, also black, studded with tiny, bright LEDs in fantastic, imaginary constellations. The door snapped seamlessly shut behind him, a blinking green and red light the only signal betraying it's presence. Numbered, frosted glass panels suspended along the corridor lit solid green, red & blinking yellow marked the doorways to each booth. Ollie was taken aback by how surprisingly stylish it all was. The door nearest him, marked #10 was open and the sign was blinking yellow - attention required. The book said he had to check in to each room and check out, that'd signal it's readiness for the next john. Nervously, he tapped his passcard on the door panel and stepped inside.

The small booth was pretty tidy, a beer bottle tucked in the corner & a couple of crumpled tissues on the floor, He tugged a small waste sack from his kit, snapped a latex glove over his paw and gingerly picked up the tissues, dropping them into the bag along with the glass bottle. Pulling out an aerosol marked K-25, he wiped down all the surfaces. Disposing of the paper towels and then the glove itself. Each room, new gloves; those were the rules. He tapped his pass on the way out & looked up, the light went green & the door locked behind him.

Rooms 5 and 3 were tidy, there was no sign of anybody occupying them. He wiped them down regardless, wanting to impress. "If room 1 is as easy as this, this job'll be a cinch," he thought as he padded to the other end of the dark hallway.

The scent of room one hit him before his eyes could even register the sight. The smell of male arousal hung heavy in the air, the musky scent sweet & heady, Ollie's short muzzle twitching as the pheromone-heavy scents filled his senses, his tight black jeans becoming a little tighter as his bodily instincts kicked in. Shaking his head a little & swallowing nervously, he looked around. The viewport screen was streaked in thick rivulets of semen, it puddled in iridescent pools on the floor, even the walls had spatters. The occupant had clearly been horny, pent up and damn, he was capacious; Ollie stifled a murr, he came hard if he teased himself for a day or two, but it was nothing like this. His radio squawked "Kid. You done in one yet? We need that room..."

"Uh. A-a couple more minutes, it's quite messy in here.." He stammered, blushing despite himself.

"Yeah. Get used to it, kid. He's a regular."

"Uhuh.." Ollie murmured to nobody in particular, the scents in the room driving him wild. He looked behind him, the door was secured, his cock throbbed achingly behind his fly.. He knew it wouldn't take long to... "Ah, what the hell." He thought, leaning back against the wall, paws fumbling at the buttons holding the stiff denim closed. Chittering in frustration he hooked a paw into his waistband & yanked, the buttons popping undone audibly, his prehensile rabbithood jutting out the moment the confining material was released. He curled his paw around the hot, throbbing flesh & winced, it was dry, the fur between his pawpads arid, harsh against the sensitive flesh. He glanced over at the small rack of lubricants, then over at the wall. Blushing furiously, closing his eyes he reached out, slicking his fingers in the thick cum coating the glass. Curling his sodden grasp back around his shaft with a groan, his back arching hard against the wall as he pawed himself from root to tip. A frustrated squeak escaping his lips as barely three strokes later he sprayed into his paw, his young, potent seed arcing over the floor, adding to the not inconsiderable mess. He shrugged & grinned "What's a little more mess to clear up?"