Work at MTM

In my stories about myself, I somehow overlooked this story, or rather not a story, but just a small episode of my life, and now I want to tell about it.

I had just finished school then, and before the army, I went to work at the MTS (Machine and Tractor Station). My friend Dimka was studying in the city, and with my cousin, we somehow drifted apart in our views, and he got offended at me. In short, I was left alone in my village without friends close to me in interests.

The work at the MTS was familiar to me, and I often helped tinker with and repair tractors, and now I was assigned to a team with Petrovich. He was fifty-eight years old and was a master of his craft, a born mechanic. Working in a pair with him was Ivan. A guy in his early thirties, sharp-tongued, a bully and a troublemaker. Since I was the youngest, I always got the dirtiest work—dismantling a gearbox, then a rear axle, then something else. My hands were always covered in grease and oil up to the elbows, and I had a hard time scrubbing them before lunch and then to go home.

It was hot, and I had to drink water often, and then, of course, I needed to run to take a leak. Sometimes during a shift, I ran three or even four times, and if I had to wash my hands every time, probably nothing would be left of my skin—and they were already all calloused anyway. So, I carefully pulled back the elastic and cautiously took out my dick and peed. Sometimes, of course, there were grease stains left on it, but at home they washed off easily in the bathhouse. Summer, lots of work, and the bathhouse was heated every evening to wash up before bed and rest well.

And then one day I thought, after all, I'm touching my dick with dirty hands anyway, so what if I don't bother being careful. This somehow excited me, and I decided that tomorrow at work, I wouldn't wipe my hands before going to pee and wouldn't carefully take out my dick trying not to get it dirty. I did just that and immediately, the first time, grabbed it with my whole hand and even squeezed my balls a bit. Of course, they got dirty right away, and after finishing peeing, I tucked my genitals back into my pants. This went on for several days, and I got used to it and liked that by evening my dick was completely black and covered in grease and used oily sludge from the engine or gearbox. The dirtiest, greasiest fluid poured out of the rear axle gearbox.

On one of the hot days, Petrovich fell ill with something, and an ambulance took him to the city and put him in the hospital. Ivan and I were left alone. He constantly teased me, and one fine, hot day, when I was dismantling a gearbox and my hands were covered in grease up to the elbows, I wanted to pee and quickly jumped up, ran behind the corner of the workshop, and pulling out my dick, started enjoying myself watering the grass and partly the brick wall. When I returned, Ivan looked at me and my hands and smirked. Another time he asked.

— And who takes your dick out for you so you can take a piss? Your hands are all covered in grease.

I was confused and didn't know what to say and just pretended not to understand. This went on all day, and towards evening, when I went behind the corner again, Ivan stealthily followed me and peeked. Of course, he didn't show it, and I didn't notice him, but a surprise awaited me the very next day.

As soon as I went to take a leak, he stealthily followed, and when I was already watering the wall with the urine accumulated in my bladder, Ivan crept up from behind and, slipping his hand between my legs, grabbed me by the balls. I was so startled I even stopped peeing and tried to break free, but couldn't. This bad habit of his, grabbing anyone by the privates, wasn't liked by many of his friends, and now it touched me too.

— Let go, it hurts! — I shouted.

Ivan squeezed my balls even harder, making them ache, and then immediately let go.

— What, have you lost your mind? — I said.

— If I tell anyone, then it'll be you who's lost their mind — and he pointed at my dirty, completely black dick. I hadn't had time to put it away yet and quickly tucked it into my pants.

— How long have you been lubricating it with grease? — he grinned.

I was silent and didn't know what to answer.

— Alright, it's your dick, do what you want, but — and he hesitated and fell silent.

I also didn't know what to say and silently went back to unscrewing nuts and dismantling the broken gearbox. By the end of the workday, having gone over various situations in my head, I still decided to talk to him so he wouldn't tell anyone about it.

— Ivan, just don't tell anyone. Okay?

— Sure thing, but you won't run behind the corner anymore, you'll piss right here — and he took out his dick, standing a meter from where we were working, and standing sideways to me, started watering the old rusty body of a GAZ 66.

— I agree — I replied, as I knew I had no other choice. I just needed to hold out until Petrovich came back, and then he probably wouldn't make me piss next to where we worked, and Petrovich would chase both him and me with a shovel handle. He was tough when it came to discipline, even though he was already old and often sick.

— Here, this is just what you need. You won't even have to take out your dick — he said and, laughing, handed me these old trousers.

— Change into them — he added in a confident voice.

I turned away and, pulling down my elastic-waist sports pants, put them aside and pulled on what Ivan had given me.

— Good, now this is your work uniform — he chuckled, smirking.

I looked myself over from all sides, as much as I could see, and thought. Why not? I like it, and besides, I won't be walking around the village in them. Hanging the removed track pants on a nail hook, we went back to work. When I worked standing up, everything was fine. But as soon as I bent over or squatted, my dick and balls immediately fell out through the ripped seam. At first, I squeezed my legs together and tried to cover up, but when we had urgent work and needed to act quickly, I forgot about it, and Ivan could perfectly see my dangling dick and balls, which were dirty and black and didn't differ from the work pants at all. He laughed and rejoiced that he had managed to come up with such a thing.

This went on for about a week. Petrovich was apparently seriously ill, and we were informed that we would be working alone for another month or even more. This news apparently pleased Ivan, and he continued to come up with something extraordinary for me. Even though my dick fell out on its own through the hole, I still had to touch it, and sometimes even sit on a dirty piece of metal, so my dick just pressed against it and collected everything on it. Every evening after work, I returned home with black, greasy balls and dick and washed them. And then an idea came to me, and I decided I wouldn't constantly wash my dick and balls, and I went like that for a whole week. Ivan didn't understand at first, but then it apparently dawned on him why the shift had just started, but my dick and balls were already black, and he somehow assigned me to overhaul a mechanism, and I started disassembling and cleaning it, having first removed the cover. As soon as everything was cleared out, I was about to drain all the black, thick, oily sludge from it.

— Wait — Ivan said to me.

I squatted down and asked, while my dick and balls fell out and touched the pile of parts and gears.

— What's wrong? — I asked.

— Sit down — Ivan told me.

I sat on the ground, and then he pushed the housing from which I had just wanted to drain everything towards me and pressed it right against my dangling balls.

— It hurts! — I protested.

— It's fine, you'll endure — he said and, taking my dick with his dirty hand, placed it and my balls into the semicircular hole where the bearing should be.

— What are you thinking? — I got scared.

— You'll find out now — Ivan grinned.

I trusted him and waited. As soon as my dick and balls descended inside the housing and dipped a bit into the black, viscous sludge, he covered the housing with the other half and tightened two of the twelve nuts. Then he took a nearby bucket and added so much more from it that my dick and balls were no longer visible. They completely disappeared into the greasy fluid.

— Today you'll work sitting down — Ivan said, laughing.

I understood what he wanted and didn't object. I wasn't against the unusual position myself. Sometimes my dick got hard, and sometimes, when I wasn't thinking about it, it just dangled in the grease and oil. Seeing that I wasn't reacting at all, Ivan put his hand inside the housing and, finding my dick and balls there, started squeezing and pressing them, exposing the head and rubbing this black dirt into them. Then he pulled out his hand, washed it, and said.

— You're used to not washing — I think by tomorrow you won't start doing it.

So, until Petrovich was discharged from the hospital, Ivan pushed my balls and dick into the dirtiest corners of all the mechanisms we had to repair. I didn't even wash them for two weeks at his request, and in return, he promised no one would find out. Later, it took me a very long time to wash and soak everything off, so the skin on my dick and scrotum burned for a long time afterward, and it was painful to touch. Then I went into the army, and when I returned, Ivan had already moved to the city, and we never saw each other again. But I often remembered this short period and looked for any opportunity to shove my dick and balls somewhere and smear them in whatever. And even now I indulge — but less often.

Sergey K