Sketch by  SKY3
Ended up writing a little story in a completely different style. Just want to stress the mood is for professional blue collar DILF types who have great technical knowledge in their field and nothing else going on between the ears.

You arrive home and are shocked by the sight of a large seal man standing outside, holding a pressure washing wand that's still spraying water. He looks like a professional with his polo shirt, trousers, cap, and rubber boots. Well except for he's soaking wet and the front of his boots are torn open revealing absolutely massive flipper feet spilling out of them. You give them a stare, 4 bulbous toes with claw tips and webbing between them. You wonder how heavy they are. Your eyes trail up the rest of his dad bod. Tight fitting work pants strain around his thighs. His white polo shirt is so wet that you can see through it. Even if you couldn't, it's pulled tight enough around his gut and wide pecs that it leaves nothing to the imagination. You stare at his chest a while, noticing the glistening short fur on it between the open buttons of his collar. You dream of laying your head on top of him. After a good minute you shake yourself out of your revelry, noticing that he hasn't moved at all. He's got a slight smile on his round muzzle and a completely vacant look in his eyes as he stares straight ahead. You ask him if he can turn off the water.
"Job's done ort!" He barks out as he twists the handle and shuts the water off along with the sound of the pressure washing motor winding down.
You ask him who or what he is, having never seen an anthropomorphic animal in real life. Several seconds pass as you watch water drip off him, his expression unchanging.
"Your professional washing and sealant technician, sir!" He robotically tips his cap, but still gives you a warm smile.
You don't remember ordering any washing services, but as you look at your house it's sparkling clean all over. You ask him what he's doing here.
"Ort ort, just waiting until my next appointment."
You tell him no, you mean what is he doing at your house.
"I've cleaned the exterior and applied our patented permanent wood seal which comes with a lifetime guarantee against stains and water damage. I've also cleaned the front and back driveway and sidewalk. If you notice any problems please give us a call and we'll send myself or any of ort ort our professionals out the next day." He gestures toward the logo on his truck while reciting the spiel.
That wasn't really what you meant but you sense that he's not going to answer any of your real questions. You ask him about his boots.
"They don't bother me sir." He shuffles slightly and you hear his massive webbed toes plap against the wet concrete.
You tell him they are destroyed though. That they look like it must have hurt. You suggest he take them off.
"Well ort" His brow furrows slightly. "They are part of the company uniform, but I suppose I can take them off if the job is done." He walks over to his truck with wide, angled steps. His feet slapping against the ground with each one. He opens the driver side door and sits down, facing out toward you. He lifts one foot up and struggles while tugging on the burst remains of his work boot. The muscles in his big arms bugle but the boot is just too small to pull over his wide long feet. The way his toes wiggle and sway while he struggles gets your heart racing. You suggest he cut the boots off.
"Ort course sir. I don't mean to take up any of your time." He grunts with middle age as he gets up from sitting in his truck and waddles his way to the back to retrieve a tool.
You blurt out that it's not a problem, as you watch his butt grinding against his trousers as he walks around.
He gets a pair of shears from a toolbox in the truck bed and plaps his way back to the driver seat. He brings one foot up in front of him resting on his knee while he carefully cuts through the rubber top of the boot. He lets the remains of the boot drop, exposing you to his huge soles. Your face flushes. He brings his other foot up and does the same. You stare the pair of naked flipper feet. You imaging them clapping together. Clapping against you. They're still wet. Does this guy even know how hot they are?
You ask if he would like to come in for a bit.
"Oh no sir, we don't do interiors" He's picking up his boots and throwing in them into the truck. He hasn't picked up on you being a freak at all.
You tell him you'd just like to thank him with a drink, stepping toward him a little desperately. He swings back around and bumps into you. You go to fall backwards but he reaches out and catches you in his arms.
"Wh-ort! Careful there! I'm a big guy, you can't sneak up on me." He's hot and damp, holding you with big powerful arms. You lean in and put your head against his chest, his pecs soft but firm as you bring your arms around his waist. You beg him to stay awhile.
"I guess I can as since it's still within the invoiced hours." He still doesn't have a clue, but he's willing to go along with you. You just sigh, feeling safe in his embrace.