Grease Monkey by Tyler Morgyn

The tiny beads of sweat on his bare shoulders were discrete as they formed. His muscles were distinct and defined as he moved the bulky metal machinery, and the layers of oil and smears of grime made the tiny jewels of perspiration into dancing prisms in the sunlight.

He turned to wipe the moisture from his eyes with his discarded shirt. I caught his glance and the brief half-smile that disappeared behind the fabric. He knew I was watching with more than friendly interest, and he liked it. He stretched quite boldly in a muscular display.

As his arms lifted and flexed, the growing beads of sweat shifted and hung suspended like Christmas ornaments off of his shoulder blades, threatening to fall like rain. The underlying muscles twisted with the strain of the weight he was pulling, and the baubles jumped and danced.

These liquid balls began to gather into rivulets that trickled from the taut muscular angles of his shoulders into the recessions of his spine, and there, gravity catching them, they joined forces, forming a cascade down to his lower back and below. I could not look away.

My fascination with watching these tributaries form and merge was not wasted, for I was rewarded with an ever growing stain that defined his buttocks through his thin trousers and made him shift in discomfort. The soaked cotton clung to each hard mound and revealed much more.

My mouth opened and my tongue circled the dry edges of my lips. I wanted to erase my thirst with his sweat. I needed to taste his saltiness. I wanted to let my tongue float along the river that cascaded down his back and over the waterfall between his cheeks and drown in him.

I closed my eyes as the nectar of my desire filled my mouth and fed my lust. I could feel my cock stiffen with every flick of my tongue. Golden droplets effervesced down my throat and through some magic of anatomy dripped from my dick as precum, staining my pants. My body swayed.

My cock throbbed and I grasped myself through my pants. The imagined smell of his sweat was like gasoline to the blaze of my mounting orgasm. I shook as the images flowed over me. Bending him naked over the car. Rimming his hot hungry hole. Spreading his ass. Fucking him hard.

"Hey, Mister. Are you OK?". My eyes flew open and he was inches from my face. Startled, I fell backwards. As my cum exploded from my cock, I felt suspended in midair, caught in that moment in time when you are helpless between the power of your body and the vision in your mind.

My skull shattered as it hit the foot of a metal jack. Blood poured from my head and flowed into rivulets across the oil-stained concrete floor. "Aw, the old guy pissed himself." A lone drop of sweat dripped from his concerned face onto my lips, and I tasted him for the first and last time.