– Horny Scene VI: Construction Site –

I’m sitting in my car, parked in the hiking trail lot. Aside from a township pickup, I’m the only one here on this drizzly Thursday, which is exactly how I like it. My access to the trail lake has been barred by a construction project. It looks like a culvert is going in. Orange mesh stretches across raw ground that’s crisscrossed by excavator tread patterns. 

But I’m not upset by this. I’m probably reaching my cardio goal from the comfort of this heated leather bucket seat because of the two workers standing nearby.  The shorter one faces away from me, leaning on a requisite shovel and wearing jeans and battered Timberlands. It’s the taller one that’s got me standing at attention, though. He’s clearly been the busier of the two, wearing a hi-viz onesie that’s spattered with mud.  They break over leather wellingtons with soles caked in gleaming clay the color of polished copper. A cigarette is in his hand.  He laughs at something the shorter one says, rocking back on one foot, which digs into the compromised ground. My hand digs into my crotch. 

The excavator sits parked beyond them, it’s shovel poised, half-raised, like it’s been sidetracked by the scene as I have. The thought of those massive boots working the pedals makes me buzz, but it’s not enough to keep me here, sitting in my car for no apparent reason. That’s when the men part. The shorter one turns and heads toward the truck, passing by my car without taking notice of me.  The taller heads back to the earth mover.  I can see his boots pressing into the ground and leaving watery prints behind him. 

By the time he hoists himself into the cab of the machine, I’m working the denim over my cock with a sudden urgency. He doesn’t climb in—he opens the door reaches in for a travel cup, his filthy left boot suspended in air as he leans in. When he hops back down, he misjudges his landing place and sinks into a mound of churned clay not compacted by the heavy treads. His left leg disappears up to his knee, and spurt of pinkish-orange water running down his hi-viz clad leg. 

I can’t believe my fortune to witness this. He grasps the handheld on the excavator and drags his ensnared boot free.  I can practically hear the suction of the mud, the cursing under his breath.  What began as a slow smolder in my tip of cock has burgeoned into a roiling burn that stretches back to my prostate.  I begin to understand that I won’t simply revisit this scene later—I’m going to cum before I put this car back in gear. 

He heads my way.  His left pant leg is plastered to him and looking ready to be kiln-fired. No way did the inside of that boot escaped a slimy intrusion. He passes by my window, sees me, and gives me a single nod. I tear open.