Experience in the sauna...3

Continuation 2

You turn slowly, moving away from the wall. My ass is throbbing, my thighs are still trembling a little, but my cock is still hard, dripping against my thigh. The mature man looks me up and down, nodding to himself, as if he had found exactly what he was looking for.

“Follow me,” he says, and disappears through the steam-room door.

I go in behind him. The steam hits your face — hot, dense, heavy with the smell of eucalyptus and sweat. The light is dim, just a few blue LEDs embedded in the ceiling. The steam room at Octopus is L-shaped, with white-tiled benches running along the walls.

He sits on the bench at the back, the one most hidden from the entrance. He stretches his arms along the backrest and spreads his legs, showing his half-hard cock. Droplets of condensation run down his hairless chest, down his thin but wiry arms.

“Come here,” he says, and his voice sounds cavernous in the steam. “But sit beside me first. I’m not in a hurry.”

I sit to his left. The tile is hot under my buttocks, and it feels good. You rest your hands on your thighs and feel the humidity soaking your skin. For a few seconds nothing happens — only the silence broken by the dripping condensation and the murmur of the pipes.

He looks at me sideways.

“You’re the bottom who got fucked by the big bear and the tattooed guy, right? We could hear you from the steam room. You don’t hide, hehe.”

I shake my head, smiling.

“Good,” he says. “I like people who don’t hide.”

“I’ve been coming here for twenty years. I’ve seen hundreds like you. The ones who come, have a couple of fucks and leave. And the ones who come, stay all morning, let themselves be used, rotate from cock to cock, and go home empty inside and full in the ass. You look like one of the second kind.”

At that moment he puts a hand on my thigh. Wrinkled skin, short clean nails. The hand slowly moves up to my cock, wrapping around it with his fingers without squeezing.

“Can I ask you for something?” he asks, and there’s something in his tone that isn’t a plea. “I haven’t fucked in a week. I’ve been away, in the village looking after my mother. And I feel like something calm, unrushed. Someone sitting on my cock and fucking themselves slowly. Not fucking you like an animal. At my pace.”

He looks into your eyes, waiting.

“Do you feel like it?”

And I do, I get up and sit astride him, facing him. The steam wraps around you both, hot and dense, while I place my knees on either side of his thighs. I feel his cock against my thigh, not completely hard yet, but growing against my ass.

“Like that,” he murmurs, running his hands over my hips. “Slowly.”

I lift myself a little, just enough to guide his cock with one hand toward my entrance. The head brushes the sphincter, still open and ...