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By *ommo400 OP Man
5 weeks ago
Queensferry |
Two husbands on a get away with their wives find a distraction in the communal sauna.
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"Hell of a rain last night," Tom said, wiping condensation from the kitchen window. Outside, grey light washed over the stone cottages and soaked fields. "Didn't sleep a wink with that downpour hammering the roof."
Lucy slid a mug of tea across the counter towards him. "You always say rain helps you sleep." Her voice held that familiar morning roughness. She leaned against the fridge, watching him scratch at the tattoo peeking from his t-shirt sleeve—a faded dragon coiled around thick muscle. At forty-three, he carried the weight well, but she’d noticed him sucking in his stomach lately when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Next door, Harry stood on his cottage’s tiny porch, staring at the shared wooden sauna hunched between the properties. Raindrops still trembled on its cedar roof. At sixty-eight, he felt the damp in his knees. He adjusted his glasses, fingers brushing thinning grey hair. Margaret’s voice drifted from inside—something about misplaced walking boots—but his gaze lingered on the sauna door. Steam would be curling inside soon. He wondered if Tom ever used it early.
Tom drained his tea. "Fancy a sauna later? Shake off this damp." He avoided looking directly at Lucy. She hated the sticky heat, always had. Her shrug told him she wouldn’t join. Good. That meant privacy. He pictured the cedar benches, the thick silence, the way his own sweat felt sliding over ink-stained skin. Sometimes secrets needed space to breathe. Outside, Harry finally turned back towards his own door, shoulders stiff. Tom watched him go, thoughtful. The older man had neat hands. Useful hands. Tom rubbed his beard, rough against his palm.
Harry stepped inside, shutting out the drizzle. Margaret bustled past, holding up muddy boots. "Found them! Wedged behind the coal bunker." Her voice was bright, efficient. Harry managed a smile, tight-lipped. "Excellent." He moved towards the kettle, needing something to occupy his hands. The sauna. Tom’s suggestion hung in the damp air between cottages. He’d seen Tom glance his way. Just once. Quick. Assessing. Harry felt a familiar, unwelcome flutter low in his belly – part dread, part sharp, electric curiosity. He filled the kettle too full; water slopped onto the counter.
The rain eased to a persistent drizzle by late afternoon. Tom pulled on worn boxers under his jeans, grabbed a towel. Lucy was engrossed in a novel by the wood burner. "Off for a bake?" she murmured, not looking up. "Yeah," Tom grunted. "Clear my head." The damp grass soaked his trainers instantly. He paused at the sauna door, weathered wood under his fingertips. Inside smelled intensely of hot cedar and damp stone. He cranked the heater high, the electric elements glowing fiercely orange. Stripping off, he tossed his clothes onto a bench, sitting with only a towel covering him.. Steam began to coil, thin wisps at first. He sat heavily, the heat hitting his skin like a physical weight. Leaned back, closed his eyes. Listened. Only the hiss of water hitting hot rocks and the drumming of rain on the roof. Waiting.
The latch clicked. Tom didn’t open his eyes. Heard the door open, a rush of cooler, wet air. Then the soft thud of it closing. Footsteps shuffled on the wooden duckboards. Slow. Hesitant. Tom kept his breathing deep, steady. He felt the bench dip beside him, not too close. The scent of soap and damp wool mingled with the cedar. Tom finally looked. Harry sat rigidly upright, staring straight ahead at the hot stones. He wore faded trunks, his grey chest hair plastered damply to pale skin. His glasses were fogged. He clutched a towel in his lap, knuckles white. Neither spoke. The silence thickened, heavy as the steam now rolling in dense clouds around them. Tom watched a bead of sweat trace the curve of Harry’s ear, run down the tendon of his neck. Harry swallowed, hard. The heat pressed in.
Tom shifted slightly, leaning back against the hot wood. He draped his own towel loosely across his lap. "Hi Harry," he said, his voice low, gravelly from the heat. He offered a small, easy smile. "It’s too hot for the trunks, mate." He gestured vaguely towards the glowing heater. "Just use the towel." He kept his tone casual, practical. Like advice on stacking logs. Harry froze. His gaze flickered sideways, met Tom’s for a fraction of a second – a flash of startled vulnerability behind the fogged lenses – then snapped back to the stones. His breathing hitched. The silence stretched, filled only by the fierce hiss of water Tom had thrown onto the rocks moments before Harry entered. Steam billowed, obscuring Harry’s face momentarily. Tom saw the older man’s shoulders tense impossibly tighter. He waited. No pressure. Just the offer, hanging in the superheated air.
Harry’s hands trembled slightly as they moved to the knot of his trunks. The movement was stiff, awkward. He fumbled, fingers clumsy. Tom looked away, giving him space, focusing on the condensation dripping steadily from a knot in the ceiling beam. He heard the rustle of wet fabric, the soft plop as trunks landed on the duckboards. Then silence again. When Tom glanced back, Harry was sitting ramrod straight, the towel pulled taut across his thighs, clutched tightly at the edges. His skin was flushed deep pink, stark against the grey hair on his chest and legs. He stared fixedly ahead, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped. Tom didn’t smile again. He simply leaned back, closing his eyes once more, letting the shared silence and the enveloping heat become the only thing that mattered. The drumming rain on the roof seemed louder now, a steady counterpoint to the frantic pulse Tom imagined hammering in Harry’s throat. The space between them hummed with unspoken words.
Tom pushed himself up slowly, the hot wood stinging his palms. He scooped water from the bucket beside the heater. With a deliberate flick of his wrist, he threw it onto the glowing rocks. A furious hiss erupted, sharp and immediate. Scalding steam billowed out in a thick, blinding cloud, instantly intensifying the already oppressive heat. It pressed down like a physical weight, stealing breath, coating skin in an instant sheen of sweat. Tom groaned softly, a sound of pure, visceral relief mixed with discomfort. "Christ," he muttered, his voice thick. "That’s more like it." He peeled his own damp towel from his lap, balled it up, and tossed it carelessly into the far corner where it landed with a soft thud. The exposed air felt even hotter against his bare skin. He turned back towards Harry, his movement unhurried in the thick vapour. "Too hot for towels too, mate," he said, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. He held out his open hand towards Harry, palm up. An invitation. A challenge. "Pass it over."
Harry flinched as if burned. His fogged glasses hid his eyes, but his mouth opened slightly, a silent gasp trapped in the steam. He looked frozen, caught between decades of practiced denial and this sudden, scorching reality. Tom’s hand remained steady, suspended in the swirling heat haze. He didn’t speak again. The hiss of the rocks filled the space, a relentless, demanding sound. Slowly, with agonizing hesitation, Harry’s knuckles unclenched from the towel’s edge. His fingers, neat and surprisingly elegant despite their tremor, brushed the rough terrycloth. He lifted it, a small, heavy movement. For a heartbeat, he held it bunched against his stomach, a last shield. Then, with a sharp, almost convulsive motion, he thrust the towel towards Tom’s waiting hand. Their fingers didn’t quite touch as Tom took the damp bundle, but Harry recoiled as if shocked. Tom tossed Harry’s towel onto the pile in the corner. Nakedness was total now. The cedar walls seemed to lean in closer. Harry’s breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, audible even over the rain and the simmering rocks.
Harry snatched his glasses off, wiping them frantically on the bare skin of his thigh. The gesture was desperate, a futile attempt to clear more than just condensation. When he jammed them back onto his nose, the world snapped into sharp, terrifying focus. Tom hadn’t moved. He sat sprawled back against the hot wood, legs comfortably apart. The thick, rigid length of him stood impossibly proud, glistening with sweat that ran in rivulets down his stomach and thighs. Eight inches of flushed, heavy flesh pointed unapologetically towards the cedar ceiling. Every bead of moisture caught the dim light filtering through the steam. Harry’s gaze locked onto it, a magnet drawn to forbidden iron. He couldn't look away. His own body betrayed him instantly. A familiar, long-suppressed heat surged low and urgent, a sharp ache blooming beneath the towel clutched only in his mind now. His own cock, thick and pale, stirred insistently against his thigh, swelling rapidly despite the frantic hammering of his heart against his ribs. Shame warred with a raw, dizzying hunger. He felt exposed, dissected under Tom’s calm, watchful eyes.
Tom watched the older man’s reaction unfold – the stunned stillness, the frantic cleaning of glasses, the arrested stare, the unmistakable swelling beneath Harry’s trembling thigh. A slow, knowing smile touched Tom’s lips, not mocking, but deeply satisfied. He shifted his hips slightly, the movement making his erection bob gently. Sweat pooled in the dip of his navel, dripped steadily off the flushed head. "See?" Tom murmured, his voice thick with heat and something else, something darkly inviting. "Better without." He didn’t elaborate. The truth hung thick in the steam between them, heavier than the cedar scent. Harry remained rigid, his own arousal now painfully evident, a silent echo of Tom’s blatant display. His knuckles were white where they gripped the bench edge. The drumming rain on the roof seemed impossibly loud, a frantic heartbeat against the suffocating silence. Tom leaned forward, just slightly, breaking the invisible barrier separating their benches. "Relax, Harry," he breathed, the words almost lost in the hiss of the rocks. "It’s just heat." The lie hung in the air, shimmering like the waves of steam rising from their skin. Harry’s throat worked, swallowing nothing. His gaze flickered wildly from Tom’s face to his cock and back again, trapped in the unbearable intimacy. Tom held the stare, unblinking. The invitation wasn't spoken, but it screamed from every pore.
Tom pushed himself up slowly, deliberately. The motion made his erection sway heavily. He padded barefoot across the hot duckboards to the corner where his towel lay discarded. Beside it sat a plastic water bottle, slick with condensation. He picked it up, unscrewed the cap with a sharp twist, and tilted his head back. Water sluiced down his throat, catching the light as it spilled over his beard and dripped onto his broad, tattooed chest. He drank deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing, a long, audible swallow that filled the small space. Lowering the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Harry’s frozen form. Steam curled around Tom’s legs as he took two deliberate steps forward, closing the gap completely. He stopped directly in front of Harry, the heat radiating off his wet skin palpable. Without a word, Tom extended the half-empty bottle. Its cool plastic surface brushed Harry’s knee. Harry stared at it, then slowly, as if moving through deep water, lifted a trembling hand. His fingers brushed Tom’s as he took the bottle. He lifted it shakily to his lips, tilting his head back. Water spilled over his chin, running down his neck and chest. He drank, gulping desperately, eyes squeezed shut against the unbearable proximity of Tom’s thick, glistening cock, mere inches from his face. The scent of male sweat and heat filled his nostrils.
Harry lowered the bottle, water dripping from his chin onto his bare thighs. He held it out blindly towards Tom’s waist. Tom took it, his fingers brushing Harry’s knuckles again, lingering this time. He didn’t step back. He simply stood there, towering over Harry, his erection an undeniable presence inches from Harry’s lips. The heat was crushing. The silence roared. Tom’s gaze was fixed on Harry’s face, reading the panic, the disbelief, the raw, terrified hunger beneath. Slowly, deliberately, Tom leaned forward. His free hand, large and calloused, rose. He didn’t grab, didn’t force. His palm settled gently against the back of Harry’s damp, grey-haired head. The touch was firm, undeniable, yet strangely tender. Tom applied the faintest pressure, guiding, pulling Harry’s head slowly, inexorably forward towards the waiting heat and hardness. Harry gasped, a ragged sound. His body went rigid for a split second, decades of ingrained denial screaming. Then, instinct – primal, undeniable, buried deep beneath layers of shame – surged. His jaw slackened. His lips, dry and cracked from the sauna heat, parted softly on a silent exhale. The flushed, swollen head of Tom’s cock brushed against Harry’s bottom lip. The contact was electric, searing. Harry flinched, but didn’t pull away. His mouth opened wider, a silent surrender, an instinctive yielding to the overwhelming reality pressing against him. The steam thickened, wrapping them in a private, humid world. Tom’s thumb stroked the nape of Harry’s neck, a silent command to accept. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. His breath hitched, warm against Tom’s wet skin. The tip pressed inward.
Tom stood perfectly still, head tilted back, eyes closed. A low, rumbling purr escaped his lips as Harry’s mouth closed hesitantly around him. The sensation was electric – hot, wet suction, tentative and trembling at first. Harry’s lips were soft, yielding, trembling against the sensitive skin. Tom groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "Mmmm," he breathed, the word thick with pleasure. "Suck it." His hand remained firm on Harry’s head, guiding the rhythm now, urging him deeper. Harry’s hands, which had been clenched white-knuckled on the bench edge, lifted slowly. They trembled violently as they slid tentatively up Tom’s thick, hairy thighs. The touch was hesitant, feather-light at first, exploring the powerful muscle beneath sweat-slicked skin. Then, gaining a fraction of confidence, driven by the desperate need to hold onto something real in this dizzying whirlpool, Harry’s palms slid higher. They cupped the heavy swell of Tom’s ass cheeks, fingers digging gently into the firm flesh, pulling Tom closer, anchoring himself. Tom gasped sharply at the intimate grip, his hips pushing forward instinctively, driving himself deeper into Harry’s mouth. "Yeah," Tom panted, his voice rough, strained. "Just like that." Harry’s muffled whimper vibrated against Tom’s shaft. His fingers tightened on Tom’s ass, pulling him in rhythm with the tentative bobbing of his head. Tom could feel the older man’s desperate, shuddering breaths against his stomach. The heat was unbearable, suffocating, perfect. Sweat poured freely down Tom’s temples, his chest, mingling with the dampness around Harry’s mouth. The drumming rain outside faded to a distant murmur, drowned out by the slick, rhythmic sounds filling the cedar chamber and Tom’s ragged, deepening breaths. His grip tightened in Harry’s hair, urging him on, deeper, harder. Harry’s glasses slipped askew, fogged completely now, forgotten. His world narrowed to the taste of salt and sweat, the thick weight filling his mouth, the impossible heat radiating from Tom’s skin pressed against his face, and the desperate, clawing need that finally, after decades, had found its terrifying, exhilarating release. Tom’s thighs trembled slightly under Harry’s clutching hands. A tremor ran through him. "Don’t stop," Tom growled, his voice thick with building tension. "Almost there." Harry’s muffled groan vibrated again, a sound of surrender and frantic need. He sucked harder, deeper, his hands kneading Tom’s ass urgently, pulling him impossibly close. The steam swirled thicker, wrapping them in a cocoon of heat and shared, desperate intimacy. Tom threw his head back further, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as the pressure built towards its inevitable peak.
"Fuuuuuuuck," Tom groaned, the single word drawn out, thick and ragged, echoing off the cedar walls as his hips slammed forward one final time. He pulsed violently within Harry’s mouth, throbbing deep, firing jet after jet of thick, warm cum straight down Harry’s throat. Harry coughed slightly, a muffled gasp escaping around the shaft filling him, but he didn’t pull away. His fingers dug bruisingly into Tom’s ass cheeks, holding him locked in place as he swallowed convulsively, desperately, gulping down the salty, bitter flood. Tom shuddered violently, his entire frame trembling with the force of his release, his grip on Harry’s head iron-tight. Wave after wave surged through him, each pulse accompanied by a low, guttural groan ripped from deep within his chest. Harry’s throat worked frantically, swallowing every spurt, his eyes squeezed shut tight against the overwhelming sensation, tears leaking from the corners, mingling with sweat and saliva. The heat felt crushing now, unbearable, yet Harry clung on, riding out the storm, his own neglected arousal a sharp, aching throb against his thigh. Finally, the pulsing subsided, leaving Tom panting heavily, slumped slightly, his hand still tangled in Harry’s damp hair. He slowly withdrew himself, slick and glistening, from Harry’s slack mouth. Harry gasped for air, coughing once, his chest heaving. He wiped his mouth shakily with the back of his hand, staring blindly at the wet duckboards, unable to look up. Tom looked down at him, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He saw the glistening trail of saliva and cum on Harry’s chin, the flushed, tear-streaked face, the fogged glasses askew on his nose. Tom reached down slowly, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he lifted Harry’s chin. Harry flinched but didn’t resist. His eyes, wide and terrified, finally met Tom’s. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the frantic drumming of rain on the roof and their own ragged breathing. Tom’s thumb brushed away a smear of wetness from Harry’s cheekbone. "Okay?" Tom asked softly, his voice rough but devoid of mockery. Harry swallowed hard, his throat clicking. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded once, a jerky, uncertain movement. His gaze flickered downwards again, landing on Tom’s softening cock, glistening wetly inches from his face. He quickly looked away, shivering despite the suffocating heat. Tom sighed, a low, satisfied sound. He released Harry’s chin and took a step back, then he dropped to his knees, Harry knew what was coming, or at least hoped he did. Tom pushed Harry’s thighs apart wider, spreading his legs. Harry gasped, instinctively trying to close them, but Tom’s hands were firm on his knees, holding him open. Harry’s cock stood rigidly upright against his flushed stomach, thick and pale, glistening with sweat and pre-cum. Tom leaned forward, his hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. Then, slowly, deliberately, Tom ran the flat of his tongue up the entire throbbing length, from base to tip. The sensation was electric, shocking, sending jolts of pure, molten pleasure through Harry’s core. He cried out, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his lips. Tom did it again, slower this time, savoring the salty tang, the velvety heat. He lingered at the swollen, leaking head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive ridge. Harry whimpered, his hips jerking upwards uncontrollably, seeking more. Tom chuckled low in his throat, a dark, promising sound. Then, without preamble, he opened his mouth and engulfed Harry entirely. Harry cried out again, louder this time, his head thrown back against the hot cedar wall. Tom began to suck him deep and hard, his mouth a furnace of wet heat and pressure. Harry’s fingers scrabbled blindly, holding Tom's shaved head in place. He clutched desperately, his body arching off the bench as Tom’s skilled mouth worked him relentlessly towards a precipice he hadn’t approached in decades. The steam thickened, wrapping them in a cocoon where only sensation existed – the slick heat, the rhythmic pull, the desperate, mounting pressure building unbearably low in Harry’s belly. Tom’s head bobbed steadily, his hands gripping Harry’s hips now, anchoring him, pulling him deeper into that wet, consuming heat with each downward stroke. Harry’s breath came in ragged, frantic gasps. He couldn’t hold back.
Harry’s entire body seized, arching violently off the bench. A cry tore from his throat – a sound of pure, unadulterated release mixed with decades of pent-up agony. His hips bucked wildly, uncontrollably, driving his cock deep into the wet heat of Tom’s mouth. He came harder than he ever had in his life, a torrential flood erupting in thick, pulsing jets that Tom swallowed greedily, gulping down the salty essence with low, satisfied groans. Harry’s vision whited out, his body shuddering violently, fingers clawing at Tom’s scalp. Wave after wave crashed through him, each convulsive pulse wringing another gasp from his lungs. Tom sucked him fiercely through the climax, milking every last drop. Then, just as Harry’s spasms began to subside, Tom pulled off. With a final, deliberate squeeze at the base, he coaxed one last thick spurt. This time, Tom didn’t swallow. He tilted his head slightly, letting the warm, viscous cum spurt directly onto his face. It landed hot and sticky on Tom’s cheekbone, sliding down towards his jawline. Harry gasped, eyes flying open, stunned by the sudden intimacy, the shocking warmth against his skin. Before Harry could react, Tom leaned forward again. His tongue, broad and warm, rasped firmly up Harry’s softening cock, cleaning the slick shaft meticulously from base to tip. Harry whimpered, oversensitive and trembling. Tom’s tongue didn’t stop there. It traced the path of the spilled cum around his own mouth, licking slowly, deliberately, gathering every trace. The sensation was intensely intimate, shockingly tender after the raw ferocity moments before. Tom’s eyes, dark and unreadable, held Harry’s captive as he finished cleaning Harry’s flushed skin. Tom leaned back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry slumped bonelessly against the cedar wall, utterly spent, trembling uncontrollably. His chest heaved. Sweat poured off him. Cum cooled stickily on his cheek where Tom hadn’t licked. He stared at Tom, dazed, unable to comprehend what had just happened, what he had just done. The silence returned, heavier now, filled with the aftermath and the relentless drumming rain. Tom watched Harry’s stunned face, his own expression unreadable. He reached out slowly, his thumb brushing away a stray droplet clinging to Harry’s eyelash. Harry flinched at the touch. Tom’s thumb lingered for a moment on Harry’s damp temple. "Alright?" Tom asked again, his voice softer now, almost gentle. Harry tried to speak. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He closed his eyes, a shudder running through him. He felt raw, exposed, flayed open. The heat pressed in, suffocating. Outside, the rain hammered harder against the sauna roof.
Harry stood up abruptly, his legs shaky beneath him, his towel forgotten on the bench. His skin was flushed deep crimson, slick with sweat and the remnants of Tom’s release drying stickily on his cheek. He didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, closing the impossible gap between them. His arms, thin and surprisingly strong, wrapped tightly around Tom’s broad, tattooed torso. He pulled Tom close, burying his face against Tom’s damp, hairy chest. Tom stiffened momentarily, surprised by the sudden embrace. Then, slowly, his own arms came up, encircling Harry’s trembling shoulders, pulling him in tight. Harry tilted his head back, his eyes searching Tom’s. There was no hesitation now, only a desperate, aching need for connection beyond the frantic physical release. Their lips met – tentative at first, a soft, clumsy brush. Then Harry pressed harder, his mouth opening slightly. Tom responded instantly. His lips parted, and Harry’s tongue slid tentatively forward, tasting the lingering saltiness on Tom’s lips – sweat, his own cum, the faint metallic tang of Tom’s beard. Tom’s tongue met his, exploring, tangling. The kiss deepened, becoming urgent, hungry. Hands roamed over slick skin – Harry’s fingers tracing the intricate ink on Tom’s back, Tom’s large palms sliding down Harry’s spine, gripping his narrow waist, pulling their bodies flush together. Harry moaned softly into Tom’s mouth, the sound muffled by their kiss. He felt the heat, the sweat, the powerful muscles beneath Tom’s skin. And then he felt it – unmistakable. Pressing insistently against his hip, Tom was hardening again, thick and heavy. Harry gasped, breaking the kiss slightly. His eyes widened as he looked down. Tom wasn’t finished. Tom’s gaze was dark, intense, fixed on Harry’s face. He didn’t speak. He simply pulled Harry back into the kiss, deeper this time, his tongue claiming Harry’s mouth possessively. One hand slid lower, fingers tracing the cleft of Harry’s ass, while the other gripped Harry’s hip hard. The message was clear. Harry whimpered against Tom’s mouth, arousal surging anew despite his exhaustion. The steam thickened around them, wrapping them in a humid world where only touch, taste, and the insistent pressure of Tom’s renewed erection against his hip existed. Tom’s hand moved lower still, fingers probing gently. Harry tensed, then yielded, pushing back slightly against Tom’s exploring touch. Tom broke the kiss, his breath hot against Harry’s ear. "Turn around," he murmured, his voice rough, commanding. Harry shuddered, his heart hammering against his ribs. He obeyed, slowly turning his back to Tom. Tom’s hands settled firmly on Harry’s hips, pulling him backwards until Harry’s bare back was pressed flush against Tom’s broad, sweat-slicked chest. Tom’s renewed erection pressed hot and insistent against the cleft of Harry’s ass. Tom leaned forward, his lips brushing the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry felt Tom’s hand slide down his stomach, fingers slicking themselves with the sweat pooling there. Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself. Tom’s slicked fingers traced lower, circling Harry’s entrance. Harry gasped, arching his back instinctively. Tom’s other arm wrapped tightly around Harry’s chest, pinning him securely against his own powerful frame. "Easy," Tom breathed against Harry’s neck, his voice thick with anticipation. The first fingertip pressed gently inward. Harry cried out, a sharp sound of shock and sudden, intense sensation. Tom held him tighter, his lips pressing against Harry’s shoulder blade. "Just relax," Tom murmured, his voice rough but surprisingly gentle. "It’s just heat." The lie hung thick in the steam, shimmering like the condensation dripping from the cedar beams. Harry’s knuckles whitened as he gripped Tom’s forearm encircling his chest. The fingertip pressed deeper, slowly, inexorably. The heat inside the sauna felt unbearable, crushing. Outside, the rain drummed relentlessly on the roof, a frantic heartbeat against the suffocating silence. Tom’s breath hitched against Harry’s skin. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tighter, focusing on the rough texture of Tom’s tattoos against his back, the overpowering scent of male sweat and cedar, the impossible heat radiating from Tom’s skin pressed against him, and the slow, burning pressure building where Tom’s finger pushed insistently inward. He felt Tom shift slightly behind him, felt the thick, heavy length of him pressing harder against his cleft. Tom’s finger withdrew slightly, then pressed back in with more purpose. Harry gasped again, his body instinctively trying to pull away, but Tom’s grip was iron-tight.
Harry’s breath came in ragged, shallow gasps as Tom’s finger worked deeper, stretching him slowly. The sensation was intense – a sharp burn mixed with an unfamiliar, deep pressure that radiated through his core. He felt Tom shift again behind him, his hips pressing forward insistently. Tom’s erection slid slickly against Harry’s cleft, bumping against his entrance. Harry flinched, a whimper escaping his lips. "Easy," Tom murmured again, his voice a low rumble against Harry’s shoulder blade. Tom’s slicked finger withdrew completely. Harry felt the blunt, hot pressure of Tom’s swollen head pressing firmly against him. Tom’s arm tightened around Harry’s chest. "Push back," Tom commanded softly, his breath hot on Harry’s neck. Harry hesitated, frozen. Decades of denial screamed inside him. Then, with a shuddering gasp, he obeyed, pushing his hips back tentatively against Tom’s insistent pressure. The thick head pressed inward. Harry cried out, a sharp sound of pain and shock tearing from his throat. His body clenched instinctively, resisting. Tom groaned, a deep, strained sound. "Relax," he urged, his voice thick. "Breathe." Tom’s other hand slid down Harry’s trembling thigh, lifting it slightly, opening him wider. Harry tried to breathe, tried to force his muscles to unclench. He felt the impossible pressure, the burning stretch as Tom pushed forward slowly, relentlessly. Inch by agonizing inch, Tom’s thick cock breached him. Harry whimpered, tears stinging his eyes again, mixing with sweat. The fullness was overwhelming, terrifying, unlike anything he’d ever imagined. Tom was buried deep inside him now, his hips flush against Harry’s ass. He held perfectly still for a moment, letting Harry adjust, his breath coming in harsh pants against Harry’s neck. Harry felt impossibly full, stretched to his limit, pinned against Tom’s powerful frame. Sweat poured down both their bodies. The heat was unbearable, suffocating. Tom shifted his hips minutely. Harry gasped as the movement sent a jolt of sharp sensation deep inside him. Tom’s hand tightened on Harry’s thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled back almost completely. Harry felt the drag, the sudden emptiness. Then Tom thrust forward again, hard and deep. Harry cried out, his head falling back against Tom’s shoulder. The pain flared, sharp and bright, but beneath it, beneath the shock and the overwhelming fullness, something else sparked – a deep, unfamiliar throb of pleasure radiating from his core. Tom groaned again, his hips pulling back once more. "Fuck," Tom breathed, his voice strained. "You’re tight." He thrust forward again, deeper this time, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each inward stroke sent waves of intense sensation crashing through Harry – pain, pressure, and that strange, burgeoning pleasure growing stronger with every thrust. Tom’s arm remained locked around Harry’s chest, holding him upright, pulling him back onto each powerful stroke. Harry clutched Tom’s forearm, his fingers digging into the ink-covered skin, anchoring himself against the relentless drive. Tom’s thrusts deepened, quickened slightly. The slick sounds of their joining filled the small space, mingling with Tom’s low grunts and Harry’s ragged, breathless gasps. Harry felt Tom’s cock moving deep inside him, hitting spots that sent electric jolts through his trembling body. The pain began to recede, replaced by an overwhelming tide of sensation – the heat, the friction, the sheer physicality of Tom’s powerful body moving against him, inside him. Harry’s own neglected cock, trapped between his stomach and Tom’s encircling arm, stirred back to life, thickening against his belly. A low moan escaped Harry’s lips – a sound of surrender, of dawning, overwhelming pleasure. Tom heard it. He growled low in his throat, a sound of pure satisfaction. His thrusts became harder, faster, driving deep with each powerful snap of his hips. Harry gasped, his body arching against Tom’s hold, pushing back instinctively now, meeting each thrust. The pleasure surged, building rapidly, eclipsing everything else – the heat, the shame, the decades of silence. Tom’s hand slid from Harry’s thigh to grip Harry’s hip hard, pulling him back savagely onto each stroke. Harry cried out again, louder this time, his voice raw with building ecstasy. He was lost, consumed, riding the relentless rhythm Tom set. Tom’s breath was hot and ragged against Harry’s neck. "Yeah," Tom panted, his voice thick, strained. "Take it." Harry whimpered, pushing back harder, desperate for more. The pressure inside him coiled unbearably tight. Tom’s thrusts became frantic, brutal. Harry felt Tom’s muscles tense violently behind him. Tom slammed deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt. He roared, a guttural sound ripped from his chest. Harry felt Tom pulsing inside him, hot and thick. The sensation pushed Harry over the edge. He screamed, his body convulsing violently as his own release tore through him, spurting untouched against his stomach and Tom’s encircling arm. They shuddered together, locked in the crushing heat, gasping for air. Tom slumped forward slightly, his weight pressing Harry against the hot cedar wall. Harry felt pinned, utterly spent, filled, Tom’s softening cock still deep inside him. Sweat dripped into his eyes. The rain drummed relentlessly overhead. Neither moved.
Harry felt Tom’s softening cock slip slowly out of him as Tom shifted his weight backward. A strange emptiness followed, mingling with the deep, lingering ache. Tom’s arm loosened its grip around Harry’s chest, but he didn’t pull away entirely. His hand remained on Harry’s hip, fingers tracing circles on the sweat-slicked skin. Harry slumped forward slightly, resting his forehead against the hot cedar wall, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. He felt Tom’s breath hot on his back, felt the damp brush of Tom’s beard against his shoulder blade. Neither spoke. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, filled only by the drumming rain and their own labored breathing. Harry could feel Tom’s gaze on him, intense, unreadable. He couldn’t turn around. Shame began to seep back in, cold and insidious beneath the fading heat and exhaustion. What had he done? Decades of careful denial obliterated in a haze of steam and sweat and impossible need. Tom shifted again behind him. Harry tensed, bracing himself for words – mockery, dismissal, anything. Instead, Tom’s large, calloused hand slid gently up Harry’s spine, stopping at the nape of his neck. His thumb rubbed slow circles there, a surprisingly tender gesture. Harry closed his eyes, a shudder running through him. The touch was grounding, anchoring him in the bewildering aftermath. Tom leaned forward, his lips brushing the damp skin just below Harry’s ear. "Alright?" Tom murmured, his voice rough but devoid of mockery. The same question. Harry swallowed hard. His throat felt raw. He nodded jerkily, still unable to speak, still unable to face Tom. Tom’s thumb continued its slow circles on Harry’s neck. The silence deepened, wrapping around them like the steam. Outside, the rain hammered harder against the roof. Tom sighed softly, a low sound of deep satisfaction. His hand slid down Harry’s arm, fingers intertwining briefly with Harry’s trembling ones before releasing them. Harry heard Tom move behind him, the duckboards creaking softly. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Tom was bending down, picking up his discarded towel from the wet floor. He straightened, running the towel roughly over his face and chest. He glanced at Harry, his expression unreadable in the dim, steam-shrouded light. "Better get cleaned up," Tom said quietly, his voice flat, practical. He tossed Harry’s towel towards him. It landed wetly on the bench beside Harry’s hip. Harry stared at it, then slowly, stiffly, reached for it. His legs felt like jelly. He wiped his face, his chest, avoiding looking at the sticky mess on his stomach. He felt Tom watching him. The silence stretched again, filled now with the weight of what had happened, the impossibility of what came next. Tom cleared his throat. "Rain’s easing," he said, his voice low. Harry listened. The drumming had softened to a steady patter. Tom turned towards the door. "See you tomorrow Harry, 10 o'clock, here?"
Harry froze, towel clutched in his trembling hand. Tom didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed open the heavy cedar door. A blast of cool, damp air rushed in, cutting through the oppressive heat. Steam swirled violently. Tom stepped out into the grey twilight, barefoot on the wet gravel path, towel slung casually over his shoulder. He didn’t look back. The door swung shut behind him with a soft thud. Harry stood alone in the suddenly cavernous silence of the sauna, the only sound the fading rain and the frantic hammering of his own heart. He had just experienced the best most intense sex of his life, he allowed himself a smile, he couldn't wait for the morning
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