After nearly a week’s hiatus from sex, I decided to take off Friday afternoon and spend it at the local baths. Secretly I was kind of hoping for a repeat of the hot Friday experience I had a couple of weeks ago. After all, who doesn’t like being the center of everyone’s attention for a couple of hours, and who wouldn’t crave more of it? I’m not that strong a man.
I arrived shortly after noon. Once I’d paid my money and signed my card and had been buzzed into the dark labyrinth of hallways inside so I could pick up my room key and towel, I could tell almost immediately that the crowd was a little different on this visit. The men a couple of weeks ago had been younger, generally. This last Friday there were an awful lot of seniors roaming around. Seniors with expensive cars, judging by the BMWs and Jaguars I’d seen in the parking lot. The average age of the men didn’t put me off too much. I could use a sugar daddy. (I’m kidding. No I’m not.)
Besides I wasn’t asking the age of the guy who assumed the position on the lower shelf of the steam room, right between my knees, as he nursed on my dick. I would’ve guessed him to be in his sixties, but the guy had a tennis-toned athletic body and a firm pair of calves—and his mouth was pretty damned good. Guys drifted in and out of the steam room as he gave me an expert blow job. At one point he put his hands on my knees and eased them back and into the air, so that my hips rolled back and gave him access to my hole. As he held my legs down, his mouth opened and his chip dipped into the cleft of my ass. I felt his mouth and tongue connect with my hole, and I stopped really paying much attention to what was going on around me.
It was a little while later, at the conclusion of that amazing rim job, that I found another older guy standing over me. I’d seen him before at the baths. He had big blue eyes that I couldn’t fail to recognize. His head was shaved and his body was fit and trim, while not as athletic as the man who’d gone back to sucking my dick, The guy’s dick, though, was killer—an actual nine-inch uncut thick slab supported by a cock ring around the base. My jaw dropped; he stepped forward and slipped between my lips the hefty poundage swinging between his legs.
A third guy started watching the little daisy chain. He was big, almost ungainly guy with a bald crown and a fringe of hair around the sides of his head, big-framed and square-faced. As much as I hate to draw the comparison, he reminded me of actor Brian Baumgartner, who plays Kevin, the slow one on The Office. Much younger, though, and not quite as doughy. He watched me deep-throat the big-dicked guy for a long time. I kept putting on a show for him as I did it. I like to be watched. Finally my buddy pulled out his dick and sat down next to me on the ledge, where we made out for a long time while the first man continued to suck on my balls and shaft.
“I want to see you fuck him,” the big guy announced, breaking the steam room’s unwritten code of silence that insists that all communications be made in nothing louder than the softest of whispers. “I want you,” he said, pointing a stubby finger at the big-dicked older man, “to fuck him.” This time, he stabbed his finger in my direction. “Get that big old dick in that boy’s hole!”
It struck me that the big guy was something of a bully. He treated us like we were his personal porn servants. There was no way I was going to be fucked by the older guy’s big dick. It would have ripped me to shreds. He didn’t really seem inclined to leap up and obey the bully, either. We ignored him, and went back to making out. When the steam got too thick and hot, the bully drifted away.
So the the rest of us. I went back to my little room with the big-dicked guy and enjoyed sixty-nining with him for a good half-hour, and then enjoyed him sucking on my feet and toes while he masturbated himself. When he left, I lay on my cot with the door open for roughly thirty seconds before a muscular black man strode on in.
“Damn!” he grunted, at the sight of my still-hard dick flopped across my hips. He left the door open as he knelt on the mattress between my legs. I tried to sit up, but he wasn’t having any of it. He wanted me as trade, silent and not participating with anything other than my dick. He shoved me back down. “Just put your arms over your head and relax, baby,” he told me. “I’m gonna take real good care of you.”
The blow job he gave me wasn’t great. It was just a prelude to the fucking, though. While I continued to lie on my back, hands cupping my skull as he’d instructed, the guy used a disposable one-time lube applicator and greased up his hole. Then he lifted himself slightly before settling back down on my rock-hard meat. His groans were loud enough to draw a crowd outside my door—and I’m sorry that my first thought wasn’t how hot the scene probably was, with a black muscle stud riding my pole with his head thrown back and deep cries of abandon issuing from within his chest. No, I was thinking, gosh, I wish I’d straightened my sheets a little better before all these people started watching.
The black guy came quickly. His dick was even bigger than the uncut older guy, and it unloaded in a thick spray onto my stomach and chest. He kept riding, though, putting on even a more vigorous show now that the orgasm was out of his system. “Ooo, baby, you got so much big white dick up in me and it feels so good!” he yelled at a pretty significant volume. Loud enough, anyway, to double the crowd of guys outside the door. “You need to give me that cum, pretty white boy!” After a few minutes more of that, I obliged, loudly. The guy held himself on me until my orgasm subsided, then climbed off. My dick slid out of him with a slick, audible plop; a hefty handful of my load fell out of his ass and onto the bed. “Damn!” he said at the door. “White boy got some pipe!”
The guys scattered as my new friend exited the room, like kitchen rats surprised in their scavengings. I took a shower, then returned to my cubicle and rested for a little while more.
When I ventured out again, it was to the steam room. The place was crowded by now, and a hot little Italian guy caught my eye. I liked his clear, pale eyes, his acute angle of a nose, and his coarse and curly hair. We kissed, and then I had him bent over the sweaty tile shelves in a matter of moments. I was nuts-deep in the guy as he groaned and buckled and pushed back his hips, his head hung low and his ass pointed high. A hot little Asian guy pushed through the crowd and next to me; he used some of the Italian boy’s lube on his fingers, and then worked them against my hole. The Asian guy had what I believe is medically termed a slammin’ body. Lean, narrow-waisted, hairless, and muscular he was. His dick was as skinny as the rest of him. He obviously wanted in the Italian guy’s ass when I was done with it, but in the meantime he was more than content to make out with me while I shoved in and out.
I came loudly, egged on by the dozen men watching. Some were crowded around me and the Asian kid, others were peering over the high tile partitions that separated one area of the room from the other. When I pulled out, the Asian boy shoved on in. I could tell by his ecstatic expression that he was enjoying the sensation of my sperm as lube. I was simply going to break away, but the Asian guy was insistent I stay with him. I stood behind him at his urging, holding him at the hips, and grinding my softening dick against his tight little butt cheeks. The entire time he fucked the Italian, the Asian kid kept making out with me. When he came—and it didn’t take long—his lips were locked with mine, tongue so firmly entangled that it would’ve taken a lock pick to separate them.
(The Asian guy was apparently pretty popular, that afternoon. Two different guys placed Craiglist missed connection ads for him, over the weekend.)
It was only about three by that point, so I didn’t quite want to leave yet. I returned to my room for a little and sat with the door open for a little while. A very little while, as it turned out, because Bully Boy came barging in fairly quickly. “Dude, you were hot, fucking that ass in there!” he said.
“Thanks,” I drawled.
“I love watching you young guys fuck. It’s hot to watch a boy like you do it so good.”
Now, if I’d had to guess, I would’ve placed the bully at about thirty-five. A kind of prematurely middle-aged thirty-five, but no more than that. “I think you might have underestimated my age,” I told him. What can I say? It was dark in there.
“Real young guys like you turn me on,” he said. His fingers reached out and grabbed a rough handful of my hair, which he proceeded to yank. “Go fuck that guy again.”
“I’m relaxing right now,” I told him.
“Go fuck that guy again!” he commanded. “I wanna watch you fuck his hole.” I smiled and shook my head. “Dude, he wants it. He wants your young dick up in him.”
“My young dick needs a little recuperation time,” I said, being firm.
“Dude, I know you got stamina. Don’t try telling me you don’t got stamina, because I know you got stamina. I’ve seen you with what, four guys now? Five guys? You’ve got the dick that doesn’t quit.”
“Maybe in a while,” I repeated. “Not now.”
He got the message, but every five minutes he stopped back by to try to entice me. “Dude. Just nail his little hole! I’ll track him down and bring him to you!” I kept putting him off, though. When he left at one point, I tried to sneak out and hide in the billows of vapor in the steam room, but somehow he walked in and found me. Almost immediately he turned around and dashed outside, only to return a short time later with the Italian guy in his clutches. He pushed the poor guy in my direction, then stood with his hands on his hips, looking smug.
Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar. I pulled the Italian to me and began making out with him. He relaxed into my arms almost immediately. It was then that I realized maybe the Bully hadn’t been bullshitting me after all, and that the Italian really had enjoyed the first fucking I’d given him. He certainly seemed to melt when once again I spat on my dick and eased it into his asshole. The Bully knelt down to the ground to get a good view, before it disappeared completely.
While I fucked, he kept up a steady stream of profane encouragement. “Fuck him! Yeah, fuck that tight little bitch!” he’d say. “Pound him. He wants it hard. You can tell he wants his hole to get a real rough pounding. Slam it in there! Slam that young dick deep in there!”
The commands didn’t really do anything for me, but they didn’t really detract from the fuck, either. The other men watching—because a small crowd, not as large as the last, had begun to accumulate around us again—seemed to enjoy it.
One guy in particular caught my attention as I fucked the Italian. He was a short and slender man of indeterminate age—anywhere between his late twenties to his late forties—with very long, lush, dark hair. His skin was dark and his eyes large, in a way that made me think he had some kind of Pacific Islander heritage. The guy was beautiful to look at. His features were finely-formed and even feminine, but his lean and hairless body was definitely male, with bulges in all the right places. He stared into my eyes as I fucked away, and with my encouragement, moved up to my side. He didn’t kiss me, as the Asian boy had. But he touched my skin with his hands as if I were some sort of artwork, and he the curator.
That was distracting. Not because I disliked it. But because I wanted to have sex with the dark-skinned, long-haired guy more than I wanted to continue fucking the Italian. I was close, though, and the long-haired guy’s feather-light touch on my butt was making my spine quiver in anticipation of orgasm. I slammed the Italian so hard that his head cracked against the tile shelf. He didn’t complain, though, or ask me to stop; he just braced himself and arched his butt higher so I could drive the load home.
My head was spinning from heat and sex and a three-load dehydration, but before I could return to my room or to the water cooler, the slender long-haired man grabbed my arm. He walked in the direction of the steam room door, pulling at me lightly. His fingers drifted down my forearm, where we separated.
I stepped out into the relatively frigid air of the dark hallways outside, and followed him.