Steamy In The Sauna

The room filled with grey mist, tendrils of steam caressed her skin. She looked across the small space and saw him sitting in a corner on the wooden slats, head tipped back, deeply inhaling. A small tub of black grainy paste sat next to him. She wondered what it was.

"Hey," she said, waking him out of his reverie.

His eyes opened and she couldn't tell if it was the steam but there was a strange grey mystery swirling within them.

He picked up the tub of paste and extended his arm, offering it to her.

"Want some?" he said.

"What is it?" she replied. Without quite knowing why she realized she was licking her lower lip.

"It's an exfoliant," he said, "I brought it back from Tibet."

She laughed. "An exfoliant," she said. "How very masculine of you."

He stood and walked towards her - two short steps across the cozy room. She watched the sweat beading on his collarbone and trailing down towards his chest. He reached his finger into the jar and scooped out a dollop. "Smell it," he said.

She hesitated for a moment, feeling pulled between sensations. She wanted to move closer to him, but she didn't want him to know it. But she couldn't pull back now: she leaned her head forwards and inhaled.

"It smells like... coffee?" she said.

His eyebrows rose.

"Mixed with honey," he said. "And oil."

She looked up at him, unsure what he wanted.

"Try it," he said. He began to lather the earthy brown paste onto his chest. He looked like a beast, in the depth of a jungle, black stripes against his clear skin. The steam was starting to burn her eyes, and she could feel her breath turning hot and humid.

"Try it," he said.

She reached a finger into the jar and gingerly extracted a single, juicy dollop.

"Start with the thighs," he said. She pushed the paste against her skin. It felt shockingly coarse, like a cat's tongue. A little shiver climbed along the skin of her leg. Her fingers started to massage it in, slowly at first, small circles pushing up and out.

"It's rough," she said. She looked up into his strange grey eyes. He looked back, not even breaking a smile.

"What did you do in Tibet?" she asked.

"I negotiated," he replied.

"With the monks?" she asked him. He smiled.

"Among others."

She watched his fingers pushing along his clear skin. His body looked like a statue.

"You need to cover your whole body," he intoned, as he continued to lather the black paste onto his rippling torso.

"I don't always do as I'm told, you know," she said, her mouth quirking on one side only.

"I know," he replied.

Her fingers climbed down her calves, and she couldn't help but admire the tautness of her own muscles. She noticed the tiny beads of sweat starting to form in droplets through the gritty brown membrane. She watched as they grew, pooling, then drained in rivulets down her leg.

"How's the heat?" he asked, snapping her out of her reverie. She blew out sharply, feeling the hot air against her cheeks.

"Oh, it's hot," she said. "But I like it hot."

She didn't even know, for herself, why she was treating him this way. A part of her wanted to see him respond - it was always so easy to get guys to respond. But with him it was harder. She thought she saw a momentary smile pull out on the edge of his thick, straight lips. But maybe it was just an illusion, maybe it was just the steam in her eyes.

"Have you been to the baths before?" he asked her.

"First time," she replied, a little quiet.

"You're here on your own," he said. Was it a question or just an observation, she wondered. She said nothing.

"Your back," he said, "I can help you with it, if you'd like." She hesitated, imagining how the long fingered hands would feel pressed against her skin.

She hesitated. "Never mind," he said, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No it's fine," she spluttered. "Let me do yours."

He shifted closer to her on the bench, exposing the the broad muscular planes of his back to her.

She reached into the jar, and tentatively daubed a small area of paste onto his scapula. His muscles tensed and flexed under her palm. She marveled at how defined his body was.

"You obviously work out a lot" she said.

"I don't actually". His voice seemed reverberated in the tight space seeming to come from the dripping walls themselves.

"When I was in Tibet if there was anything I needed, I had to pull it up the mountain myself."

Gaining in confidence slightly, her fingers began to travel along the tops of his shoulders squeezing gently, and pressing. She could feel the muscles starting to loosen, relaxing.

He exhaled. Was she really doing this? The man was a complete stranger, yet somehow, she was allowing herself to be intimate with him. A small flutter of excitement ignited in her belly.

He jolted suddenly, wincing.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" she asked

"It's just a scar," he replied.

She traced it with the tip of her fingers, feeling how it's perforated seemed to melt into the smooth clear skin surrounding it.

"Tibet?" she asked.

He paused, laying his hands on his thighs and rubbing slowly back and forth.

"You don't have to explain," she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the burden she had placed on him.

"No, no..." he replied, "it's just..."

He stopped, for a moment, and the silence engulfed her. She was surrounded by hot air and hanging steam, and her fingers rested gently on the edges of his back.

"Some other time," he said. There was a gentle sadness and vulnerability in his voice that made her want to wrap him in her arms. The moment hung in the air too long and too heavy. She wished it would evaporate with the steam.

She ran her hands back up to the top of his back, then worked her way back down again. His whole back was gleaming, now, with bronzed with shimmering oil, reflecting in the dim light of the sauna. As she moved down his back she caught herself, uncertainly, running her fingers along the line of his shorts. To her own surprise she knew she wanted to go further.

As a small, thin stream of water dribbled down his back, she realized that moisture was gathering between her legs - and it wasn't from the sauna.

Her breath began to come heavier, and she wondered if he could feel it. He turned suddenly, shocking her. She dropped the pot of sticky paste and watched in horror as it started to splay outwards on the floor. In one quick movement he was down at her feet, scooping up the little jar with its precious black gold. The top of his head brushed against her thigh, and she was not expecting the jolt of electricity she felt arcing from there to her sex. The next thing she knew he was upright, and her heart was beating hard and fast in the hot, thick air.

They stood there, facing each other, still and quiet and so trusting. She felt as though a fathomless eternity stretched before her; she didn't want it to break. The light reflected in his sensitive eyes, and he leaned in towards her - for a moment, she hoped this his lips would descend. But they didn't. His hands grazed slightly against her waist as he stood in silence before her, the distance between them agonizing and forbidding.

"Now me," she said, trembling slightly.

She turned around, towards the wall, and waited with bated breath as she held herself for the few seconds it took for his hands to find her. His broad, thick thumbs were first, pressing up against the outsides of her shoulder blades. Then his strong, flat palms, pushing down and sideways along the gentle slopes of her shoulder backs. Suddenly she realized there was something missing.

"What about the exfoliant?" she asked.

"Oh," he replied, "I was just getting you warmed up."

He leaned over towards the bench to dip his fingers in the thick honey, and as the first fat drop landed on her shoulders she felt dizzy, overflowing with desire and anticipation. As his hands moved out towards her shoulders she felt as if she was being played by a maestro pianist. His fingers danced and stumbled around the strings of her top.

"Wait," she said, turning towards him briefly. Then, turning away again - preserving her modesty, despite her strongest wishes - she reached up behind herself and undid the strings. She let the top fall off her arm and onto the bench in front of her. She crossed her arms across her chest, hunching forwards slightly, then tipped her head back over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"There," she said, "that'll be easier for you."

Then his hands truly began to get to work. They moved up and down on either side of her spine, slowly at first, shallow rhythmic strokes, lengthening into deeper, strumming motions, like a bow across a cello. She could feel the music growing inside her now, her breath falling into rhythm with his motions, the vibrations growing in her thighs and in her sex. She wondered if he would reach the crescendo she dared herself to wish for.

His strokes, now, seeming to carry an edge of desperation, began to transform into caresses. They were moving closer and closer to her sides, more like an embrace, his fingers reaching around towards the bases of her breasts. Her breath was becoming faster now, the excitement growing inside her. Panting, she turned her body and looked into his grey, glowing eyes.

"Yes," she said.

Now, emboldened, his hands reached all the way around to the front of her body. She could feel his index fingers circling over her nipples. They began to grow slowly stiffer, and as they did so she felt every circulation of his fingers with deeper and deeper pleasure. She moaned, despite herself - she could not believe how much he excited her. Now his thumbs joined the fingers and he squeezed her nipples between them, rolling the soft tissue to a tantalizing beat. Another honey-edged moan escaped her lips. She wanted to call it back but she was too far gone to care - how could she let this man she'd never met before have his way with her body like this? But it only made things more exciting. She only wished that he would go further.

Suddenly, in a moment of tenderness, he kissed the nape of her neck. Hot white electricity seemed to spread out from the point where his lips touched her skin. His hands moved down from her nipples, cupping her. The weight of her fruit hung down into his hands.

Still cupping her with one hand, he moved his fingertips down her belly, to her navel and further to the band of her bikini. His fingers paused, as if asking for permission to go further. She felt his warm, solid weight behind her as both a source of excitement and comfort.

"Please" she murmured lips barely moving, and placing her hand on his, moved the tips of his fingers within the soft cloth.

She felt a something, a tremor against her, a hardness stirring. She loved knowing that touching her gave him pleasure. She loved and was aroused by his arousal. The moisture in her was pooling, flowing, threatening to overflow.

One delicately muscled finger began to circle her clit, gently pressing. She couldn't figure out the pattern of his rhythm, but it was taking her to new levels of excitement. Her head lolled back slightly, receiving his lips. The sensation of her lips connecting with his, thick and soft made her almost loose her grip consciousness. Moving on from her lips, his lips travelled along her jaw, and caressed the skin behind her ear.

Gasping, she clenched his hand, and guided the one long finger, within her sex. Without needing a cue, he began to slide in and out, his finger completely disappearing inside her pleasure. The finger curled, muscularly beckoning within her, applying a gentle yet firm pressure to the textured circular patch on the roof of her sex. She began to throb in time with his movements, a hot pulsing beat that she know could only last so long. Gripping her, he bought the heel of his hand into contact with her clit. It blanketed her, and now suddenly she was almost overwhelmed by these two distinct sources of stimulation working in concert, like two voices harmonizing. The voices gained tenor climbing inexorably towards an operatic climax. One, two, three rubs and she couldn't hold back any longer. She threw her head back, panting audibly. A pure white sensation exploded in her sex and travelled blazingly through her body. Engulfed by this feeling, her eyes streamed, and every last shred of tension left her body. She whimpered, gasping convulsively and slumped backwards into his gentle embrace. The steam wrapped them in its swirling embrace.