Mr. Stewart's New Steam Room

When I entered the steam room—Mr. Stewart had refused to call it a sauna, saying that wasn't manly enough—the others were already there. Mr. Stewart and Mr. Williams were sitting on the upper tier of wooden benches across the wood-paneled room from where Mr. Stewart gestured me to go. They were both naked, sitting on their towels. Mr. Williams had his hand on Mr. Stewart's dick when I came in and I think they had just kissed, but he moved his hand away when I came into the steam room. It didn't surprise me none. I'd pretty much figured out they were doing it. First time I'd seen a man hand jobbing another man, though. I figured, for what Mr. Stewart was paying me, I'd be seeing a lot more than that in here.

It was warm in there but not nearly as hot as I thought a steam room should be. Nobody was sweating. He might as well call it a sauna, I thought—or just a warm room. A steam room without a lot of steam wasn't all that manly. Nathan was moaning, but nobody was sweating.

But, as became evident, we weren't in there to sweat, except when the exertion of why we were in there overcame us. I can't say I hadn't figured out why I'd been invited to be here. Mr. Stewart had been pretty explicit about that.

Mr. Stewart extended his hands, palms down, and moved them to indicate I was to lie down on the bench, and then, continuing the pantomime, he rolled his hands when I went down on my belly. I turned over on my back and he smiled. I'd guessed right on what he wanted me to do. He'd been the one to tell Nathan and me what to do since we got to his house. But I guess it was his party—and probably even his money. It was a lot of money, but it wasn't the only reason I'd agreed to be here.

We had stripped down before we'd come into Mr. Stewart's steam room, and he'd run his hands over our bodies, expressing his interest in young, athletic guys. He'd said then that he wanted to see me stretched out, naked, on the sauna bench. He gestured with both hands like he was opening a book, and I unknotted my towel and flipped it away from my pelvis in both directions. Mr. Stewart smiled. So did Mr. Williams. I'd guessed right again.

So, here we go, I thought in my mind. I was ready. I'd been ready to take this step for some time. I was old enough now, and I was being paid for it. So, why was I trembling? Get cool, Danny, I told myself. You can do this. You wanted to do this. Mr. Stewart and Mr. Williams are studs and you're being paid for this. Nathan's here too. You aren't doing this alone.

I was nervous and had been obsessed with what Nathan and I were here for today—what I was being paid $500 for. So, I was hard. It was standing straight up as I lay there on my back, and I was embarrassed that I could be seen being hard. I hadn't fully gotten it yet—or I'd just forgotten being seen naked and seeing them naked and all of us seeing everyone else hard was what this was all about.

Still, it was new to me. I covered myself with a hand as best as I could, but Mr. Stewart frowned and bunched his hand into a loose fist—a sheath. I had no trouble figuring out what I thought he wanted, but I still didn't get it right. I put my right hand, the one toward them, on my cock, but he rolled his hand again. I got it. They wanted to see me fisting my cock. I changed hands, using the left one, the one toward the wood wall panel. He made another gesture and I didn't respond immediately, but when he put his hand on his dick and started stroking it, I couldn't pretend not to know what he wanted. He wanted me to jerk myself off. With a sigh, I took my dick in my hand and started to slowly beat myself off. He was paying $500 for this. Both men smiled, turned their bodies to each other, each reaching for the dick of the other, and they kissed. I was just serving as inspiration for what they'd do with each other. That wasn't so bad.

They watched me jerking myself off and I watched them stroking each other until they became absorbed in themselves. Then I looked away.

As I slow stroked my dick, I turned my face toward the other wall with benches and toward the moaning I'd heard coming from there and what I'd seen out of the corner of my eye when I entered the steam room. It already was happening over there, and I shuddered and felt myself getting even harder. Nathan was on the bench on his hands and knees and our college freshman gym teacher, Mr. Jackson, was crouched on top of him. Mr. Jackson's ebony hands were gripping Nathan's milky-white wrists and his face was buried in Nathan's throat. The contrast in color between the two bodies was mesmerizing, black gripping white, white merging into black, black penetrating white. The black man's plump, but firm, naked buttocks were flexing and moving up and down. When he raised up, I could see the root of his jet-black dick in Nathan's hole, but when he lowered it, it had disappeared inside Nathan. That's when Nathan was moaning and gasping—when Mr. Jackson had it all inside him.

Nathan was already being fucked in the ass. That would be me too pretty soon.

I moaned too. It was the first time I'd seen Nathan being fucked by a man. It was the first time I'd seen a big black man fucking a small white man—well, in videos, yes, but the first time for real. It was the first time I'd seen anyone being fucked by a man for real.

Nathan had told me there would be this part—that this was what the $500 each was for. He said it was time I crossed over and that I could make good money from it. I was nervous, though, thinking about what we were doing—what Nathan was already doing and what I'd be doing if I stayed here. Would Mr. Stewart be mad if I got up and left? Would he want the $500 back? Maybe I could keep some of it. Nathan and I had played badminton and a one-on-one game of tag football on the lawn for these men just in our Speedos for over an hour while they sat, bare-chested and rubbing themselves, ogled us, and talked to each other about us. I knew they were talking about what they wanted to do to us—what they intended to do with us. That should be worth part of the money, I thought.

I was kidding myself. If they got all hot and bothered over us and we bugged out, of course they'd want the $500 back. But Nathan wasn't bugging out. Nathan already was being fucked in the ass by a black stud. Nathan was already earning it. I'd decided before I got here that I'd carry through too. It wasn't just the money. I wanted to cross that line. I wanted to be a rent-boy on the side of anything else I did as long as I had the body that men would want to use. Nathan had been doing it for several months and he kept talking about it as easy money—and as pleasure most of the time. Well, at least some of the time. Nathan seemed to like it real well now the way he was moaning and rocking against the big black shaft Mr. Jackson had inside him.

Nathan and I had started fooling around with each other at the beginning of our freshman year, attracted to each other because we were both small for our eighteen-and-a-half years and slim and what some said more pretty than handsome. We hadn't progressed to doing that much yet, although we had jerked each other off a couple of times, and kissed, of course, and gotten the taste of each other's dicks. But Nathan was doing much more by the time we were getting serious. I had known I would want to do it with men, and Nathan was doing it with men already. And he told me about it and assured me that the first few times would be a little rough but then it would get to being real nice.

"It's great money," he'd said. "And in this town there are a whole lot of older horny guys who are still in good shape and with thick wallets. If you like being fucked by a man, you might as well make money at it." Nathan got paid for it. He told me that Mr. Jackson, our college wrestling instructor, did it—paid Nathan for fucks—which certainly was news to me, and he said that there was a Mr. Stewart on Pine Street, not too young but good looking and in great shape, who paid Nathan for it. And Mr. Stewart had friends who paid too, friends who liked doing it with an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old.

"That would mean you were a male whore," I'd said.

"Yes," he agreed, giving me a big smile. "I'm made for it; you're made for it too. We might as well take advantage of being small and having good bodies and nice faces. Men pay big bucks to worship your body. I like being fucked. I think you would too."

I couldn't think of anything to argue with, so I didn't. By the time Nathan had told me what and how he did it with men, I was ready to take the plunge—especially since they paid for it. He told me that Mr. Stewart had put a sauna in his house, although he called it a steam room, and had invited Nathan to come try it out—and to bring a friend. He'd pay $500 each.

I was that friend.

I looked across the steam room and Mr. Stewart and Mr. Williams were still jerking each other off, but their eyes were on me and my hand pulling on my dick again. My thoughts went back to whether I was ready for this, whether I wanted to be here. But the time for thinking about that was over and I moved into thinking about what happened next and then after that, and after a while I was just thinking of the pain and then the pain-pleasure and then about when I'd be earning the next $500. Nathan was already earning his money. Mr. Jackson was a muscular black bull. He had a really big cock. He was working Nathan hard and Nathan looked like he was all in with the fuck. Nathan's butt was going in overdrive in riding the man's cock. I didn't know if I could do that. Not without practice, I didn't think. And such a big, jet-black cock on Mr. Jackson.

All of the men in the steam room had big cocks. And they all were in erection.

Mr. Stewart had moved to below me on the upper bench and Mr. Williams to sitting on the bench below us, pulling on his dick, and watching us.

It started with Mr. Stewart touching my feet and rubbing them with his hands. I couldn't help but give him a low moan.

"Go with me here, Dan," Mr. Stewart murmured. "When I move you, stay there until I move you again. Do you understand, Dan?"

"Yes, Mr. Stewart."

"You've taken the money. You have agreed to this."

"Yes, Mr. Stewart."

"And this is your first time, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Stewart." Well, it was with older men like him. And it would be the first time with a dick in my ass.

"I'll do you right."

Mr. Williams muttered, "Sweet," from the bench below. "We'll do you totally," he whispered. Maybe he didn't think I heard that; but maybe he just didn't care that I did.

Mr. Stewart gently took my ankles in his hands and moved them apart. He bent my legs, spread, and set my feet flat on the bench. He had me so he was looking right up my legs to my crotch. I instinctively turned a hip to cover myself, but he slapped me on the thigh and growled, "I told you to stay in the positions I put you in."

So, I returned to the open stance, with him below me. He ran his hands up the insides of my legs. Mr. Williams murmured, "Sweet" again, adding, "Like those young guys; he hardens right up."

"Jack, there's a pillow over there," Mr. Stewart said. "Bring it over here. Let's get a really good look." Mr. Williams moved off and returned with a vinyl-covered pillow.

"Raise your tail, Dan. Mr. Williams is going to put this pillow under your lower back. Yes, roll your pelvis up, let us see your hole."

I did so and the pillow went under my lower back. It was cold and I was trembling, but I wasn't trembling because I was cold. I gasped as I felt his thumb touch me there—at my hole—and then tease the rim, rubbing me with the pad of his thumb.

"Would you look at that, Jack? Ever seen anything prettier? A virgin's hole."

"Sweet," Mr. Williams answered, his voice thicker now than before. "Can I . . .?"

Apparently, he could, as I felt another thumb at my hole and the two worked together to pull the hole apart. I gasped again and moaned. Involuntarily, I pushed my hips up a bit, into the stroking thumbs.

"Easy there, Dan. All in good time," Mr. Stewart murmured. I gave a gasp as I felt him kiss me there.

Time started to spin out endlessly into one move transcending into the next. Mr. Stewart placed the palm of a hand on my belly, pressing me down, and I gave a little cry as his thumb penetrated me and held, waiting for me to open to it.

"Relax, Dan. Just relax for me. Open to me, baby. God, he's tight."

"Sweet," Mr. Williams murmured. I gasped and gave a little jerk as Mr. Williams's thumb worked its way inside beside Mr. Stewart's thumb. They pressed on opposite sides, spreading me more open. I felt a tongue flicking at my hole and then other guy's.

"Nice," Mr. Williams whispered.

The thumbs remained inside me, moving around. Panting, I worked hard at relaxing. Mr. Williams's other thumb came up to my mouth and I opened my lips to it, taking it in, sucking his thumb, while Mr. Stewart worked to open me up more with his thumb. The two men leaned in over my body and kissed—a deep, prolonged kiss. Then they each dipped down and kissed my hole again. This time they gave It some tongue too, penetrating me. I felt myself going slack there and I moaned.

Trying to think of anything else but what was happening to me—what was being taken from me for $500, and by two men together, not just one—I turned my face toward where Nathan and Mr. Jackson were. Nathan was small, like me—only eighteen, like me—and slim of body. Mr. Jackson was a bodybuilder. He was big and muscular. Not fat, but I'm sure heavy, although he was supporting most of his weight on his feet as he held Nathan under him, his hands grasping Nathan's waist. Nathan was writhing under Mr. Jackson and crying out both for mercy from the punishing thrusts of the man on top of him but also begging for Mr. Jackson to be good to him, to fuck him good.

I might have been worried, but Nathan had said that Mr. Jackson had fucked him before. From what I could see of the root of the dick inside Nathan's hole, I could hardly believe that Nathan could open to something that thick.

From where I lay, I thought Mr. Jackson was fucking him good, fucking him very, very good. Nathan had a hand under his belly. He was jacking himself off as Mr. Jackson fucked him. He was in ecstasy. He'd told me that it would be the same for me after a couple of men had done me.

He hadn't mentioned anything about two men doing me together.

Back on my own side of the steam room, Mr. Stewart had upped the game. He had grasped my legs, under the knees, and pressed them up into my chest. My pelvis had rolled up and he had his face down there, sucking my cock, and then going back to my hole with his tongue and lips. I grasped the back of his head, to push him away, I thought, but my body thought otherwise. I gripped his head to my hole as he vigorously ate me out. I writhed under him, hearing myself cry out, "Oh shit. Oh Fuck. Yes, yes, yes." The pleasure of arousal had floated in and taken over.

Mr. Williams was touching my body there and there and there and whispering, "Sweet, sweet, sweet" over and over again.

Mr. Stewart moved up on top of me, not pressing down on me, but hovering over me, his face hanging down to just above mine, his eyes boring into mine, taking every nuance of my response in, supporting his torso with fists pressed into the bench surface on either side of my shoulders. I felt something spongy, but hard at my hole, teasing it, moving back and forth over it. I looked down the line of Mr. Stewart's muscular chest and flat stomach to see that Mr. Williams had Mr. Stewart's thick, long cock in his hand and was rubbing the fat bulb of it against my hole.

Mr. Stewart wasn't wearing a rubber.

"That's it. Open to me, baby," Mr. Stewart hissed, and then I was lost in the action for the next several minutes, as Mr. Stewart pressed inside me, forcing himself inside, forcing me open. I cried out and shuddered and jerked and he kept on coming in. Mr. Williams was murmuring, "Yes, yes, yes," and touching me and touching Mr. Stewart.

"Slow, slow! You said—!"

Mr. Stewart laughed and gave me more of the dick.

"Yes, yes, take the shaft," Mr. Williams growled.

I arched my back and turned my head from side to side, panting hard and sobbing, and he kept on coming in, stretching. Mr. Stewart lowered his head and took my mouth, brutally, with his in a deep kiss. And he kept on pressing inside me.

He pulled away from the kiss, eyes flashing, "Take it bitch, take it," he hissed.

I collapsed, feeling myself relax, stopping fighting him, and, inside me now, he started to move his dick, in and out. I moved my legs, hooking my knees on his hips, going with the rocking motion. Waves of pleasure from his thrusts floated over the basic pain of the alien shaft inside me.

"Sweet. Tight but sweet," he murmured. Mr. Stewart fisted my ankles and raised and spread my legs, bringing his crotch closer into me. I moaned as he reached further up into me with his thrusts.

Mr. Williams repeated, "Sweet." He was just below me on the bench and was kissing me on the shoulder and taking my nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. The pain was there, but there increasingly was pleasure too—or at least arousal—and I started to move my pelvis with Mr. Stewart's slow thrusts.

"Nice," I heard him murmur.

"Very nice," I heard Mr. Williams say.

And then Mr. Stewart was raising his torso, going upright, back on his knees. He turned me over and brought me up on my knees, with Mr. Williams pressing his knees under my chest. Mr. Stewart grasped my hips between his hands and was pulling me back and forth on his dick as he knelt behind me. I was going with him, digging my heels into the bench and using them for leverage to rock with him. The pain was there but so was the primordial, insistent act of copulation. We were fucking. It wasn't just Mr. Stewart. I was going with it too. I'd decided some time ago this was the direction I wanted to go. I had broken through to the sunshine. I was going with the fuck.

Mr. Williams pressed his cock head to my lips and I opened to it and took him into my mouth.

I heard the cries and turned my head toward Nathan and Mr. Jackson. They were in the last throes of their fuck. Frenziedly going at each other. This was how it should be. This was how I wanted it too. I was there for their finish, watching them strain and tense and jerk and come. Nathan collapsed onto the bench, and Mr. Jackson rode him down, still inside him.

Mr. Williams was massaging my shoulders with his hands and moved them across my shoulder blades and to my sides, pressing them into my sides as I sucked his cock. Mr. Stewart was pulling on my dick while he fucked me, and, almost unexpectedly, while Mr. Williams still had his cock in my mouth, I shuddered and jerked and shot my load. Mr. Williams pulled his cock out of my throat.

Soon thereafter Mr. Stewart shot off too. He laughed and pulled out of me. He slapped me hard on the buttocks—each side, and pulled away. He turned me over onto my back, and I lay there, an arm dangling off the front of the bench, legs still spread, moaning and trying to calm my breathing.

"Nice job," Mr. Steward said, and I was exhilarated by the praise. I was so sure I had done it wrong—badly.

I looked down the line of my body, to see that Mr. Williams was now kneeling between my spread and bent legs.

I gasped and grunted and rolled my head up and arched my back off the bench as he, unsheathed, penetrated and moved inside me. He grasped my bent knees and moved them back and forth in the rhythm of the fuck. I was open and he wasn't as big as Mr. Stewart had been, and the slide was easier through a passage lubricated by Mr. Stewart's cum now in addition to that from the lube both of them had worked inside me with their thumbs, but I could feel him. There was more pleasure now than pain because he was going slow, without some of the thrust power Mr. Stewart had, and the muscles of my passage walls were beginning to learn how to take it, how to return pleasure by undulating on the moving dick. I was already starting to get the hang of this. And I was learning now that each man had his own technique and his own rhythm. This was going to be quite a ride through life.