STEAM BATH DELIGHTS By: Mischa Kosov
Heavy rain was falling in Manhattan. I was starring at fat, squiggly raindrops rolling down the sprawling windows on the 39th floor of my spacious skyscraper office. As I absent-mindedly looked out into space, my thoughts drifted back to my mother and father and I began to reminisce about my life.
I have friends who grew up with me who are now quite successful and they can't really fathom how they got to where they are. They climbed to the top of the ladder in fields like publishing, business, fashion and so forth, and they don't know how they got there. I even question myself about my assent to the 39th floor. What was more important in my rise to the top, my abilities or just the elevator? Strangers, and even those who believe they know us, don't know what's buried inside of us.
When I was 30 years old, I was well on my way to becoming a prominent lawyer in New York City at a large, upscale, corporate firm. I was a good lawyer because I had a logical mind, the gift of legal gab and was one mind-bending aggressive SOB. A Junior Partnership was probably going to be handed to me in about 6 months. Capturing that brass ring would bring me more money--more prestige--more responsibility-- and more power. Not bad for a kid who was considered to be a momma's boy.
I believe I was blessed by being born smart and compulsive. I worked hard in high school and at graduation I earned a scholarship to Brooklyn College.
After receiving my B.A with honors, I entered Brooklyn Law to pursue a degree to become an attorney. I only received a partial scholarship to Law School because money was tight in the economy. So I asked my father to help me out with some money to cover my education expenses. He agreed to assist me and I also continued to live in my parent's house in a quiet Brooklyn neighborhood even though I didn't want to be there.
Living at home made it possible for me to cut expenses and also made my mom happy to have me around a bit longer. Taking care of her fair-haired boy brought her what she wanted. She was my maid who was a sock picker-upper, bed-maker, breakfast-fixer, and best cheerleader. She never complained to anyone except my father. She told everybody how intelligent and capable her son Barton was--even if they didn't want to hear about me. You couldn't stop her yakking.
Lovely gray-haired, plump Gertrude, her friends called her Gertie, was the old-fashion woman who never went to work. She spent her life catering to my father, Henry, a moderately successful accountant, and doting on my brother, Rick, and me. I always felt that mom would still be breast-feeding me if she could. She would love to have her lovely baby boy Barton sucking her at her life giving tits. Under those neurotic circumstances she could continue to create herself as the Mother Eternal. I sometimes wondered if she ever fantasized about me sucking away on her "D" cups. My philosophy-- if you can think it--it can possibly happen.
Gertie cooked, cleaned sewed, played canasta with neighborhood ladies who lived a similar lifestyle, walked to the beauty parlor 2 blocks from our house, never learned to drive and she never took the plastic covers off the living room furniture, except when she had very special company, and that company was not the canasta ladies. They weren't served cookies and tea on the good china either. It was paper plates for that crowd. If she went to Manhattan once or twice a year, it was a lot.
To keep mom calm and sane, we all took off our shoes when we came into the house so we wouldn't dirty her prized Chinese beige carpet with muddy footprints. I'm sure if she could have found a way to wrap the rug in plastic, she would have. That rug gave her what she thought was status. And of course, status is relative--depending if you live in Gravesend, Brooklyn, or on posh Park Avenue, Manhattan. A Chinese rug was usually a runner in the hallway on Park Avenue.
My brother Rick and I were opposites. We lived in a section called Borough Park, which rival gangs in the area called, "Burro Park because a lot of little jackasses lived in dat part of Brooklyn!" Rick was the little jackass who was taller than me, bulkier, louder in a boisterous, obnoxious Brooklyn way and was a sex hound with the women and not as smart as me.
I was deliberate, under spoken, lean, and had much lighter facial features than Rick. I was also very clever and when it came to sexual preference, I wasn't sure what I was. I liked women, but I wasn't drawn to then with a horny attraction like my brother. If he had the chance, he would have had a fucking threesome with his young, big-breasted wife and a virgin female orangutan on the Coney Island boardwalk.
But in my depths of depths, I was truthfully attracted to men. Those attractions and fantasies were kept buried. I lived in the closet and used every clever guise to keep my true feelings hidden. If the wrong people knew I was homosexual, my law career would be destroyed. Even if people had suspicions about me, it was still just conjecture--not based on any hard facts or real evidence. The lawyer in me was always worn on my sleeve.
My mother, being my best cheerleader, was always trying to fix me up with someone's beautiful daughter. I somehow was able to wiggle my way out of her fixing me up on a blind date. After all, I was an expert lawyer and had been trained to confuse, redirected and deflect what was thrown at me in the courtroom. I also used my sharp skills in day-to-day interactions. Dodging Gertie's blind date proposals was like performing a dangerous high wire act, but I was able to stay on the tight rope and not fall into her net, even though her intention was to do her best for me. She always wanted to do her best for me.
My father, Henry, was a good man, a good husband and a decent father. When he was 19 years old World War II started and he enlisted in the Air Force. After serving for 3 years as an armament technician on a desolate Island off of Alaska, he came back to Brooklyn, went to college on the G I Bill, met my mom and got married young. The two of us were born when my parents were in their mid twenties.
He was short with thinning brown hair. As a conservative man, he wore a dark blue or brown suit to work and drove a dark blue Chevy sedan with no frills or extras. His starched white shirts would be worn with a dull stripe or solid tie. His shirt pocket was stuffed with a clear plastic pen protector containing 2 thin lead mechanical pencils and 2 fine Bic pens. He had the perfect accountant persona and was always ready to do somebody's books. Henry's middle initial was "H" and that stood for honesty. Henry buried most of feelings. You never really knew who he was.
There was always one strange thing my father did that puzzled me and scared me at the time. These happenings occurred when I was about 12 years old. During the cold New York winters, dad would come home tired, chilled and silent. He would go into the kitchen, take a shot of straight whiskey, go undress and get ready to take a very hot bath.
After being in the tub for a few minutes he would call out, "Barton come into the bathroom, I need you for a moment." I knew what was going to happen in the bathroom and I would get nervous and excited at the time. I would enter the old-style, green tiled bathroom with a 1920's cast iron tub on legs and see my father covered with murky water up to his chest. The room was hot, steamy, dimly lit and smelled of peeling paint and the maleness of my father. This atmosphere created two things for me--it turned me on sexually and also frightened me.
My father called me in to wash his back. I could never understand why he didn't call in my mother to do this intimate thing for him. I would get down on my knees next to the tub; soap up the washcloth and then scrub his broad back. As I did this, I would feel a stirring in my pants, as my cock would start to get hard. I was also repulsed as well and wanted to get out of that stifling bathroom and get away from him as soon as possible. I never understood why my father chose me to do this for him. I just didn't understand it at all.
Dad didn't talk much to Rick and me when we were young. In fact, he didn't talk much at all to anybody. He was not a sports guy, so he didn't play catch with his boys or take us to the baseball games in New York and there were many games to go to. I was not much of a sports fan either, but Rick was. I was a crossword puzzle addict and read most of the best sellers listed in the New York Times.
Dad loved my mom, but he never showed his open affection for her, seldom brought her flowers and I never heard any animal sounds coming from their bedroom at night or at any time. They must have done it at least twice--as far as I could tell, Rick and I were only proof revealing that they knew how to screw at all.
Manhattan became my home after I landed my job as a corporate attorney. I took a small apartment on the West Side. A good part of my nights were spent working. The firm put a lot of pressure on their young men so they could show what they were made of. The newcomers did most of the research and meticulous brief preparation. So with all the work going on, I didn't have much time to screw around.
Manhattan was a place where one could be anonymous. You could blend into the massive crowds and be faceless. As long as you paid your rent, showed up for work and could keep a watchful eye at night and outsmart and out run the muggers, you could definitely lose yourself in NYC.
It was not like walking the streets of your local Brooklyn neighborhood where everyone seemed to know you. The butcher, baker, bagel--man, fruit stand merchant and even the local hookers knew you. There was no getting lost in the crowd in Gravesend.
On the nights that I could find time for myself and I was horny, I would grab a taxi to the Men's Sauna Club in the east 50's. I had a membership and would rent a room every so often for my pleasure and privacy. The club had a Sauna, steam room, Jacuzzi, porn TV room, massage services and a sitting lounge. The men who came there, ranged from their early 20's to as old as there 60's.
When it came to man-to-man sex, I was not the aggressor like I was in the courtroom. Nature had given me an opposite personality for sex. In this den of sucking, ass-fucking bottoms and tops, I was the fem who liked to be wooed and pursued. I would wait in my room for a bold man to come in and take me. I was an oral bottom so I would also love to suck a plump cock and would crave for a man to fill my mouth with his cum.
The finale of my sexual act was to have my ass penetrated by a large hot, dripping cock. I would scream with delight when the hard cock would slide into my lubed-up ass. The bigger the cock the better---ripping torridly into my rear with force and power.
"Oh fuck my ass lover," I'd scream. "Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME! I'm going to keep you and your cock in me forever. You're my slave! I've imprisoned your manhood inside me."
As flashes of lights and thunder blasted in my head, I tightened up my ass and my fucker furiously pumped harder and faster. I was completely absorbed in being taken and in return I would take the man with my submissive aggression. This was a created dichotomy--a mirror of ying and yang--the fucker and the fuckee. My ass was a hot den of iniquity. I worked myself into frenzy-- the big cock would shoot, soften, and then plop out of my slick ass. I would collapse into a dazed heap of sweaty, delirious exhaustion, breathing heavy and heart pounding. For me this was my ultimate sexual climax!
Barton stayed in his room for 15 minutes recouping, got up, put on his robe and walked down the dark, carpeted hallway to the club's check-in desk.
John, the attendant, was behind the desk and Barton asked if Terry was at the club and available to give him a massage. John nodded a yes and was asked to set up a massage booking as soon as possible. The attendant looked at the massage logbook.
"Terry will be available in massage room #2 in 20 minutes." "Thanks." Barton went back to his room to get his travel bag. It contained some personal items he wanted to take with him.
Barton went to the 2nd floor and knocked on the door. "Come in Mr. Kingman. I'm ready for you." He entered and Terry stood by a leather massage table wearing a pair of Speedo tight fitting navy trunks with an erotic bulge in the front. That sight made Barton anxious to see the boy's 7-inch naked cock. The young 6 foot, blond man was exquisite-so muscular and fit. "I'm always ready for you and your magic fingers, Terry."
As he passed by Terry to go into the private shower, he pinched the boy's nipples. "Ouch, Mr. Kingman. That was so nice." "You like that? After my shower I'll suck them and nibble on those perky erasers till they're pink. Would you like that?"
"You know I would. Sir, you want the full treatment tonight?" "Full, complete, hot and naked." "Yes sir!" The boy's response was crisp and clear.
He took a hot shower, dried off and then took a few things out of his travel bag to prepare himself for Terry's services.
He walked back into the massage room and Terry let out a long wolf whistle through his lips. "You look stunning Mr. Kingman!" "Terry, call me Barton. We're going to get intimate, so you might as well call me by my first name. O.K.?" The young man smiled and answered, " Sure Barton."
The successful lawyer was not dressed for the courtroom in a blue pin-stripped suit. Terry's view of Barton prompted him to dim the lights in the massage room and turn on some sexy mood music as well. In a coquettish manner, the normally bold, strutting man, sashayed towards the young man wearing pink lace open-crotch see-thru panties, a fully padded Victoria's Secrets Sheer Bra and black silk stockings attached to a black garter belt. Barton looked like one screaming semi-hairy slut.
Where did a man like Barton shop for such unmentionables? He went to MASCULINA'S BOTIQUE AND SALON on East 73rd. In prior years it had been an abortion clinic, but things got easier and better for women in all of the USA. Now they didn't have to come to New York for an abortion. So it closed up. Now Masculina's took care of the "new gals" in a different way.
This unique shopping gallery catered to men who wanted to be feminine and sexy as possible. No matter if they were 6' 4" and built like football linebackers or were sculptured like petite ballerinas, Maxie, the owner, had the merchandise to fit all the guys who frequented her shop. She had classy black pumps that were large enough to fit Big Foot, so even this monster could become a prowling drag queen.
Maxie gave classes "101" in make-up, posture, proper walking, leg crossing, ass wiggling and boob thrusting. Her annual fashion show was the drag sensation of the year. Everybody who was anybody was there. It was a well-guarded and protected event, because some of the most prominent and powerful men of New York City would attend this gala. They were all dressed in their finest dresses and gowns. Bodyguards and even off-duty policeman were all over the place--keeping out strangers and gossipmongers from scurrilous tabloids.
Barton moved towards Terry and threw his arms around the Adonis and kissed him fully on his lips. The now naked young man retuned this wet, hot kiss. He pulled Barton in close, lifted him like a feather and placed him face down on the massage table. Barton lay there and then lifted his ass into the air like a purring pedigree cat in heat. You could hear his breathing getting faster. "Play with my ass Terry--play with it, my darling."
"In due time my sweets--in due time." The young stud leaned down and kissed the back Barton's neck. Then he pulled down the back panel of the panties, spreads open the cheeks of Barton's ass, and placed the tip of his right index finger on the man's anus and wiggled it. Barton lifted his ass higher and moaned, "More my darling, more." Terry pulled up the panties and smacked Barton's butt.
Terry backed away from the table and picked up a bottle from a small table. It contained massage oil that had been immersed in a baby bottle warmer. He rubbed his hands together for further warmth and them poured some of the body oil onto his client's back. The room became engulfed with an aroma of cinnamon tinged with lemon. The scent even became sexier when it blended with the essence of the man's sweat and natural body odor.
Terry took his fingertips and worked on Barton's neck to sooth out any kinks and knots of soreness. He moved his fingers to the man's ears and reached into the openings and toyed with them like a young teenage girl teasing her excited boyfriend. He leaned down and gently blew into each ear, sending chills down Barton's spine.
The young man moved his hands from Barton's head and neck to the strap of the bra. He snapped the elastic strap a few time and each time he did this, a little red mark would rise to the surface of the skin--snap...snap...snap. "Ouch!" Take off my bra, honey. Just let my tits be free."
Terry found the hook and unfastened it. He pulled the straps to each side of the man's back and massaged that area. He moved his hands to just under the armpits and tweaked the hair. "Ouch! Baby. Please take off my bra." "I think you need an underarm shave, Sweetie." "I'm not quite ready for that one, darling. Maybe soon if smooth armpits will make you happy."
Now the young man pulled the man's arms out of the bra straps, lifted him up and removed the bra completely. He held the man above the massage table, put his hands on the man's pectorals and pinched his nipples. Barton moaned, " Please take off my panties and garter belt." He lowered him, the garter belt was unsnapped from the stockings and they were removed and tossed on a chair.
The boy rolled Barton over and leaned down and ran his tongue over each tit and sucked each nipple like they were tasty peppermint sticks. Barton's stiffening cock was straining at the crotch opening in the panties. Terry moved down and swiped his tongue through the opening--his tongue barely grazing some of the cock flesh. He kept licking the panty opening and his saliva was making them wetter. Fingers spread open the slit and he ran his tongue over the length of the hard cock through the open slit.
Terry lifted Barton's hips and pulled down the panties off of his ass, down his legs and over his ankles and bare feet. Barton was totally nude and Terry lifted the man higher off the table and slid his tongue across the head the man's 6-inch cock.
"Oh my, sweetheart your mouth is an erotic furnace. Take me deep--suck me all the way to my pubes." The boy lifted Barton even higher and gulped down his whole cock--he performed deep throat magic. Terry kept sucking and at the time he was working a slick dildo in and out of Barton's ass. He went faster and faster with his mouth and deeper and deeper with the probing, vibrating toy. Barton couldn't hold back--he shot a hot load into the boy's mouth and he swallowed all his cum. He let the slick cock slide out of his mouth and then leaned down and kissed Barton with his cum-coated lips. Barton just swooned and licked his cum from the boy's lips.
The boy walked towards Barton's head and the man grabbed his rock hard young cock and brought it towards his lips. He opened wide and took in Terry's cock and sucked him with abandon and brought the boy to a climax quickly. Barton relished the taste and swallowed every drop. Terry leaned down and the two men kissed again. Not forgetting what he had said earlier, Barton moved his mouth the each of Terry's nipples and sucked, nibbled and teased each one until the were hard and pink. He stopped sucking and said, "There. I didn't forget my promise, baby."
Barton was now bushed--he was really finished for the night. He got up, gathered his sweat pants, reached into the front pocket, pulled out a $100 Dollar Bill and put in the boy's hand. "Thanks for marvelous time, Terry" "Your welcome," he took the bill, held it in front of his face with two hands and kissed it, "Anytime-- anytime, sir."
Barton showered and dressed quickly. He dropped off his room key with John, tipped him and took the elevator down to the lobby floor. He walked one block to 2nd Avenue and hailed a cab to take him downtown to his small apartment in the village.
His mind was still filled with his intense sexual experiences he had just completed, but now he had to clear his head and get ready for a very busy tomorrow at the office. He was a major cog on a legal team working on a major lawsuit for a very major client.
The case was about a patent infringement on a very profitable drug his client had developed. Another company was using research developments by the plaintiff he was representing to market a competing medicine that was used in treating heart attack patients. The case involved $100,000,000 in damages for unlawfully using proprietary research information and to have the violator cease and desist from selling their drug in the world market. It was a biggie and his vital input in the preparation for this lawsuit could bring Barton his junior partnership if they won. He was determined they were going to win.
Over next three months Barton was totally absorbed in his work, even though he would get horny, he couldn't dissipate his time on sexual pleasure and adventures. The case was being tried in the district federal court in Manhattan. The trial was going to start in two weeks and Barton was one of the main lawyers to present information and cross examine in the courtroom. This was his first major court case and he wanted everything to be perfect. National TV and all major newspapers would cover it.
Opening day in federal court arrived in cold mid-November. His firm's entire entourage marched into the chambers and took their places at the plaintiff's large table.
The bailiff came into the courtroom. "All rise for the honorable James W. Miller, Judge of the New York Federal District Court." Judge Miller entered, sat down and then lowered his gavel.
"Everyone be seated," the bailiff called out. There was a clatter of moving chairs, the nervous clearing of throats and the buzzing of soft talk in the room. "Is the plaintiff ready to present their case," cited the judge. "We are your honor," answered Michael Di Lorenzo, one of the senior partners in Barton's firm. Michael walked towards the bench, turned around to face the jury and the courtroom. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury"
The trial began and Barton was thrilled to be on the front line of this legal battle. He loved to play this game. His father had once said, "Life is a game and living is serious." The two main games he played were sex and law. So far, his living had not been too serious. There were no illnesses, no financial or psychological stress, his mom and dad were getting older, but were still OK and his brother was doing all right with his business and family. So far, nothing was upsetting his nice apple cart of life.
The trial progressed to its 3rd week of deliberations and it seemed as if they were doing well for their client. Even though there were a number of alarms being sounded during the trial, Barton and his colleges were able to put out the fires. They pounded away at the opposition and the majority of their counter attacks were successful. The firm was hopeful the trial would end just before Christmas, so everyone could enjoy the holidays with peace and quiet, plus receive bonuses and promotions that had been earned.
It was cold December morning and the day had arrived for the verdict and judgment to be announced. All information, evidence, charges, documents, arguments, papers, videotapes, nuances and sweat and tears had been meticulously laid before the judge.
The bailiff entered the courtroom.
"All rise for the honorable James W. Miller, judge for the district federal court of New York." The elderly judge limped into the courtroom, hobbled up the steps using a cane and slowly sat down in his large padded, leather chair. He had slipped on some ice on the courthouse steps a few days earlier and had severally sprained his ankle. Judge Miller reached for his gavel and pounded it 3 timed. "Please be seated," announced the bailiff.
There was silence in the courtroom and an air of anticipation. The sound of breathing and nervous coughs dominated the room. Grown, powerful men were on the verge of peeing in their pants. As silly as it seems, they all emptied their bladders before coming into courtroom. It was rule of courtroom prudence to do so.
A story was told about a very important lawyer in New York who had an accident during a trial. He peed in his pants. Even though he wore a dark blue suit and the wetness could not be seen in the crotch of his trousers, the stench of hot urine permeated the halls of justice. It was said it smelled as bad as a dirty, grubby homeless man riding on hot, non-air conditioned subway car.
The man won the case, but could never live down the jokes that were made about him peeing in his pants in the courtroom. Before the next big case he visited an urologist for a consultation, and thereafter, wore adult diapers. Even the fearless trial lawyers are vulnerable to the ravages of being human.
"I see London, I see France. The big time lawyer peed in his navy blue pants," This was the man's introduction when he was being presented an honorary award at an annual Trial Lawyers Association Dinner. Lawyers can be cruel, particularly to the ones they oppose.
Judge Miller talked about the case and all its machinations. This 40 minute diatribe was lengthy, basically boring and gave the judge the opportunity to strut his stuff for the media in the courtroom. It would have been appropriate to play POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE in the background. Finally he completed all the crap and gave the verdict in the case. The court favored the plaintiff with an $80,000,000 judgment not the $100,000,000, asked for. Not a problem for Barton's firm, they had set the figure higher just in case the judgment was reduced.
The judge also announced something that was quite unusual--the $80 Mil had been frozen in the defendant's bank accounts so the judgment could be paid promptly and in full. That was done because fraud and deceit had been committed and it was proven the research information had been stolen from the plaintiff. They we caught hook, line and sinker with recorded telephone conversations and wiretaps. The thieves who stole the information were brought in as witnesses and confessed their wrongdoing to reduce their jail time.
Barton did this final piece of outstanding work in conjunction with his good friend and collaborator, Harvey Pinzel, who ran a top-notch private investigator office. They kicked the opponents in their legal balls and left them screaming for they were soon to be broke, busted and out of business.
All hell broke out in the courtroom--handshaking, backslapping, and even some tears of joy and celebration. Michael, the senior partner, came over to Barton and whispered into his ear, "Great job, buddy. Your going to get what you've been working so hard for. Just give me a couple of weeks to get all the money in order. You deserve to be our next junior partner. Congratulations!" He gave him a big hug and then they all started to file out the courtroom.
The next few weeks before the Christmas holidays were hectic and also nasty as the New York weather worsened. The judgment money was received promptly by the firm and at the annual Christmas party, which was celebrated at the Top of the Towers in the World Trade Center, Barton's promotion to junior partner was publicly announced and privately he received a very big fat bonus check for $200,000, plus a large increase in his annual salary. It was happy, happy time for Barton.
Barton received a lot of acknowledgement from good friends and also jealous younger colleges who didn't receive a junior partnership who didn't really wish him well either. A star legal performer had been born at the firm.
He spent time with his mom and dad, and took them and Rick's family out to dinner. To the surprise of his dad, who never was paid back the money he gave his son for law school, he received a check for $10,000 from Barton. This gesture floored his dad. It was almost like getting $10,000 from a stranger because he really didn't know his own son. Henry was overwhelmed and just didn't know what to say. Of course his mom would have something to say later. With the newfound money, she could look forward to buying a new couch and brand new plastic covers, too.
Barton took off a few days for the holidays--shopping, looking for a new apartment, and buying some new clothes. He just wanted to relax for a while and it also had been a long time since he had some good man-to-man sex. So now he ready to get into action again.
So one early evening he headed up to his favorite hang out at the eastside sauna with his bag of goodies. He wasn't sure if he would use his Masculina's fashion delights, but he always carried them with him just in case the opportunity presented itself. Who knows, maybe Terry would be around the club and another hot massage session could be conjured up.
Barton checked in, got his favorite room and got undressed. He wrapped himself in an over-sized towel and headed for the shower room. There didn't seem to be too many guys around on this night, but he was sure he would get lucky--he always was lucky when came to finding a stranger for hot sex.
He took a long, leisurely, hot shower, scrubbing every part of his body. He lavished his balls and ass with ample suds and made sure each intimate part was squeaky clean. As he was drying himself off, guys were looking him over with that "I want you look." Barton was in no hurry, so he first went to the sauna to get some dry heat. While sitting on the top wooden step in the sauna and older guy came in and sat next to him. They were the only men in there. The older guy reached for Barton's cock, but he pushed his hand away. It wasn't that he didn't like older guys; he just wasn't ready to play. The guy left the room disappointed, but he would find another cock to squeeze.
Barton left the sauna and headed for the steam room. Before entering he wanted a blast of cold water from the overhead shower spigot next to the heavy steam room door. It was one of those showers like you find at the beach; you pull a chain to turn on the water. He gave a couple of tugs on the chain and the cascading spray of water was ice cold. Barton felt his balls shrink and tighten instantly. If he had to sing at that given moment, he was sure his voice would have been a soprano's--at least an octave higher.
The steam room foyer area was very dimly lit, but at least you could see in the subdued red lighting. He really didn't need to see much in the murky steam room; his hands would find what he was seeking--a hard cock, a nice ass and some perky nipples. He opened the heavy door. A wave of hot, mist hit his face and body as he entered.
He moved into the room like a blind man, not being able to see his own hands in front of his face. The valves lining the bottom portion of the tiled walls were hissing and spitting jets of thick steam. He was glad he brought his towel into room because he wouldn't have been able to sit either on the lower or upper bare tile benches. They were so hot they could have turned his buns into cooked pork butts.
He spread his large towel on the lower bench next to the wall. It was the coolest place he could find and he carefully sat down. "Phew..." he expelled from his lungs and he immediately began to feel the sweat roll off his forehead and from beneath his armpits. Using his hands like squeegee mops, he sponged the sweat off of his chest and legs. Sweat was dripping from his balls and cock, too. Right now he was not excited, so his dick was flaccid.
There seemed to be no movement in the steam room, so Barton assumed no one else was there. So he sat for next 5 minutes sweating it out. Then a swoosh of cool air swept in room as the door opened. He could barely make out the figure of a man who was about 5' 8" and had a small potbelly.
The man let the door close and struggled in the hot haze to find a place to sit down. He had his hand out in front of him to guide him and it touched Barton's leg as he edged by. He was startled and pulled back his hand and it grazed Barton's cock. He gave it a little squeeze and then pulled back his hand. He took a few steps to his right and spread out his towel on the bench. Carefully he sat down and let out a sigh of relief.
The loud hissing from the steam valves continued for a few minutes and then it suddenly stopped. It must have been hot enough in the room for the thermostat to shutdown the flow of steam. Both men sat with sweat dripping from their bodies; only their heavy breathing could heard above the gurgling of the water running down the floor drain. No one else had come into the steam room. Barton wondered if either one of them was going to make a move.
Barton usually waited for the other man to move first, but this guy was not going to do it. It was unusual, but he initiated the first move. He shifted to his left and his thigh touched the man's thigh. The man didn't move away or reject him, so Barton put his hand on the man's thigh and began to massage it. The man's breathing got heavier and Barton slid his hand up the man's stomach towards his chest and he stopped there. His finger tips found the man's nipples and he pinched them--the men's let out an "oh" and Barton leaned in closer bringing his face next to the man's chest. He started licking each nipple.
An "uummm" came from the man this time and Barton began to suck on both nipples. The man was getting excited. He continued his nipple play and the man placed his hand on Barton head and pressed it closes to his tits. Barton bit each nipple. With all of this happening, not a word had been spoken. Barton thought so what--good sex didn't need words.
Little moans were coming from the man's throat. Barton moved from the man's nipples and placed his tongue on the man's lips and parted them. The man sucked in his tongue and they french kissed. With this passionate embrace, Barton reached down and placed his hand on the man's hard 6-inch, cut cock. He rolled the head in his fingers and played with his balls. Then Barton started to pump the man's cock up and down--he squirmed with pleasure with each stroke. Precum oozed from the man's cock and Barton spread the slick juice on the head with his fingertips.
Expertly jacking his cock and squeezing his balls, he continued to torture the man. The moaning increased and he kissed the younger man hungrily. Barton broke away from the kiss, leaned down and started to drag his tongue down the man's chest and then across his stomach. He lingered a moment sucking at the man's navel. Then his tongue swiped across the man's patch of pubic hair. The cock was now close to his mouth, so he sucked in the head.
Barton was a great cocksucker and was really working over the man's dick. He kept taking in more inches and finally swallowed all of it. He tightened his mouth and sucked harder, faster and as deep as he could. With the whole cock in his mouth, he hummed and vibrated his throat; sending erotic sensations throughout the man's entire body.
Up--down--up--down--his pussy-mouth was making love to the cock it had captured. He sucked furiously and lashed the swollen head with his tongue. All the juices were flowing and the man was writhing with pleasure as he exploded. "Uh...uh...uh". The squirting cum filled Barton's mouth and he kept sucking and swallowing. The man just couldn't stand it any more and had to pull his cock out of Barton's mouth.
The blowjob was over. They sat next to each other exhausted and breathing heavily. After a few moments, the stranger got up and started to leave. Barton grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He tried to make the man put his hand on his cock, but the man pulled his hand away. He walked to the door and went out. The sexual encounter had cooled and that was punctuated when the steam valves started to hiss and spit again to reheat the steam room.
Very seldom was Barton refused reciprocation--his cock was hungry for satisfaction and this guy flat out would not suck him. He at least wanted to see the face of the man who refused to service him. He exited the steam room as quickly as he could.
When Barton came out he saw the man's back. He had picked up a fresh towel from the rack and was drying himself. Barton moved under the showerhead and took a couple shots of ice-cold water. He shuddered. "Burr, that's cold." As Barton finished wiping the water from his eyes so he could better, the stranger turned around and faced him.
When he saw the man, Barton gasped, "OH NO!" He was shocked. He was standing face to face with his senior partner boss, Michael Di Lorenzo. "OH NO." He had just sucked his boss's cock.
Michael was also startled, but he was not the kind of man who d panicked. He walked over to the tile bench and sat down and said, "Come over here Barton, we have something to discuss. Barton sat next to his boss. "Yes Mr. Di Lorenzo." "Cut the crap Barton, you just sucked my cock, and I must say you're good at it. Rivals your work in the courtroom."
"Thank You, Sir. Now that we know each other in the biblical sense, we must take a vow that this is our secret--nobody must ever know about this sexual encounter. "Yes. Sir." " Do you understand, Barton?" He nodded a big yes. "In fact Barton I want you to suck my cock when I want you to. "I would love to do that sir. If I'm not being to bold sir, would you also fuck my ass."? "Barton, I'll fuck your brains out."
Just remember where your bread is buttered and that's on the head of my cock--understand." "Yes sir." "I'm the senior partner and you're the junior partner cocksucker--Agreed. Another yes nod from Barton.
I think this a very good situation for both of us. He leaned over and kissed Barton fully on the lips. "Good boy." Michael got and walked away. Barton could not have been happier. He had two jobs now--junior partner and official cocksucker. He was in heaven. He had the perfect submissive positions.