I hate walking through the creepy old locker rooms. But it only takes a minute or so and it’s a great short-cut. Besides, there’s never anyone there.

Turning a corner I stop and stare at a stack of neatly folded clothes on a bench and a nice suit on a hanger.
What the fuck...? 

A towel, soap and shaving stuff. A faint scent of soap and aftershave.
The plinking sound of a dripping faucet rolls between the tiled walls, there’s a glow of warm light from the old sauna. I didn’t even know it worked.

I really, really shouldn’t be doing this. It's against everything my mother and father taught me. I should just sneak back out again and go home. Read a book. Find something on Netflix. Roam Tinder.
But of course I don’t. Instead I trod cautiously over the damp concrete floor, careful not to make any sounds. I stop at the door and gaze through the small grimy window.

 My god! He’s a fucking work of art.

The skin on his chest and arms glisten with sweat as he throws water on the burner, creating a burst of steam and sizzle. He leans back against the wall with eyes closed. His chest heaving with every breath of hot air. Ripples of sweat stripe his torso, tiny drops trail along his arms. 

If he would just look up at the window he’d see me. Maybe. But I’m in the darkness of the locker room, so maybe he won’t. I quietly take a small step back from the hot door, further into the darkness, taking my chances.
Slowly he leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and lets his head drop. His black shoulders and neck shine in the soft light.
Small beads fall from his face to the floor, sweat and water glistening magically as they drop, landing on the wooden slats, creating a small dark pool by his feet.
His hand rests in his groin, his fingers playing with his testicles. The soft black skin pulled back, the pink head exposed and gleaming.
He sits like that for a few minutes, touching himself while I can’t believe my eyes. This is so much better than anything on Netflix or Tinder.

I admire his shoulders and arms. If I were an artist who paints with her eyes, this would be my painting.
I follow his hand, slowly pulling his growing dick, I imagine stroking him, pulling his wet skin back and forth, probing his muscles, running my fingers and lips over his throat.

Breathless, I let my tongue lick the sweat and water from his chest, lap the salty musk, the hard dick in my hand, suck the small black nipples and sink my teeth into the hard muscles. 

I shouldn’t stay, I really shouldn’t, but wild horses couldn’t pull me away from this.
Instead I stand perfectly still, barely breathing but squeezing my breasts as he pleases himself.
Oh god. Thank you for showing me this!

I want to stand in front of him, hold my tits and pull my nipples while he stares at me and bats his dick. I want to make him come. Yes, look at me. Look at me while you stroke yourself.

What’s going on in his mind? I would love to peek inside his head and see what he’s seeing. What is he imagining or recalling, what’s making him hard?
Is someone sucking him? Giving him head right there in the hot sauna?
I close my eyes and listen to the moaning. I bet she’s young and blonde, with skimpy tits and fake eyelashes, her mouth drooling while her head bobs and her hair swirls.

Yes, the little slut in the reception, the one with the short skirts and heels. Of course it’s her.
All the men behave like idiots as soon as she giggles and bats her silly lashes. They ogle her swinging little ass when they think no-one sees them.
She’s sucking his dick and looking up at him, she holds them in her mouth while she strokes him.
Or is some lucky housewife sitting on him, slowly riding him? Is he seeing her breasts swing in front of his face?
Is he holding them, sucking them? 

Or is some plump middle aged milf like myself throating herself on him? Taking the whole animal, eyes watering and mouth gagging.
I could do that. I could easily worship this man any day, I could lick his balls and suck him in, look into his eyes while he holds my head and fucks my throat. Anytime!

I’d even let him come in my face, make me swallow his seed and lick him clean.  
No, that’s an understatement: I’d love to let him do it!

Whatever he’s thinking, it must be nice. He pumps himself up to a point and then he stops and pulls the skin down tight towards his balls. The cock swells in his hand, the veins bulging just beneath the skin, the head pulsating.

He turns his head back, moans and clenches his teeth, cramps and struggles to hold it back, resisting.
I like that in a man. Self control. I gasp and quiver, my fingers grinding myself.

He stops, catches his breath and starts over, slowly massaging the wet pole, pulling the skin up and down, hiding and exposing the head.
Is he fucking someone from behind? 

Is he pounding someone’s ass, holding it and crashing into her, letting his balls slap on her swollen wet labia with every violent plunge?

I close my eyes and hear the gushing sounds, the grunts and moans he makes and the feverish heat every time he drives it into me, I feel the balls slap me a fraction of a second after the cock hits the bottom.
I look up again and see him using the palm of his hand to rub the head and slide his thumb around the edges. When he slides it along the soft underside his body twitches and I think he’s going to come.
“Yes, come on, let it go...”
I whisper.

Then he starts fondling, squeezing and pulling on his balls again with his free hand. The sack stretches like soft rubber, the eggs electric, ecstatically producing semen, pushing it up into his sweet meat while his other hand starts pumping, slowly at first. But with a purpose.
His body stiffens and arches, the veins on his throat swell and his face contorts, turns into a wild savage grin as he lets out a loud groan, he cramps and trembles, his muscles and sinews contract, his legs shake and I’m gasping.
“God” I whine.

He arches and thrusts his hips with each stroke as his pace increases, the hand finally becoming a blur as he pumps fiercely.
I’m should turn away and run home as fast as I can, leave him bursting, but I can’t take my eyes off this.
The rawness of it, the power of it, it’s overwhelming. 

 I yank up the door. The heat hits me like a wall.
“Stop it” I say, stay right where you are.”