The guy was unassuming, about 5’ 8” and thin—like a swimmer’s lean, wiry body, with a quiet grace that didn’t demand attention. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, giving him a nerdy, bookish charm, his light hair slightly mussed. Earlier, in the dim, cedar-scented dry sauna, he’d been sitting on a wooden bench, rubbing petroleum jelly on his enormous cock head. The slick sheen caught the low light, and my husband, intrigued by the brazen act, asked him why he was doing it. In a soft, almost shy voice, he admitted it just really stimulated him, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through his core. “It just feels so damn good,” he said, a faint smile curling his lips. His cock was undeniably beautiful—long, thick, and perfectly proportioned except for the enormous cock head, a striking contrast to his unassuming demeanor. He reminded me of Wally Cox, the quirky Mr. Peepers from 1950s TV, all understated charm with a hidden spark.
The bathhouse was alive with muted moans and the rhythmic slap of skin in nearby rooms, the air heavy with musk and anticipation. There was an orgy room down the hall, dimly lit with a single bulb casting sultry shadows over a queen-size mattress. I was lying lengthwise on it, my body sinking into the cool surface, my pulse quickening as I watched silhouettes move in the doorway. He entered, his silhouette framed by the faint glow from the hall, his glasses glinting briefly. He stood near my head, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of the jelly he’d used earlier.
But his attention wasn’t on me—at least not yet. His eyes were locked on the guy standing next to him, a tall, handsome masculine man who exuded raw confidence. This guy had a beautiful hairy chest, a dense mat of dark curls that seemed to beg for touch. Mr. Peepers couldn’t resist; his slender fingers reached out, tracing the contours of the man’s pecs, tangling in the coarse hair. It clearly turned him on—his breath hitched, and his cock twitched visibly. The hairy-chested man, Mr. Chest, smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. He reached down, his large hand wrapping around Mr. Peepers’ impressive cock, stroking it slowly, deliberately. Then, with a gentle but firm nudge, he guided him closer to my waiting mouth. My heart raced. This was exactly what I wanted.
His dick slid past my lips, warm and heavy, but not yet fully buried. Mr. Peepers was so consumed by Mr. Chest, his hands still roaming that furry torso, that his cock pulsed with growing intensity. He was getting harder, the veins along his shaft standing out as his arousal deepened. Mr. Chest, sensing the shift, grinned wickedly and nudged him further toward me. My lips stretched to accommodate him as his bulbous cock head pushed deeper, finally sinking his cock all the way to his balls. The sensation was overwhelming—his thickness filled my throat, and I could feel every throb of his excitement. He started to lose himself, his body trembling as waves of ecstasy washed over him. I was right there with him, my own pleasure spiraling as I savored the moment.
Mr. Chest was loving every second of it, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He leaned in, nudging Mr. Peepers even further, encouraging me to take him deeper still. I relaxed my throat, letting him slide in fully, the act of deep-throating him sending sparks of bliss through my body. It was heaven for both of us. Mr. Peepers was completely lost in the moment now, his hips rocking instinctively. Mr. Chest, ever the instigator, leaned in closer, capturing Mr. Peepers’ lips in a hungry kiss. His hands roamed freely, caressing the lean planes of Mr. Peepers’ chest and belly, fingers grazing his nipples before dipping lower to stroke his taut abdomen.
The room seemed to pulse with our shared energy, the air thick with the sounds of our pleasure—soft gasps, low moans, the wet rhythm of my throat working him. After what felt like an eternity of this splendor, my own climax hit like a tidal wave. My body shuddered, and I shot my wad, the intensity of it making my throat tighten around his giant cock head. He felt it—the eager, rhythmic massage of my deep throat—and it pushed him over the edge. He exploded deep inside me, his thrusts wild and unrestrained, his body writhing in total abandon and rapture. His moans were raw, almost primal, as he gave himself over to the moment.
We kept on for a bit, riding the aftershocks, his cock still pulsing faintly in my mouth. Then, slowly, he pulled out, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His glasses were slightly fogged, and he looked dazed, like he’d just experienced one of the best moments of his life. I felt the same, my body humming with satisfaction, my lips tingling from the intensity of it all.
It was glorious, a slice of paradise in that dimly lit room. As he stepped back, giving me a shy, almost grateful nod, I couldn’t help but hope I’d see him again sometime at the same place. Maybe he’d be back in the sauna, that jar of petroleum jelly in hand, ready for another moment of heaven on earth.
