Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Title: Finally Opened

Setting: Private after-hours sauna and steam room of an exclusive men’s club

POV: Jonah Cole (first-person)

Partner: Kane (48, broader, quieter, ex-military contact who’s been waiting)

Focus: Deep, relentless anal; heavy size difference; slow stretching; edging, moaning, multiple loads; complete loss of control

I shouldn’t have stayed after the club closed.

Kane locked the heavy wooden door to the private sauna suite behind us and didn’t say a word. He just pointed at the wide cedar bench under the dim red lights and the thick clouds of steam.

“Strip.”

I did. My cock was already half-hard from the way he’d looked at me all night. Kane was bigger than me in every direction — broader chest, thicker arms, heavier cock that hung low even soft. He watched me with calm, patient eyes while he took his own clothes off. When he was naked he stepped in close, gripped my jaw, and spoke for the first time in a low, quiet voice.

“You’ve been walking around since that night at the club like your hole isn’t still hungry. Tonight we fix that.”

He sat on the bench, legs spread, and pulled me down so I was straddling his thighs, facing him. His thick cock rested heavy against my stomach. He reached around, parted my cheeks with both hands, and dragged one dry thumb over my hole. I flinched. A soft, unwilling sound slipped out of me.

Kane’s mouth curved slightly.

“There it is. Let’s hear more of that.”

He reached for the small bottle of oil on the shelf, poured it generously over his fingers, and pressed the pad of one thick fingertip against me. He didn’t push in yet. He just circled, slow and deliberate, watching my face. My breathing changed. My cock twitched against his stomach. When he finally pressed inside, the stretch was immediate. I dropped my forehead to his shoulder and let out a long, shaky moan.

“Fuuuck…”

“Louder.”

He worked the first finger in and out until the oil was wet and filthy-sounding. Then he added a second. The burn made my thighs shake. Another moan tore out of me, higher this time. Kane’s free hand wrapped around my cock and stroked once, twice, then stopped.

“No. You don’t get to come yet.”

He edged me like that for what felt like forever.

Two fingers stretching me open, slow and deep, while his other hand kept my cock hard and leaking but never let me tip over. Every time my moans got desperate and my hips started chasing his hand, he stopped completely and waited until I was shaking and cursing under my breath. Sweat ran down my back. Steam clung to my skin. My hole made wet, obscene sounds around his fingers.

“Listen to yourself,” Kane murmured. “All that noise for two fingers. You’re going to sound wrecked when it’s my cock.”

He added a third finger.

The stretch forced a raw, open-mouthed moan out of me that echoed off the cedar walls. My eyes stung. I was already close again. Kane felt it and immediately pulled his fingers almost all the way out and stopped stroking me.

I actually whimpered.

“Please—”

“Not yet.”

He kept me there on the edge until tears of pure frustration started to blur my vision. My cock was dark red and dripping steadily onto his stomach. My hole kept clenching around nothing, trying to pull his fingers back in. I was moaning continuously now — low, broken, slutty sounds I couldn’t swallow.

Only when a tear finally slipped down my cheek did Kane speak again.

“Good. Now you’re ready.”

He lifted me slightly, lined up the thick head of his cock, and started pushing in.

The pressure was intense. I dropped my head back and let out a long, trembling moan that turned into a broken cry as the head finally popped inside. Kane didn’t rush. He held me there, only the tip buried, while I adjusted and moaned through the burn. Sweat dripped from my chin onto his chest. My thighs trembled.

“Breathe,” he said. “And keep making noise. I want to hear every second of this hole opening for me.”

He pushed deeper.

Inch by thick inch. My moans got louder and higher the farther he went. When he finally bottomed out I was full in a way that made my eyes water — stretched wide, completely claimed, cock twitching helplessly against his stomach. Kane stayed still and deep, both hands gripping my ass, and waited.

I was already moaning just from the feeling of being so full.

He started moving.

Slow, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside me. Every thrust forced another moan out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop them. They got wetter, filthier, more desperate the longer he fucked me. Kane watched my face the entire time, calm and focused, occasionally reaching down to stroke my cock just enough to keep me right on the edge again.

“You’re leaking all over me,” he said quietly. “And you’re moaning like you were made for this. Look at you.”

I did. In the mirrored wall across from us I could see myself — straddling him, thighs shaking, hole stretched wide around his thick cock, face wrecked, mouth open and moaning nonstop. The sight made my cock jump. Kane felt it and immediately stopped stroking me again.

I cried out in frustration.

“Please— Kane, fuck, please let me come—”

“Not yet.”

He edged me while he fucked me.

Deep, relentless strokes. Occasional slow grinds that made me see stars. His hand on my cock only when I started to soften, never enough to finish. My moans turned into continuous, broken sounds. Tears ran freely down my face from the sheer intensity and the denial. My hole was making wet, filthy noises around him with every thrust. Oil and precome dripped down onto the bench.

Only when I was openly sobbing and begging did Kane wrap his hand properly around my cock and stroke in time with his thrusts.

“Come.”

I did.

The orgasm ripped through me so hard my vision went white. I moaned — loud, raw, completely broken — while my cock pulsed thick ropes across his stomach and chest. My hole clamped down around him in rhythmic pulses. Kane fucked me through it without slowing, dragging the pleasure out until I was shaking and oversensitive and still moaning.

He didn’t stop.

He flipped me onto my back on the hot cedar bench, hooked my knees over his elbows, and drove back in. The new angle made me cry out. He fucked me harder now, chasing his own release, while my spent cock twitched weakly against my stomach. Every thrust forced another moan out of me. I couldn’t stay quiet. I didn’t even try.

Kane came with a low, guttural sound and buried himself to the hilt, flooding me in long, heavy pulses. I felt every spurt. The heat of it. The way it filled me even fuller. He stayed deep until he finished, then slowly pulled out. A thick rush of his come immediately followed and ran down my crack onto the bench.

He looked at the mess he’d made of my hole — soft, open, leaking — and calmly poured more oil over his cock.

“Again.”

I moaned the second he pushed back in.

He fucked a second load into me while I lay there open and noisy and completely wrecked, moaning through every deep stroke. When he finally pulled out for the last time I was limp, tear-streaked, hole gaping and dripping, voice hoarse from all the sounds I’d made.

Kane sat back, breathing steadily, and watched his come leak out of me.

“That’s better,” he said quietly. “Now you know how loud this hole can be when it’s properly used.”

I could only moan in answer.