It’s always the air in Sauna Sauna that hits me first. It’s that thick, wet cocktail of sauna heat, raging hormones, poppers, lube, and spent cum. It’s the smell of a former secret government research lab that’s been fucked raw for decades, and it rushes into my lungs like a hit of amyl nitrate.
I breathe it deep, letting it settle in my blood before I even take a step inside. This is Friday Bi Day, meaning every fuckin’ orifice in this place is fair game. Men, women, sissies, trans girls, non-binary people, and everything in between, all are welcome and are all bent over or spread open in the steam, the dark corridors, the glory holes cut into walls that have been patched and re-patched a dozen times.
The thing is, though, I don’t come here just to fuck. I also come to taste the history of sin and sleaze etched into the wall.
I spot this lad as I’m sipping a whiskey and Coke in the on-site pub, maybe twenty onr, with a strong jaw and a bulge in his grey towel that makes the fabric strain like it’s fighting for its life. Hung. I can tell from the way he holds himself, half-proud, half-shy. His eyes are wide, scanning the room like a soldier fresh out of an APC and into an urban war zone.
I beckon him over to my table as my legs spread underneath it to ensure all of my pheromones hit him like a fuckin’ train. No preamble. “You ever been in one of the mirrored fuck cabins upstairs, babe?”
He shakes his head. “I… no. I’ve only just got here. My first time, actually.”
“Good,” I say, sinking the last of my strong drink and grabbing his wrist so he can pull me up. My nails are painted cunt pink. “You’re coming with me. You’re gonna be my little fuck toy, ok?”
He nods in shock, barely able to believe his luck. I drag him upstairs, past the see-through wall where a fifty-something divorcee with swinging natural tits is getting double-teamed from both ends by two men who are fucking her like she’s the last woman on earth. Past the sling room where a transsexual woman is suspended by leather cuffs, her well-used asshole gaping like a second mouth. Past a gaggle of sissies in pleaser heels and fishnets, their cocks tucked in pretty pink chastity cages, their makeup smeared. My new fuck toy’s breathing gets shallow. He’s half-hard already; I can feel his pulse jumping under my grip.
”I came in about two minutes. Fuck, there’s nothing subtle about it. I release with a guttural scream, my cunt pink nails raking his chest. He whimpers, tries to hold back, but I clamp down on him, and he shoots his first load into me. I feel it pulse white-hot against my walls.”
We round the corner to the mirrored cabin. It’s designed to look like Amsterdam brothel windows with red neon-framed glass and black trim, but these ones have mirrors on the inside. All walls, floor to ceiling, so you can watch yourself getting destroyed from every angle. I love that. I adore seeing my own face contort in ecstasy while some stranger’s cock slides past the divine lips of my cock and punches into me.
The door to the mirrored fuck cabin swings open as we approach. A stunning little sissy stumbles out, her pleaser heels clicking unsteadily on the sticky floor. Her eyes are glassy, her bimbo blonde hair askew, her lipstick smeared halfway across her cheek. A thick rope of cum drips from her chin, and another oozes down her inner thigh. She’s got the look of someone who just got passed around like a joint at a council estate house party.
She barely registers us. Just mumbles, “F… f… fuck…,” and wobbles toward the toilets to try and clean herself up.
The kid stares into the cabin. The easy-to-clean bed inside is a mess. The mirrors still steamed from the fuck-fest that just raged inside, a puddle of lube on the mattress, a used condom knotted and discarded on the floor, a half-empty bottle of poppers on the nightstand, and a wet smear across the wall where someone’s cum got wiped with a hand.
“Erm… should we clean the condoms and lube up they’ve left behind before we fuck?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly. He’s not disgusted, just uncertain. He’s polite. A good boy.
“Fuck no,” I bark, already stepping inside and pulling him in after me. The door clicks shut, locking us into this mirrored box. “I like playing in other people’s sordid mess. That’s the whole point.”
He blinks. “What, you mean…?”
“Look around you.” I grab him by the jaw with one hand and use the other to spin him by the shoulder, forcing him to face the wall. “This isn’t just a room, babe. It’s a palimpsest. Every scratch, every stain, every heel mark, it’s a story. See these?” I run my fingers over a cluster of deep gouges in the black painted wall near the mattress, where the mirror meets the wall. “Those are from high heels. A woman, a sissy, a dominatrix in boots, braced herself here while getting fucked from behind. She dug in so hard she scarred the wall. That’s passion. That’s history.”
His eyes follow my hand. He’s starting to understand. The fear in his expression melts into something else, maybe curiosity, maybe arousal.
“And the condom?” I nod at the floor. “Those sordid little fuckers? Used in the last twenty minutes. Though not from sissy who just left. Judging from the cum on her chin and thigh, she was getting slammed nice and raw. She probably took two loads in her mouth and one in her ass before she stumbled out. All of them chose to leave their mess here. It’s a tribute. It’s a signature of sheer sin.”
I drop to my knees, picking up one of the wet, knotted condoms. I hold it up to the light. “This is the evidence of a moment. Two bodies connecting in pure animal need. They probably didn’t even know each other’s names. And now it’s on our floor. We’re fucking on top of their ghosts. That’s what this place is, a graveyard of orgasms.”
I toss the condom aside and stand, unzipping my leather skirt. It falls to the floor. I’m not wearing panties. My pussy is already slick from the air, from the smell, from the weight of all the sex that’s soaked into these walls. I shove the lad onto the bed. He goes down easily, and his towel tented immediately.
“Get that cock out,” I say, “and don’t you dare pull out until I tell you.”
He fumbles with his towel, and then it’s free. It’s thick, uncut, and the head is already glistening. Twenty-one and hung like a fuckin’ thoroughbred. I climb on top, straddle him, and sink down in one motion. No foreplay or teasing. Just the wet slip of me swallowing him whole with a gasp.
“Oh f… f… fuck,” he moans. His hands grip my whore hips, instinct taking over.
“Look in the mirror,” I command with a snap of my fingers. “Watch yourself fuck this divine whore cunt.”
He does. Our reflections stare back from every surface. There are a dozen versions of us, a hundred angles. Me on top, my blonde and breedable hair flowing wild, my mouth open in a snarl of pleasure. He was beneath, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. The mirrors multiply us into a marauding army of fucking.
I ride him hard, grinding my engorged clit against his pubic bone, feeling the slide of his cock inside my cunt and tickling my G-spot. He’s sliding into the same well-used fuck pit as thousands of men before him, and my slick juices pool onto his full-to-the-brim balls.
”She probably took two loads in her mouth and one in her ass before she stumbled out. All of them chose to leave their mess here. It’s a tribute. It’s a signature of sheer sin.”
The first time, I came in about two minutes. Fuck, there’s nothing subtle about it. I release with a guttural scream, my cunt pink nails raking his chest. He whimpers, tries to hold back, but I clamp down on him, and he shoots his first load into me. I feel it pulse white-hot against my walls.
“Don’t you dare go limp,” I hiss, still grinding. “Stay hard. I want round two.”
And he does, miraculously, because he’s twenty-one and his dick doesn’t know the word failure yet. I flip us over, put him on top, wrap my legs around his waist. “Keep going. Fuck me until I’m raw.’’
He ruined me. It was sloppy, desperate, and animal. He’s more confident now, knowing he can slur all manner of derogatory filth in my ear and I’ll just get wetter. The second time he cums, he buries his face in my neck and groans, and I feel another flood of sinful heat inside me. My cunt is a puffy, throbbing and sticky mess, his loads, the body heat of those who fucked here before us, the lube puddle from the bed. I love it. I love the squelch of his thrusts, the sound of my own wetness as a testament to the room’s history.
“Again,” I order.
He’s panting. “I don’t know if I can…”
“Oh, you fuckin’ can.” I grab the back of his head and force him to look at the mirror. “See that? That’s you. That’s me. That’s all the people who’ve been in this cabin before us, reflected in this glass. The mirrors remember everything. Every face that’s looked into them and seen themselves as living porn. Every time someone came violently while staring into their own eyes or those of their lover.’’
‘’The used condom, give it to me!’’ I know exactly what to do to spur him on, ‘’And the ones in the bin, too!’’ He proceeds to hand me as many as he can find, and I waste no time in emptying their contents all over my tits and glazing myself in the sperm of people I’ve never even seen. It sends me feral and puts him back in the saddle.
He fucks me a third time. His cock is aching, overused, but I keep snarling in his ear, telling him about the walls, the scars, the decades of cum and squirt that have dried into the grout of this place.
I tell him about the hardcore places I’ve been fucked and left sordid memories etched into the walls. The old school porn cinemas in Yorkshire with their sticky carpet and the stench of a thousand handjobs, the outdoor cruising grounds where the bushes have been worn bare by bodies pressing into them for fifty years. I tell him that I’ve cum harder staring at a faded and cum stained wall of a Gloryhole booth in a porn cinema than I have being fucked on the luxury bedsheets of five-star hotels.
When he finally collapses beside me, his cock still half-hard, his load dripping out of me onto the sheets, we lie there panting. We stare up at our sexually debauched bodies reflected perfectly in the ceiling mirror above. My hand wanders to my cunt, scoops up a mix of our fluids, and smears it on the mirror beside the bed.
“There we go,” I say. “That’s our signature.”
I look at the mirror again, at my reflection smudged with sex. Behind me, the scars of a thousand high heels glitter in the dim red light. The condom packets on the floor are like confetti from a parade of depravity. The walls are a gallery of everything this club has ever been.
I think: This is what I worship. Not the clean, the sanitized, the respectable. I worship the relics, the used condoms, the scratched plaster, the neon-lit mirrors that have seen more cock and cunt than a porn studio. The air is so thick with pheromones it feels like breathing wet velvet.
I gave his young, sweat-soaked body a shove toward the door. “Go on, babe. I’ve drained you dry enough.”
He stumbled out, dazed, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn. The mirrored cabin reeked of our exertion, sweat, lube, the unmistakable tang of spent cunt and cum. I watched him disappear into the gloom of the corridor, his bare back still glistening with the evidence of our sordid time together.
I took my time. Smoothed my skirt down over my thighs. Checked my lipstick in the steam-fogged glass, wiped a smear of cum off my chin with the back of my hand. The mirrors watched, they always watch.
When I finally stepped out, heels clicking on the sticky floor, I heard it before I saw it, the wet, frantic slap-slap-slap of a fist working a desperately stiff cock.
He was pressed against the wall opposite the cabin door, mid-fifties, his eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on me like I was a vision yanked straight from his most perverse porn-fuelled fantasies. The cock in his hand was average, unremarkable, weeping pre-cum in nervous pulses.
I stopped and let the silence hang and let his hand freeze mid-stroke.
“I bet you wished that was you balls deep in me, don’t you?” I smirked, staring at his cock like it was unworthy.
He nodded. A desperate, jerky motion.
“Fuck… yes… I heard everything… please…”
He actually started to step toward me, cock still out, hand reaching for my waist. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just let him see the cold amusement in my eyes.
He stopped and swallowed. I looked him over, slow and deliberate. From his receding hairline to the soft gut, down to the cunt-hungry eagerness twitching in his grip. No gym, nor discipline. He had nothing that could survive two minutes inside me without gasping and apologizing.
“I’m very picky,” I said, voice flat. “And you, my friend… you don’t have what it takes. That cunt between my legs eats men like you and spits them out.”
His face crumpled. Not hurt, more like a dog denied a treat he knew he didn’t deserve.
“But I’m merciful,” I said with a half smile.
I reached down. My fingers found my pussy, still slick and gaping from the young stud’s loads. They slid in easily, hot, wet, layered with his cum and mine. I scooped and felt the slimy warmth coat my digits and pulled them out, gleaming under the dim neon corridor light.
He watched, frozen, with his cock still in hand, still leaking. I stepped forward and grabbed his jaw with my free hand. He didn’t resist; his mouth opened like a reflex, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to shove something filthy inside it.
I shoved my fingers deep into the back of his throat and let him taste the cocktail of me and that 21-year-old boy. Let him feel the salt, the musk, the proof of what he’d only ever listen to through a door.
He gagged, His eyes watered. And then his cock, pathetic, desperate, untrained, gave up. A hot spray splattered across the floor. Against the wall. Across my divine heels. He came with barely a touch, spasm after spasm, choking on my jizz-soaked fingers while his seed painted the floor.
I held him there until he finished and until his knees buckled. Then I pulled my fingers out, wiped them on his chest, and turned. Another story for these walls to remember.
My heels clicked down the dark corridor, past the gloryholes, past the sling room, past the ghosts of every fuck that had stained this place. I could smell fresh sweat, fresh skin, fresh cocks waiting to be broken.
Somewhere in the shadows, a door opened. Light spilled out and revealed a silhouette with broad shoulders and a face that was 18+ young and hungry.
I smiled.
The night wasn’t over yet. Far fuckin’ from it.
