Chapter 18: Vanja chokes on Karl-Heinz's thick length while Joshua rams into her from behind, the older man fisting her hair to control the pace as she's used from both ends, her muffled screams of pleasure vibrating around the cock in her throat as they turn her into their shared plaything.
The text message from Karl-Heinz had been a single, stark command: Executive sauna. Now. Bring the boy.
Vanja’s skin, still tender from the dugout’s plastic bench and the memory of Manuel’s furious possession, prickled. The ‘boy’ could only be Joshua. She arrived first, pushing open the heavy oak door to a wall of humid, eucalyptus-scented heat. The sauna was a cube of glowing cedar, soft recessed lighting illuminating the veined marble tiles underfoot. A small, artificial waterfall trickled down one wall, its gentle murmur the only sound.
She shed her robe, letting it pool at her feet, and sat on the upper bench, the wood searing her bare skin. The heat was a physical weight, pressing down on her lungs, opening her pores. She waited.
The door opened again, and Karl-Heinz entered, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. He didn’t look at her, moving to the control panel and turning a dial. The hum of the heating elements intensified, the air growing thicker, hotter. He sat opposite her, his legs spread, his gaze a lazy, assessing pressure.
Then Joshua arrived. He stopped short in the doorway, his eyes wide, taking in the scene: Vanja naked and glistening, Rummenigge watching like a sated king. He was still in his training kit, his hair damp with post-session sweat.
“Close the door, Joshua,” Karl-Heinz said, his voice calm. “You’re letting the heat out.”
Joshua stepped in, the door clicking shut with a sound of finality. He stood awkwardly, his eyes darting from Vanja to the director and back again.
“Take your clothes off,” Karl-Heinz instructed, not a request. “You’re sweating. It’s unhygienic.”
A muscle in Joshua’s jaw twitched. Vanja saw the conflict in his eyes—the professional respect for a legend warring with the humiliation of the command. Slowly, he pulled his shirt over his head, then stepped out of his shorts and underwear. He stood there, exposed, his body lean and powerful, his cock already half-hard with a mixture of anger and unwelcome arousal.
“Better.” Karl-Heinz nodded toward Vanja. “Look at her. She’s been waiting. She’s always waiting. Aren’t you, Vanja?”
She said nothing, just held Joshua’s gaze, her own a challenge.
“I’m not here for this,” Joshua muttered, his voice tight.
“You are here because I decide where you are,” Karl-Heinz replied, his tone dropping to a dangerous chill. “I decide who plays. I decide who gets a new contract. I decide who gets sold to a second-rate club in a frozen wasteland. Right now, I have decided you are going to fuck her. So stop whining and do it.”
The raw power in the room was thicker than the steam. Joshua’s fists clenched at his sides. He looked at Vanja, at the faint, dark bruises on her hips from Manuel’s grip, at the knowing look in her eyes. He took a step forward, then another, his erection growing fuller with each reluctant movement.
“On your hands and knees,” Karl-Heinz directed Vanja. “Let him see what he’s getting.”
Vanja complied, turning and lowering herself onto the heated wooden bench, presenting herself to Joshua. The air kissed the wetness already gathering between her legs.
Joshua moved behind her, his hands finding her hips. His touch was rough, uncertain. He guided himself to her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her. He was thick, and she was still sore, the memory of earlier violations a fresh brand.
“Just get on with it,” Joshua grunted, more to himself than to her, and he pushed forward.
He slid into her with a single, unyielding thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Vanja gasped, her back arching, her fingers splaying on the wood. He was tight, filling her completely, stretching her sensitive flesh. He began to move, setting a hard, punishing rhythm from the start, his hips slamming against her ass with a wet, slapping sound that echoed off the cedar walls. It was a fuck driven by frustration and command, not desire.
Karl-Heinz watched, his expression one of cool appraisal. He slowly undid his towel, letting it fall away. He stroked his own cock, which was fully erect, his eyes fixed on the point where Joshua’s body disappeared into Vanja’s.
“Harder,” Karl-Heinz said, his voice a low rumble. “Don’t treat her like a girlfriend. She’s a hole. Fuck her like one.”
Joshua grunted, his thrusts becoming more brutal, more frantic. His breath came in ragged pants, mingling with the steam. Sweat dripped from his brow onto Vanja’s back. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound, as the pleasure-pain built inside her, a coil tightening with every jarring impact.
“That’s it,” Karl-Heinz murmured, standing up and moving closer. He stood beside Vanja’s head, his cock level with her face. “Now hold her down. I want my turn.”
Without breaking his rhythm, Joshua leaned forward, pinning Vanja’s shoulders to the bench with his hands. The new angle drove him even deeper. She was trapped, impaled from behind, unable to move.
Karl-Heinz grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head up. “Open your fucking mouth.”
Tears of overwhelm mixed with the sweat on her face, but she obeyed, parting her lips. He fed his cock into her mouth, not gently, pushing past her teeth until the head hit the back of her throat. He began to fuck her face with short, sharp thrusts, his grip in her hair controlling the pace.
She was being used from both ends, a vessel for their combined release of power and anger. Joshua was pounding into her, his balls slapping against her, his breath hot on her neck. Karl-Heinz was choking her with his cock, the salty taste of pre-cum coating her tongue. The world narrowed to the sensations of being filled, owned, and utterly dominated.
“You feel that, you slut?” Joshua growled, his voice strained. “You feel how full you are?”
She could only manage a choked gurgle around Karl-Heinz’s shaft. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming. The overwhelming stimulation, the heat, the sheer debasement of it, sent her crashing over the edge. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing, her inner muscles clamping down on Joshua’s cock in a series of frantic pulses.
Feeling her tighten around him was too much for Joshua. With a strangled cry, he drove into her one last time and held, his body shuddering as he emptied himself deep inside her in hot, endless jets.
Karl-Heinz felt Joshua’s release through Vanja’s body, the way her throat constricted around him. “Now it’s my turn in this dirty little cunt,” he snarled, and he pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet pop. He shoved Joshua aside. “Get out.”
Joshua stumbled back, pulling out of Vanja. A stream of his cum immediately leaked out of her onto the bench. He looked dazed, horrified, and exhilarated all at once. He grabbed his clothes and fled without a backward glance.
Karl-Heinz didn’t miss a beat. He turned Vanja onto her back, her legs splayed wide. He climbed onto the bench between them, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated possession. He drove into her already overflowing cunt in one brutal thrust.
“Mine,” he grunted, pounding into her with a ferocity that shook the bench. “This is all fucking mine.”
He came quickly, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he pumped his own seed into the mix already inside her. He collapsed on top of her, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to hers, his weight crushing her into the searing wood.
After a moment, he pushed himself up and looked down at the mess he’d made of her. He smiled, a predator’s grin. “The board meeting is in one hour. Don’t be late.”
He picked up his towel and left.
Vanja lay on the bench, spent and trembling, the combined fluids of two men leaking out of her and pooling on the cedar. The heat was stifling, the air thick with the smell of sex and eucalyptus. She pushed herself up, her body aching, every muscle protesting. She looked at the pearly, mixed pool on the wood.
She reached down, dipped two fingers into the warmth, and brought them to her lips. She tasted them both—Joshua’s salty surrender and Karl-Heinz’s bitter dominance. A slow, grim smile spread across her face. They thought they were using her. They were just stocking her arsenal.