Chapter 3: Sauna Submission
The slap of wet wood echoed as the sauna door thumped shut behind them. Steam, thick and pungent with eucalyptus, instantly coated their skin, lungs, the air itself. It felt like breathing soup. The heat was a physical assault after the chill-out room's cool serenity, a brutal reminder of the raw exposure Chris had forced. Bettina flinched as the memory of tearing lace and staring eyes flooded back, the fttttsch sound of his fingers inside her seeming to echo in the humid silence. He’d practically dragged her here, his grip tight on her upper arm, the ripped remnants of her panties discarded somewhere near the towels. The young woman – Lena, she’d mumbled her name when Chris demanded it – followed, her eyes wide, unsure, but undeniably curious, drawn into the electric, dangerous current Chris generated.
The small cedar box held only three benches. Chris guided Bettina to the middle one, sitting close, their bare thighs slick against each other. Lena perched opposite, knees together, hands clasped nervously in her lap. The heat pressed down, amplifying the silence, the only sound the hiss of water hitting hot stones.
"Look at her," Chris commanded, his voice low, rough, cutting through the steam. He didn’t turn his head, just stared straight at Lena. Bettina’s gaze flickered towards the other woman, then away, shame heating her face hotter than the sauna stones. "No," Chris snapped, his hand landing heavy on her bare knee. "Not at her face. Lower. Look at her pussy. Tell me what you see."
Bettina swallowed, her throat bone-dry. Lena squirmed, her cheeks flushing crimson. But she didn’t close her legs. The humid air seemed to crackle.
"Chris, please…" Bettina whispered.
"Tell me." His fingers dug into her thigh. "Describe it. Now. Every fucking detail."
Bettina forced her eyes down. Lena wore a simple black bikini bottom. The damp fabric clung. Bettina’s gaze traced the outline beneath the thin material. "It… it’s small," she stammered, her voice barely audible over the hissing stones. "Neat. The lips… they look tucked in. Like… like a closed flower. You can just see… the very top of the slit. Where the fabric dips." Her own prominent lips felt swollen, exposed, aching in comparison.
"Small lips?" Chris mused, his thumb rubbing circles on Bettina’s inner thigh, dangerously close to her own wetness. "Tight? Innocent? Not like your fat, hanging cunt, is it, Betti?" He chuckled, a dark, grating sound. Lena gasped, her legs shifting slightly. The black fabric strained. A damp patch was forming. "Keep looking," Chris ordered Bettina. "See how wet she’s getting listening to us? Listening to me describe your slutty pussy?" He leaned closer to Bettina, his lips brushing her ear, his words hot and poisonous. "Tell her about your mom. Tell her what you heard."
Bettina flinched as if burned. "No. Chris, no." That memory was buried deep, private shame, not for this steamy spectacle.
"Tell her!" His hand slid higher, fingers brushing her swollen outer lips. She jerked, a whimper escaping. Lena’s eyes were fixed on Chris’s hand, mesmerized.
"It… it was late," Bettina choked out, tears mixing with the condensation on her face. "I was maybe twelve. I heard noises… from her room. Moaning. Wet sounds." The words felt like shards of glass in her throat. "Like… like slick fingers fucking fast. And this… this buzzing sound. Her vibrator." She squeezed her eyes shut. "She came… loud. Like a choked scream." Chris’s fingers dipped lower, parting her folds slightly. She felt impossibly exposed, her humiliation laid bare alongside Lena’s growing arousal.
Lena’s legs had fallen open wider. The damp spot on her bikini bottom was undeniable now, dark and glistening. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. She wasn’t looking away.
"Good girl," Chris purred, his fingers tracing Bettina’s dripping entrance. "Now tell Lena what kind of porno gets your fat cunt dripping. What do you search for when you’re alone? Be specific."
Bettina’s mind raced, fragmented by heat, shame, and the insistent pressure of his touch. She felt split open. "Double… double penetration," she breathed, the admission tearing free. "Two cocks. Stuffed full. Anal creampies. Facials… lots of cum. Gangbangs. Being… being used." Each word was a violation, amplified by Lena’s rapt attention and the sizzling heat.
"Filthy little whore," Chris growled, his approval laced with contempt. He withdrew his fingers, slick and shining, and held them up. Lena tracked them with hungry eyes. "See that, Lena? That’s how wet she is talking about being fucked by strangers. You want that too, don’t you? Want to be used?" Lena didn’t speak, but a low moan escaped her lips, her hips lifting slightly off the bench. Chris grinned, feral. "Stand up, Bettina."
She hesitated, panic flaring. "What?"
"Stand. Up." His voice brooked no argument. Shakily, Bettina rose, the wood warm under her bare feet. The steam swirled around her naked body below the waist. Lena stared openly now at her exposed pussy, at the full, dark lips glistening, the silver barbell catching the dim sauna light.
"Turn around," Chris ordered. "Face the wall. Bend over. Hands flat."
The position was excruciatingly vulnerable. She bent, presenting her ass and open cunt directly to Lena, feeling the humid air kiss her most intimate flesh. Behind her, she heard movement. Chris standing. The shuffle of fabric. Lena’s sharp intake of breath.
"Look at her asshole, Lena," Chris murmured, his voice thick. "Look how it winks. And that juicy cunt. So much meat. Bet it feels like fucking a fist. Now… piss, Bettina."
The command hit like ice water. "What? No! I can’t!" Her bladder clenched in terror.
"Do it! Piss on the fucking floor! Right now! Show Lena how degraded you are!" His hand slammed down on her exposed ass cheek, the crack echoing off the cedar walls. Pain bloomed hot and sharp. "PISS!"
The combination of shock, pain, and sheer compulsion broke her. A hot, helpless stream burst uncontrollably from her. It splashed onto the wooden slats between her feet, steaming slightly in the intense heat, spreading in a dark, pungent puddle. The acrid smell mingled with the eucalyptus. Bettina sobbed, humiliation washing over her in a suffocating wave, tears and sweat and piss mingling on the wood.
"Good fucking whore," Chris grunted. He didn’t sound disgusted. Excited. From the corner of her eye, bent over, Bettina saw Lena frantically pulling her bikini bottom down her thighs. She was trembling, her small, neat pussy glistening, completely bare, lips flushed and parted.
Chris moved behind Lena. Bettina heard the wet slap of flesh on flesh, Lena’s sharp cry that morphed instantly into a guttural moan. Squelch. The sound was obscenely loud, wet and thick. Bettina dared a glance back. Chris was standing between Lena’s spread legs, her ankles hooked over his arms, lifting her hips off the bench. His cock, thick and hard, was buried to the hilt in her cunt. He pistoned into her, relentless, each thrust making her small body jerk against the bench.
"Look at that tight little cunt, Betti!" Chris grunted, his hips slamming forward. "See how it sucks my cock? Not gaping open like your fucking hole! Watch her take it!" Lena’s head thrashed, her mouth open in silent screams, her hands clawing at his thighs. Her pussy stretched obscenely around his girth, pink flesh glistening, stretched taut. "Feel how hot she is? Tight little virgin cunt? Not anymore!" He fucked her hard, brutally, the wet thwack-thwack-thwack of his hips against her ass echoing in the small space, punctuated by Lena’s choked gasps and Bettina’s ragged sobs.
Chris’s pace became frantic, animalistic. Lena’s moans escalated into a high-pitched shriek as she came, her body bucking uncontrollably. Chris roared, his thrusts turning jagged, then stopping deep. Bettina saw his back muscles cord, heard the guttural grunts ripped from his throat. He pulled out, his cock slick and dripping, aimed not at Lena, but at Bettina.
Hot ropes of cum splattered across her back, her ass cheeks, warm and viscous against her overheated skin. Thick drops landed on her exposed pussy lips, the barbell. More hit her thighs. The smell, musky and primal, filled her nostrils. He kept jerking, coating her, marking her while Lena whimpered, her legs still spread, her tiny cunt gaping and dripping.
He finished, breathing hard. Silence descended, broken only by the hissing stones and their ragged breaths, the smell of sex, piss, and eucalyptus thick and cloying. Chris stepped back, wiping his cock carelessly on Lena’s discarded bikini bottom. He looked down at Bettina, still bent over, trembling, covered in his cum. Lena scrambled to cover herself, pulling her bikini up with shaking hands, her eyes wide and stunned.
"Stand up," Chris said to Bettina, his voice flat, commanding. "Leave the robe here." He pointed to her discarded garment near the door. "Walk back to the changing rooms. Now. Don’t cover up." He pulled the sauna door open, letting in a brief, cooler blast of air before the steam swallowed it again. The corridor beyond was dimly lit, leading past the plunge pool towards the main spa areas. "Show everyone what you are. What we did. Go."
The sauna door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the thick, humid air choked with sex and sweat and the sour tang of her own piss. Cold air slapped her skin, shocking after the suffocating heat, raising instant gooseblesh on her cum-smeared back and ass. She stood frozen in the dim corridor, naked from the waist down, Chris's command echoing like a physical blow: Don’t cover up. Show everyone what you are.
Her legs trembled violently. The sticky warmth of Chris’s semen slid down the inside of her thigh, a viscous trail starting from her exposed, swollen pussy lips where the silver barbell gleamed wetly. More oozed from her core itself, a thick, pearly drop gathering at her entrance before falling with a soft plip onto the cool tile floor between her bare feet. The scent of it – musky, animal, unmistakable – filled her nostrils, mixing with the chlorine tang from the nearby plunge pool.
"Fucking move, Bettina," Chris's voice growled from behind the closed sauna door, muffled but laced with impatient menace. It jolted her forward.
The first step was agony. Cold tile burned the soles of her feet. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, seeing only the blur of wet tiles, the occasional fallen leaf from a potted palm, and the glistening trail of drops following her – piss? Cum? Sweat? All of it. She felt monstrously exposed, every inch of skin from navel to knees screaming vulnerability. The ripped remnants of her robe felt like a cruel joke clutched uselessly in her sweating hand.
A low murmur reached her ears. Ahead, the corridor opened into the larger relaxation area flanking the plunge pool. Two women in plush white robes, towels piled beside them, sat sipping from tall glasses. They hadn’t seen her yet. Bettina tried to angle herself away, to shrink, but the corridor offered no cover.
"Christ," one of the women breathed, the word sharp in the quiet. Bettina felt their eyes lock onto her like lasers – the streaks of white drying tacky on her back and ass, the way her thighs were smeared and glistening, the undeniable, obscene wetness gleaming between her legs, that single thick droplet trembling on her inner thigh. The vertical piercing caught the soft lighting, a tiny, lewd sparkle.
"Fucking hell," the other woman muttered, recoiling slightly, her nose wrinkling.
Bettina kept walking, a low whine trapped in her throat. Her cunt ached, a deep, bruised throb where Chris had shoved into her after Lena, rough and fast, grunting about her "used hole" before emptying himself deep inside. More of his spend seeped out with each step, a slow, shameful leak she couldn't stop. She passed the women, their stares burning into her skin hotter than the sauna stones. The changing room door felt miles away.
The fluorescent lights inside the changing area were brutally bright, bleaching everything. An attendant folding towels near the lockers froze, her professional smile vanishing, replaced by wide-eyed shock that quickly morphed into something like disgust. She dropped the towel she was holding. Bettina ignored her, moving mechanically towards the lockers, the sticky drag between her thighs impossible to ignore. She wanted to sprint, to hide, but Chris’s command shackled her: Walk. Don’t cover up.
She found her locker. The cold metal bit her fingertips. Her hands shook so violently she fumbled the combination twice before the lock clicked open. She didn't grab a towel. Couldn't. She just turned, leaving the locker door swinging, and walked back out the way she came. The attendant pressed herself against a wall, averting her eyes. The walk back through the relaxation area was worse; the two women watched her return journey with horrified fascination, their earlier murmurs silenced by the sheer, raw spectacle of her humiliation, the fresh wetness trickling down her leg.
The chill-out room felt cavernous and silent after the changing room’s clinical brightness. Her designated daybed, one of eight arranged around the central waterfall’s soft murmur, looked impossibly far across the sea of plush white towels. She forced one foot in front of the other. The cool air raised goosebumps anew on her bare skin, tightening the drying cum, making the trails on her back feel like cracked plaster. Her pussy throbbed, swollen and tender, a fresh pulse of thick fluid escaping to join the mess on her thighs.
She reached the low, wide daybed. Without hesitation, without even glancing around, she lowered herself onto the pristine white towels. She didn’t pull the torn robe over herself. She didn’t try to cover her sticky, streaked body or her gaping, abused cunt. She simply lay back, legs slightly apart, staring blankly at the ceiling’s soft glowing panels.
Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven. The scent of lavender from the diffusers couldn't mask the stench of sex and sweat and shame clinging to her. Movement caught her eye. Slowly, she turned her head. On the daybed directly opposite, the older woman from earlier wasn’t pretending to read anymore. Her book lay forgotten in her lap. Her husband, too, had turned fully, his expression unreadable but his gaze fixed, unblinking, between Bettina’s legs.
Bettina shifted slightly, a tiny, involuntary movement. The action squeezed another thick rivulet of semen from her well-fucked hole. It oozed slowly, glistening obscenely against her dark pubic hair and the prominent inner lips Chris loved to expose, before gravity pulled it down onto the white towel beneath her ass. A wet, pearly stain bloomed instantly on the pristine fabric. The older woman’s eyes tracked the droplet’s path with horrified, unwavering intensity. Her husband’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. They didn’t speak. They just watched the thick, white fluid seep slowly, steadily, from the depths of her used cunt onto the spa’s virginal white linen.
The wet seepage continued, a slow ooze against the towel’s thirsty pile, radiating warmth where it touched her skin. The older man’s stare felt like a physical pressure, hot and focused on the source, while his wife’s rigid posture screamed silent outrage. Bettina closed her eyes, the cool air on her wet cunt a stark contrast to the heat blooming across her face. She could still smell him on her skin, in her hair, the thick musk mixing with lavender and the chlorine wafting from the nearby pool corridor.
"Look at that," Chris murmured from beside her, his voice low and amused. He hadn’t moved, still reclined, one hand casually tracing patterns on her sticky thigh, just below the smear of drying cum. "Old bastard’s practically drooling. See his fucking trousers?" He chuckled, the sound dark and intimate. "Bet he hasn’t gotten it up that fast in years. Just watching your messy little hole leak."
Bettina kept her eyes shut, trying to vanish into the plush cushioning. She felt the tremor in her legs, the deep, bruised ache between them where he’d fucked her raw after Lena. The sticky trail down her inner thigh had cooled, tightening her skin. Every ragged breath felt too loud in the suddenly silent room; only the waterfall’s gentle rush remained constant, a mockery of serenity.
"Should we give him a closer look?" Chris’s hand slid higher, his fingertips slicking through the wetness still gathered at her entrance. He pressed two fingers inside without warning, the intrusion sharp and familiar. She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily. "Christ, you’re still sloppy wet," he breathed, working his fingers shallowly, the squelch obscenely audible. "Fucking born for it. Open your eyes, Betti. Look at him."
She forced her lids open. The man was leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his gaze unwavering. His wife had turned her head away, jaw clenched, knuckles white where she gripped her book. Chris twisted his fingers, crooking them, and Bettina whimpered, her cunt clenching reflexively around him. "See that?" Chris whispered, pulling his glistening fingers free and holding them up, shining under the soft lights, right in the older man’s line of sight. "That’s my girl. Dripping for an audience." He sucked his fingers clean with a loud, deliberate pop.
The man stood up abruptly. His wife snapped her head around, eyes wide with panic. "Walter? Walter, no!"
He ignored her, walking the short distance across the plush carpet towards their daybed. His steps were stiff, purposeful. He stopped at the edge, towering over Bettina, eyes fixed on the glistening mess of her exposed cunt, the slow ooze onto the towel, the silver barbell nestled in her swollen lips.
"Beautiful," Walter rasped, his voice thick, aged, yet laced with raw hunger. "Just… beautiful." His hand, wrinkled and spotted, trembled slightly as it reached out. Chris watched, a predator observing its trap spring, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
Bettina froze. She couldn’t breathe. The man’s fingers, cool and dry, brushed her pubic hair, then traced the outline of her outer labia, sticky with her sweat and Chris’s drying seed. He avoided the piercing for a moment, circling the slick, furled entrance instead. "So open," he murmured, almost to himself. "So… used." His fingertip dipped, catching the thick fluid leaking from her and gathering it on his skin. He brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring. "Rich," he groaned.
"Taste it, grandpa," Chris commanded softly, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "Lick it off her."
Walter didn’t hesitate. With a grunt, he lowered himself stiffly, his knees cracking as he knelt beside the daybed. His hands, surprisingly strong, gripped Bettina’s thighs, pushing them wider apart, spreading her cunt lips obscenely with his thumbs, fully exposing the wet, pink inner flesh and the glistening barbell. Bettina cried out, a strangled sound, as his tongue, rough and hot, rasped firmly up the length of her slit, lapping at the mingled fluids – her slick arousal, Chris’s cooling semen, her own sweat. He moaned, a low, animal sound, burying his face deeper, his tongue thrusting inside her opening, then swirling hungrily around her clit, his nose pressing against the silver piercing.
"Fuck yes, eat that dirty cunt," Chris breathed, his own hand sliding down to cup her breast through the thin robe, pinching her nipple hard. "Suck her fucking clit. Taste what I left behind."
The man obeyed fervently. His sucking was messy, desperate, his lips and tongue working over her sensitized flesh with shocking vigor. Bettina arched, trapped between the rough assault on her nipple and the insistent, wet suction between her legs. It wasn’t pleasure; it was a violation, a raw, terrifying exposure amplified a thousandfold by the watching wife’s choked sob across the room. Walter slurped, groaned, his stubble scraping her inner thighs as he feasted, his tongue flicking over the barbell again and again. She felt his saliva mixing with the fluids, felt his breath hot against her skin.
Then his fingers replaced his tongue, two thick digits plunging deep inside her, fucking her roughly while his mouth latched onto her clit, sucking with greedy intensity. "Gonna come?" Chris taunted, twisting her nipple viciously. "Gonna come on his old man face while his bitch wife watches?"
The sudden, overwhelming surge of sensation was a brutal betrayal of her mind. A choked scream tore from Bettina’s throat as her body convulsed, hips bucking wildly against Walter’s relentless mouth, her cunt spasming around his thrusting fingers. It was sharp, violent, humiliating, a climax ripped from her by sheer physical overload amidst utter degradation. Walter grunted in satisfaction, redoubling his efforts, drinking her down as she writhed.
He pulled back, his mouth and chin slick, breathing hard. He didn’t look at his wife. His shaking hands fumbled with his trousers, freeing a thick, heavy cock, already rigid and flushed. It wasn’t young, but it was painfully hard. "Need it," he gasped, his eyes burning into Bettina’s glazed ones. "Need that filthy hole."
Before she could react, before Chris could even issue another command, Walter shoved her legs brutally wider, positioned his cockhead at her glistening, stretched entrance, and slammed his entire weight forward with a desperate groan. He sheathed himself inside her in one brutal thrust. Squelch. The sound echoed, wet and obscene. Bettina gasped, her body jolting, the sudden, deep filling a shock after his fingers and tongue.
"Fuck!" Walter roared, his hips pistoning immediately, setting a frantic, clumsy rhythm. His cock felt thick and insistent, stretching her abused cunt walls, pounding against her cervix. He gripped her hips, fingers digging in, his thrusts jarring her whole body against the daybed. His breath came in hot, ragged gasps against her neck, smelling of her own cunt and stale coffee. "Tight little whore! Take it! Take grandpa’s cock!" He slammed into her, his balls slapping wetly against her ass cheeks with every drive.
Chris watched, rapt, his hand still possessively on her breast. "Look at him go, Betti," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Look at his wife." Bettina’s tears blurred her vision, but she could see the woman across from them, frozen in her chair, face white as the towels, one hand clutching her throat, her eyes wide with absolute horror. Walter grunted, his pace becoming frantic, uneven. "Gonna fill you up, slut!" he gasped, his thrusts turning shallow, jagged. "Gonna pump this old bastard’s load right into your fucking hole!" He buried himself deep, shuddering violently, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he came inside her, his cock pulsing, hot jets flooding her already messy depths. He collapsed forward, panting, his weight heavy on her, his softening cock still twitching inside her as he emptied.
He pulled out slowly, a fresh gush of warm fluid – his own spend mixing with Chris’s and her own slick – spilling from her gaping cunt onto the towel beneath. He staggered back, tucking himself away, avoiding his wife’s devastated stare, his face flushed, breathing heavily.
Chris leaned close to Bettina’s ear, his voice a venomous purr. "Now, sweetheart. Go thank the wife for sharing her husband. Show her what he left behind." He gave her a hard shove off the daybed. "On your knees. Crawl."