Bodyguard Night: Sauna Quickie with a Stranger

The Sensuelle Sirène sauna glows under neon lights. Jean-Amédée’s massive pickup rumbles outside. I’m Sandra, tall, Mediterranean curves from my Italian mom, German steel from dad. Married to Gilles thirty years, but kids gone, we chase extras. Tonight, Bernard’s buddy plays bodyguard. Two meters tall, mixed Malagasy-Indian-Tamil beast. No bullshit, he scares off creeps so I can hunt.

We enter. David, the owner, kisses my cheek, eyes popping at my giant shadow. Towels on, I strip first in the bubble bath. His gaze burns—’You’re fucking hot, Sandra.’ I grin, drop his towel. Holy shit, proportional everywhere. That cock swings like a pendulum. We chat rules: no solos without backup, respect the vibe.

The Approach

A couple eyes him, blond dom asshole Pascal and curvy sub Béatrice. They snag him. I wander, piña colada in hand at the bar. David’s blunt: ‘Your guard’s a real alpha. That bitch is drooling.’ Laughter mixes with steam. Two guys stare but hesitate—Jean-Amédée effect.

David nods to the blue jacuzzi. ‘Go there, one’ll bite.’ I sink in, bubbles tickling skin. Nathan approaches, fit, mid-40s. Chats business, claims German deals. I test: ‘Ist das so? Täglich?’ He stumbles. Liar. But cute. I admit I’m German-born. His English crumbles too. ‘Wipe it clean. Be real, gentleman. No means no.’ Legs forward, feet grip his thickening cock. Perfect size—not too little, not monster.

His eyes light up. Hands roam thighs. Urgency hits. No days of chat bullshit, straight to skin. Perfume? His cologne hits: musky, sweat mixing steam. Phone? Mine buzzed earlier from Géraldine, but now it’s flesh.

He dives in, tongue expert on my clit. Waves crash inside. I moan German filth: ‘Ja, leck mich!’ Cock hardens, sheathed quick. We fuck slow first, building. Tension snaps.

The Explosion

He stands me, grips hips. Impale on his shaft—’Oooh, es fühlt sich gut an!’ Full length stretches perfect. Back to his chest, tits mauled, neck kissed. Fingers circle clit. Piston rhythm builds. ‘Oooh wie gut! Nochmal!’ I shatter, pussy clenching, bubbles exploding like my orgasm. He growls, floods the condom, arms crushing me.

We float, panting. His hands knead tits. ‘You’re fire, Sandra.’ Second round: flip to 69 in the lodge mattress. Softer than jacuzzi slap. I suck deep, balls salty. He eats pussy raw, fingers probing ass. Flip, he pounds missionary—slaps echo, wet smacks. ‘Fuck me harder, Nathan! Fill my cunt!’ Grunts, sweat drips. I claw back, nails dig. Cum again, screaming German curses. He unloads, mouth on mine, tasting our mess.

Brouhaha outside—Jean-Amédée stealing Béatrice? Nathan whispers: ‘Your guard’s huge dick fantasy fuel.’ We laugh, dress slow. Kisses linger, hands grope. Vestiaire, he slips card: ‘Call anytime, single for real.’ I smile—married but free. Last kiss, passionate, tongue deep. He vanishes into night.

Bar, Coke with David. Jean-Amédée parades glowing Béatrice, her hand on his arm. ‘Ready to bounce?’ They drop me home first. Béa chats: ditched Pascal for the real deal. Truck fades. House empty, Gilles out domming Géraldine. Sheets call. Nathan? Firework, maybe more. Jean-Amédée? Béa’s now. Me? Satisfied stranger, back to life. Adrenaline fades, but craving lingers.