Darius

Darius sits sprawled on the top tier of the cedar sauna with his knees wide apart and a gray towel draped uselessly over his shoulders. His thighs like tree trunks, his skin slick and reddened from the heat. Sweat beads along his hairy forearms, tracks down the deep groove of his pecs, catches in the dark trail that runs from his navel downward.

Between his legs his cock lies heavy and undisguised. It is not tucked away. It is not modest. It rests fat against his left thigh, half-hard, the shaft thick as Leo’s wrist, the head a blunt, purplish mushroom already leaking. A vein stands out along the underside and pulses when Darius shifts his weight. His balls hang low and full, matted with sweat, sticking faintly to the hot wood beneath him.