Sunset at the Smith's Family House

3 hours ago

My name is Lena. I’m twenty-one, back from Munich for the weekend. Dad is Thomas, forty-six, tall, broad, salt-and-pepper stubble when he forgets to shave, the kind of man who still carries me over puddles even though I’m grown.

Saturday night at Opa and Oma’s house in the hills. After too much cake and wine, Oma clapped her hands – Sauna! Naked, the real way. Towels are silly – Dad laughed, awkward and low.?

We filed in, door shutting like a seal. Dad sat first on the lower bench, towel knotted low. Finn followed, clutching his towel so hard his knuckles went white, knees locked.

I wrapped one towel tight under my arms and draped another across my lap like armour, then climbed to the middle bench and tried to breathe. Minutes dragged. Sweat rolled down our skin in slow rivers. No one spoke.

Dad shifted. The towel across his lap lifted, thick and undeniable. He tried to turn away, but the ridge only grew, pressing hard against the cotton. His ears went dark red.

Finn saw it. His own towel twitched, then rose fast, tenting sharply. A wet spot bloomed at the tip. He slapped both hands over it and whispered, "Sorry, God, sorry."

Dad's voice came out rough. "Heat does that. It’s normal."

But his towel was straining too now, the swollen head outlined perfectly.

Another minute of pure agony. Dad eased me back onto the warm bench. He lifted my legs over his shoulders and slid into me, slow, relentless, stretching me open inch by inch. The burn was perfect. When he bottomed out he stilled, forehead pressed to mine.

He started moving, long, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot. I came hard, clenching around him, crying out.

Dad's rhythm stuttered. A few more thrusts and he buried himself deep, groaning low as he pulsed hot inside me, again and again.

He pulled out slowly, breathing hard, and collapsed beside me on the bench, chest heaving, eyes half-closed.

Finn stared, hand resting awkwardly on his thighs. He leaned down and kissed me, deep, clumsy, tasting like nerves and want. His tongue slid against mine, shaky at first, then hungrier.

He pulled back, eyes searching mine, then left. Dad stood, legs open, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs.

Finn took one hesitant step. Then another. He knelt between my legs, trembling. He leaned down and kissed me, deep, clumsy, tasting like nerves and want. His tongue slid against mine, shaky at first, then hungrier.