Sauna with my dad and younger brother

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.
My little brother is Finn, nineteen, long and lanky, cheeks that still flush at the smallest thing, hair always falling into his eyes.

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’ll keep towels, Mutti.”
Finn went scarlet and stared at his plate. I mumbled something about being fine and felt heat crawl up my neck that had nothing to do with the stove.

The thought had already rooted itself in all of us.

The little cedar hut glowed orange, stones hissing softly. 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 exhaled like the fight had gone out of him.
“This is stupid. Kids… would it be okay if I just took it off? It’s making everything worse.”

My mouth went dry. I managed a tiny nod. Finn gave a shaky, “Yeah… okay.”

Dad stood. The towel dropped.

He was thick, heavily erect, curving upward toward his belly. Dark hair at the base, one thick vein running the length. The head was slick. He sat again, legs open, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs.

Finn stared, wide-eyed, cheeks burning.

Time stretched thin. Dad’s hand moved, slow and guilty, fingers curling around himself. One stroke. Another. His breathing turned ragged.

I couldn’t stand it. My knees drifted apart on their own. The lower towel slipped away. Cool air hit me, swollen, wet, completely exposed.

Dad’s hand froze. His eyes locked between my legs, pupils blown.
Finn made a soft, shocked sound.

My fingers slid down without permission, brushed my clit. A helpless moan slipped out.

Finn stared, chest heaving. Then he tore his towel away. His cock sprang free, long and slender, flushed dark, the tip dripping. He wrapped a trembling hand around it and started stroking, fast and unsure.

Dad watched us both, throat working. Then he moved.

He slid off the bench and knelt in front of me. Big hands settled gently on my knees, spreading them wider.
“Lena,” he whispered, voice cracked, “tell me to stop.”

I shook my head.

He leaned in and licked me, one slow stripe from entrance to clit. I cried out. He groaned, tongue circling, then pushing inside. Two thick fingers slid in beside it, curling perfectly.

Finn stood frozen, stroking himself, eyes huge.

Dad pulled back, lips shining. He stood, guided my head forward. I opened and took him in, thick, salty, stretching my mouth wide. He groaned low, fingers gentle in my hair.

He fucked my mouth slow, careful, hips rocking just barely.

Minutes passed like that, sweat dripping, my moans muffled around him.

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 hadn’t moved. He stood there, hand still on himself, staring at where Dad’s cum leaked out of me.

Dad looked at him, then at me, and gave the smallest nod.

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.

He pulled back, eyes searching mine, then lowered his mouth to my pussy. His tongue was tentative, lapping softly at the mess Dad left, tasting both of us. I moaned, hips lifting. He grew bolder, licking deeper, sucking gently on my clit until I was shaking again.

I tugged him up. He knelt higher, cock brushing my lips. I took him in, slow, savoring the thinner length, the way he twitched the moment my tongue touched the head. He whimpered, hands in my hair, hips rocking just barely.

Dad lay beside us, exhausted, watching with heavy-lidded eyes. His cock slowly thickened again, hand drifting down to stroke himself lazily.

Finn moved down, lined up, and pushed in slow. I was slick with Dad and so sensitive every inch felt huge. He groaned, buried his face in my neck, hips moving careful at first, then faster, desperate.

Dad’s strokes matched Finn’s rhythm, eyes locked on us.

Finn’s thrusts turned frantic. “Lena, I’m—”

Dad sat up suddenly, knelt by my head. He stroked himself fast, once, twice.

Finn slammed deep and came with a broken cry, pulsing hot inside me.

At the exact same moment Dad groaned and spilled across my face and open mouth, thick ropes landing on my tongue, my cheeks, dripping down my chin.

Finn collapsed on top of me, shaking. Dad fell back beside us, breathing hard, one hand still loosely wrapped around himself.

We stayed tangled, sweat cooling, hearts hammering. Finn’s head on my chest, Dad’s arm draped heavy across us both.

The stones hissed softly in the corner.

No one ever reached for the towels again.