Aykut’s return to the Turkish Hamman

Aykut returned exactly one week later, again slipping through the heavy wooden door just past 2 a.m. on a quiet weekday night. The hammam was empty, the air thick and heavy with lingering steam. He had told himself it was only for the massage—his legs were wrecked again from another savage workout—but deep down he knew the truth. The memory of those three burly, hairy masseurs overpowering his godlike body had haunted his dreams every night since.

The attendant recognized him instantly and smirked. No words were needed. Within moments, Emir, Kerem, and Burak appeared from the back, towels slung low, eyes gleaming with recognition and hunger. Their thick, powerful arms flexed as they locked the door behind him.

“Back so soon, Hercules?” Emir grinned, voice low and rough. “Missed being defeated by Geryon?”

Aykut’s cock twitched under his towel at the memory. He didn’t answer with words—just dropped the towel, revealing his massive, pumped physique in all its glory, veins still popping from the gym, skin glistening with fresh sweat.

The three burly men circled him like predators, their dense body hair dark against olive skin, cocks already half-hard and rising. Aykut’s breath quickened; the sight of their rugged, hairy masculinity still hit him like a drug.

They didn’t bother with pretense this time. Emir pushed him gently but firmly onto the warm göbek ta??, face up. Kerem and Burak each seized a thick wrist, stretching his powerful arms overhead and pinning them with iron grips. Aykut tested their hold—flexing his biceps into peaks—but their work-hardened arms didn’t budge. He could have fought harder, but the thrill of surrender was already flooding his veins.

Emir straddled his chest, heavy hairy balls dragging slowly across Aykut’s pecs as he fed his thick, curved cock into the bodybuilder’s eager mouth. Aykut sucked greedily, cheeks hollowing as his tongue swirled around the swollen head, tasting the salty precum that oozed steadily. Emir rocked forward, beard scratching Aykut’s forehead, forcing deeper until the head nudged the back of his throat, making him gag wetly, saliva spilling down his chin.

Below, Kerem and Burak attacked with feral hunger. Kerem swallowed Aykut’s nine-inch monster to the root in one smooth, practiced motion—throat convulsing visibly around the shaft, wet choking sounds filling the steam as drool poured from his lips and coated Aykut’s heavy balls. Burak spread those tree-trunk thighs wide with rough hands, burying his bearded face between them. His tongue speared Aykut’s tight hole relentlessly—lapping broad stripes over the puckered ring, then stabbing deep inside, fucking him with wet, twisting thrusts while coarse beard hair scraped raw against smooth inner thighs and sensitive skin.

Aykut’s hips bucked wildly, muffled groans vibrating around Emir’s shaft. Six hairy hands roamed his body—kneading the rock-hard pecs, twisting and pinching the ultra-sensitive nipples until they throbbed red and swollen, slapping the ridged abs and veined thighs with sharp, possessive cracks that left red handprints on flawless skin.

They rotated seamlessly, never letting him catch his breath. Burak took his mouth next, feeding that thick, hooded cock deep while hairy balls slapped Aykut’s chin. Emir and Kerem worked below in tandem—Emir deep-throating him with sloppy, gagging enthusiasm, throat muscles milking the shaft as saliva dripped in strings, while Kerem rimmed and fingered him open despite Aykut’s half-hearted protests. Two thick fingers breached him, scissoring wide, curling to grind against his prostate until clear precum poured from Aykut’s untouched cock in steady streams.

When they finally flipped him onto all fours, Aykut was already trembling, hole slick and twitching. Emir went first, gripping the narrow waist with hairy hands and pounding with short, brutal thrusts that made Aykut’s eight-pack abs clench visibly, each slam forcing a guttural grunt. Kerem followed, longer strokes spearing deeper angles that dragged over his prostate and drew hoarse cries, cockhead flaring inside him.

Emir and Kerem exchanged a knowing glance—they both knew Burak, with the thickest cock of the three, would be the one to push Aykut past his limit. Burak positioned himself last, lining up his girthy, hooded shaft and pressing in slowly at first, stretching Aykut impossibly wide. Aykut gasped, forehead pressed to the marble as the thick head breached him fully.

Kerem knelt in front, capturing Aykut’s mouth in a deep, hungry kiss—tongue invading, muffling his moans—while his strong fingers found those ultra-sensitive nipples and pinched hard, twisting them relentlessly. Emir dropped to his side, wrapping a hairy fist around Aykut’s leaking cock and pumping in earnest—long, firm strokes from base to slick head, twisting at the top with every pull.

Burak began to thrust, deep and powerful, his thick cock repeatedly slamming against Aykut’s prostate with unerring precision. Each impact sent shockwaves through the bodybuilder’s core, building an unbearable pressure. The three-way stimulation—Kerem’s devouring kiss and ruthless nipple torture, Emir’s expert hand milking his shaft, and Burak’s massive girth battering his spot—overwhelmed him completely.

Aykut could stand it no more. His body tensed like coiled steel, then shattered. As Burak roared and collapsed forward onto Aykut’s broad, muscular back—hairy chest pressing hot and heavy, coarse curls brushing sensitive skin while warm cum rushed deep into his gut in thick, pulsing jets—Aykut exploded. His cock erupted in powerful ropes of cum hard onto the marble platform below, splattering in heavy arcs as his hole clenched rhythmically around Burak’s buried thickness.

They laid him on his back again. Kerem and Burak pinned his wrists and ankles once more, spreading him completely vulnerable. Emir smiled down wickedly.

“Time to finish off Hercules properly.”

They attacked his nipples first—three mouths and six hands tormenting the sensitive peaks with teeth, tongues, and rough pinches until Aykut’s legendary strength melted away, body going slack and quivering in their hold.

Then Emir fetched a very thin, almost sheer white peshtemal towel from nearby—still warm and slightly damp from the steam. He nodded to Kerem and Burak, who shifted their grip to keep Aykut’s hips steady. Emir draped the towel loosely over Aykut’s throbbing, hypersensitive cock head, then took both ends in his strong, hairy hands. Slowly at first, he began pulling the fabric side to side—sawing it back and forth directly across the glistening, exposed glans.

The delicate, slightly rough weave grazed the ultra-sensitive skin like fire. Aykut’s entire body jerked violently, a strangled scream muffled behind clenched teeth as an unbearable burning sensation exploded through his cock. Every nerve ending flared white-hot; the friction was exquisite torture, draining the last reserves of strength from his pinned limbs. His massive quads trembled uselessly, biceps went limp in Kerem and Burak’s grasp—he couldn’t fight, couldn’t even twitch away. Tears welled in his eyes as the towel rasped relentlessly over the slick, swollen head, turning pleasure into pure, overwhelming agony.

After what felt like an eternity, Emir finally stopped. Aykut sagged in relief, chest heaving, thinking the ordeal was over—his cock twitching painfully, raw and flaming.

But Emir wasn’t done. With a wicked grin, he wrapped one hairy fist tightly around the base of Aykut’s hardened shaft, locking it in place like a vice. With his other open palm slicked in fresh oil, he pressed it flat against the abused cock head and began moving in rapid, tight circles—polishing the glistening glans with blinding speed.

The sensation was catastrophic. Aykut’s back arched off the marble, a raw, broken howl tearing from his throat as the palm spun mercilessly over the burning, hypersensitive tip. Every circle sent lightning bolts of overstimulation straight to his core; his prostate clenched around Burak’s buried fingers, hips jerking helplessly in the iron hold.

Suddenly, alongside the overwhelming pleasure-pain, a new urgency hit—a burning, intense urge to piss that swelled unbearably in his lower abdomen, pressure building from the relentless prostate milking. He panicked for a moment, clenching everything, but the sensation only amplified the chaos, pushing him closer to the brink.

The buildup was instantaneous and unstoppable. Within seconds Aykut shattered—thick white ropes erupted across his abs, but they didn’t stop. The circling palm kept going, forcing the pleasure past endurance. A third wave crashed immediately after—dry spasms turning wet as clear fluid burst from his cock in powerful jets, squirting high and far, splattering his own face, the masseurs’ hairy chests, even the ceiling above. Each pulse drained him deeper, prostate contracting violently, cock jerking uncontrollably as more streams arced out in rhythmic, uncontrollable bursts.

The sky-high orgasm consumed him completely—pure, electric ecstasy that wiped his mind blank, exhausted every ounce of his Herculean strength, left him sobbing and shaking as the squirting finally slowed to weak dribbles.

When it ended, Aykut lay devastated—mentally and physically shattered. The invincible champion bodybuilder, the man who dominated stages and iron alike, felt utterly broken. Quiet, uncontrollable sobs escaped him, shoulders shaking as tears streaked his temples. He couldn’t stop them; the vulnerability was too raw, too complete.

The three masseurs released his limp limbs and, without a word, bent down over him. Their warm, hairy bodies enveloped him—chests pressing gently against his sides, bearded faces nuzzling his neck and shoulders, powerful arms cradling his trembling frame. They caressed him tenderly: hairy hands stroking his sweat-slicked hair, tracing soothing patterns over his heaving chest and abs, murmuring soft, reassuring words in Turkish as their coarse body hair brushed comfortingly against his smooth skin.

Only after long minutes, when the sobs quieted to shaky breaths, did they clean him with warm water and gentle cloths, drying him carefully before leaving him to rest.

When he woke near dawn, he was clean, dry, and alone—stretched out like a conquered god on the marble altar.

He dressed slowly, legs barely able to hold him. As he stepped into the cool morning streets, confusion swirled in his mind. What had happened in that hammam had completely shattered his self-image as the invincible muscle man, the rising champion who feared nothing. He felt exposed, fragile in a way he had never allowed before.

Yet that same vulnerability carried a strange, deep erotic pull—an intoxicating allure that made his spent body tingle at the memory. He couldn’t decide if he would go back. Could he resist the call? Or would the need to feel that devastating surrender again prove too strong?

Deep down, he already suspected the answer.