There is a type of woman that my mom calls “fighting girlfriends.” They’ve been together since college, going through divorces, deficits in the nineties, mortgages, and other joys of life. And when such a fighting friend needs a man’s help, but her husband is not in the household, heavy artillery is used — that is, me. Son.
—Lesh, you’re on vacation anyway,” Mom said in such a tone that it wasn’t a question. Her porch is askew, the door to the barn won’t close, and there are other small things. She can’t do it alone. I promised.
“Mom, I’m on vacation. I was planning to lie on the couch and watch TV series. Not at your friend’s cottage, but at home.
— So you can watch TV shows in the evening. And during the day you will help a good person. She carried you in her arms when you were little!
The last argument was damning. I didn’t remember anyone carrying me, but arguing with my mom was like stopping a train with my bare hands. Technically possible, but the consequences are catastrophic.
So I ended up on a commuter train with a backpack of tools and a package of homemade food, carefully collected by my mother “for Aunt Vera.” It was about an hour and a half to drive. Country villages, half-stops, and endless pine trees floated by outside the window. I tried to remember Aunt Vera. Vaguely, very vaguely. Some kind of feasts, New Year’s holidays, the sweet smell of perfume and the feeling that she always laughed the loudest at the table. I haven’t seen her in fifteen years. If not more.
A woman met me at the station. I didn’t even realize it was her at first. In my memory, Aunt Vera remained an aunt of indeterminate age with a perm. And here… A slender, tanned brunette in a light sundress and a straw hat stood on the platform. Sandals on bare feet, bright pedicure, well-groomed hands. He looked to be in his early forties, maybe a little over. But she looked gorgeous. Not an “aunt,” but a woman. In the juice itself.
— Leshka! She threw up her hands and came towards me, beaming. “How big you’ve grown!” I remember you so well!
And she pointed with her hand at a level just above the knee. I couldn’t help but smile.
— Hello, Aunt Vera.
— Oh, what an aunt I am to you! She waved her hand. — Just Faith. Without the “aunt”. I feel like an old woman.
— Okay, Vera.
She took my arm and led me to an old Niva parked at the station. She smelled of something fresh and citrusy. And she walked lightly, swaying her hips. I found myself staring at those swings a little longer than the well-mannered son of my mom’s friend should. He looked away. But the sediment remained.
We drove for about twenty minutes. First on the broken asphalt, then on the primer, then in general along some kind of track, where branches were scratched on the sides of the car. Vera chattered incessantly. She talked about her divorce five years ago, about how she wrung the cottage from her ex (“The goat wanted to sue this, but it didn’t work out!”), about her son, who went to work in St. Petersburg and appears once a year. I listened with only half an ear, while I stealthily examined her. Narrow ankles, smooth knees, and the hem of her sundress, which lifted a little higher with every movement.… At what point “Aunt Vera” stopped being an aunt, I did not understand. But it happened.
The cottage turned out to be a solid wooden house on a plot of six acres. Apple trees, currant bushes, a greenhouse and a tall, unpainted bathhouse in the corner of the plot. The porch was really askew — two boards sagged, the railing was wobbly. The barn door was hanging on one hinge. In general, the work front was extensive.
— Come on, Lesh, I’ll feed you first, then I’ll harness you! Vera commanded cheerfully and dragged me into the house.
It was cozy and clean inside. Wooden furniture, doormats, an old stove, flowered curtains. Vera quickly set the table on the summer veranda: okroshka, boiled potatoes with dill, homemade lightly salted cucumbers, lard. And a little white bottle, steamed up, from the refrigerator.
— For the meeting! She raised her glass. — Thank you for coming. I thought I’d be tumbling around with this porch myself until winter.
They drank it. We had a snack of okroshka. The second glass is for Mom. The third is for the good weather. After the fourth one, I realized that it was time to move on to physical labor, while I could still hold a hammer in my hands.
“I’m going to take care of the porch,” I said, getting up.
— Oh, just sit still! She waved her hand. — The heat has subsided, it won’t be too hot to work now.
But I insisted. And you did the right thing. Because when I took off my T-shirt, lined up the boards and changed the rotten railing, Vera sat on a bench in the shade of an apple tree and looked at me. I could feel that look on my skin. He was heavy, assessing. How they look not at the assistant, but at the man. I caught it out of the corner of my eye when I turned to pick up the instrument. She didn’t look away, she wasn’t embarrassed. She sat with her legs crossed and smiled a little.
“You’re nothing like that, Leshka,” she said suddenly. — In good shape. Are you involved in sports?
— Just for myself. Running, horizontal bar.
— I see, I see. Does your mother probably drive the girls away from you with a stick?
I chuckled. She laughed. Her laugh was deep and throaty, completely at odds with the image of her mother’s friend.
By evening, I had finished with the porch and the barn door. Tired, dirty, sweaty. Vera had already driven somewhere by car by that time and returned with packages.
— That’s it, Lesh, the sabbath. I’ve been heating the bathhouse since this morning, so now go wash up from the road. In the meantime, I’ll arrange dinner. We’re having a barbecue tonight!
The bathhouse was small, but neat. I happily washed off the sweat and dirt, and steamed a little. A clean shirt, still smelling of iron, was waiting for me in the dressing room.
“It’s from my ex,— Vera explained when I left. “I’ve never worn it.” And it’s just right for you.
Dinner was served on the veranda. Barbecue, herbs, vegetables, and again the same bottle. Only now Vera has changed her clothes. The sundress was gone. Instead, there was a light robe with a small flower, clearly draped over a naked body. It swung open with every movement, revealing tanned legs all the way to her thighs. The neckline was deep, and I could see the cleavage of her breasts and the lace of her underwear.
We had a drink. More. The conversation flowed easier. Vera talked about her life, about loneliness, about how hard it is to pull a cottage alone, about an ex who “traded her for a young fool, and now bites his elbows.” I talked about my job, about a failed relationship. She listened, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at me with a warm, oily gaze.
— Listen, do you have a girlfriend? “What is it?” she asked suddenly.
- no. We broke up six months ago.
—Stupid women,” she shook her head. — Such a guy disappears.
After another drink, I became emboldened and said:
— Vera, can I ask you a question? You don’t look your age at all. How do you do it?
She blossomed. She straightened her hair, straightened her shoulders a little, which made the robe part even more, revealing a view of her chest almost completely. The panties, I noticed, were red and lacy.
— Genetics, Lesh. And the absence of an idiot man nearby. It is the best elixir of youth.
She got up, came over to me, and poured me another glass. Bending down, she was very close. Her breasts were almost touching my shoulder.
— Listen, how about you rub Aunt Vera’s back in the bath? “What is it?” she asked softly, and there was not a drop of “auntie” in her voice. Just a very explicit invitation.
I choked on it.
— Uh… What do you mean?
— Literally, Lesh. I can see the way you’re looking at me. And I like you. And I’ll tell you. We’re adults, why play with toys?
She took my hand and pulled me along.
The sauna was hot, humid, and smelled of birch broom. Vera, without hesitation, took off her robe and was left in only red lace panties. Her body was… amazing. Firm, full breasts with dark nipples, flat stomach, steep hips. No signs of age, flabbiness. Only feminine, mature, juicy beauty.
— Well, are you frozen? Come on, undress. Don’t worry, I won’t bite you. Just a little bit.
I undressed. She splashed on the heater, a cloud of steam enveloped us, and in that steam she clung to me. The kiss was deep, wet, and completely un-Aunt-Faithful. She kissed like a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
—Come here,” she whispered, pulling me onto a wide shelf.
I caressed her breasts, kissed her neck, shoulders, and stomach. She squirmed beneath me, moaning, running her fingers through my hair. Then she abruptly turned me over on my back and sat on top of me.
“Let me do it,— she breathed. — I missed this case — passion.
She took my cock in her hand, guided it, and in one deep, slippery motion, she planted herself to the end. Her pussy was hot, wet, and incredibly tight. She paused for a second, adjusting, and then began to move. Slowly at first, rotating his hips, then faster and faster, riding me, throwing back his head and moaning hoarsely.
—Yeah, bitch…— she blurted out. —How good… How tough you are, Leshka…
Her breasts bounced in front of my face, and I caught her nipple with my lips. She screamed and moved even faster. I grabbed her buttocks, squeezing, helping her move. She was wet sexrasskaz.com so much so that the juices were flowing down my dick and onto my balls.
At one point, she stopped abruptly, breathing heavily.
—I want it from behind,— she whispered. — It’s been a long time since anyone took me from behind.
She got off me, stood on the shelves, braced her hands against the wall, and arched her back. Her ass, full and firm, glistened with sweat and steam. I entered her from behind, sharply, deeply. She gasped and leaned forward.
—That’s it… Even… deeper!
I took her by the hips and began to drive my cock into her. The sound was squelchy, loud, echoing off the wooden walls of the bathhouse. Vera moaned, no longer holding back, crying out with every thrust.
—The finger…— she croaked. “A finger in my ass!”
I licked my thumb and while my cock continued to pound into her wet slit, I gently inserted it into the tight ring of her anus. She howled, but nodded immediately.:
— Yes, yes, that’s it! Don’t take it out!
The double penetration finished her off. She thrashed into orgasm, squeezing me with such force that I could barely contain myself. Her moans turned into a kind of guttural howl. And I came after, pouring deep into her, feeling her pussy throbbing.
We collapsed on the shelves, wet and exhausted. Steam enveloped us. Vera was lying on my chest and breathing heavily.