Many people have hobbies.
Lyudmila too. She loves the bath with all her soul and body. Especially the body.
Once again, Lyudmila came to the bathhouse. There were few visitors. This made her happy.
The air in the room was fresh, there was a smell of fir, and music was playing quietly. In the cafe, a nice woman was preparing signature herbal teas.
As usual, taking with her the women's bath secrets of eternal youth, Lyudmila entered the hall. She bought a broom in advance.
- What a broom you have! As if only twigs from an oak tree. Green, fresh leaves, where did you buy it? - asked the woman in the steam room.
— I buy from my husband and wife. They have been working with brooms for a long time. You could say this is a family business. The husband cooks, the wife sells them for 150 rubles per broom,” said Lyudmila.
Conclusion
In this article, we looked at the origins of steam rooms, and also figured out that a village bathhouse can be built with your own hands without any problems. After this, all you have to do is enjoy your holiday there and experience the ancient culture of the Russian people. In the video presented in this article you will find additional information on this topic.
Dipping barrel
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After some time, a gypsy woman entered the hall.
The woman was elderly, small, thin, dark, and she was holding a huge green basin in her hands. It was not visible behind the pelvis. Only the head and legs.
She immediately went to the shower. There were only three of them in the hall. One didn't work. Women used two.
The gypsy woman placed a huge basin next to the shower and went into the steam room. In the steam room, I sat down on the second shelf and closed my eyes. She was warming herself.
Other women were also warming themselves. The gypsy sat in the hot steam room for a very long time, compared to other women.
Despite her age and build, she was quite strong in this regard.
She left the steam room and took the shower, using it as a personal shower stall.
Collection of incest (31 pages)
- Phew, how I was born again! Really, Vov?
I didn’t answer, finally seeing that my mother’s underwear, having gotten wet, stuck to her body, and what’s more, it had acquired some transparency. Not absolute, but enough to clearly see her breasts and two dark circles near her nipples. The panties also showed the bulge of the pubis and a neat dark vertical strip of hair on it, about three centimeters wide. Immediately below it, the labia were outlined.
Following my gaze, she lowered her eyes, groaned and covered her breasts with both hands. She looked at me again, at herself, groaned again and sat down, covering her crotch with one hand, which I was looking at just at that moment. Then I came to my senses a little and realized that I didn’t look very good myself. The penis stuck out forward and slightly downwards, straightened to its full length, and even wet panties clung to it, repeating the relief. In any case, it was clearly visible where the head began and what shape it was. I turned away sharply:
- That's it, mom, I'm not looking!
There was a rustling sound from behind; my mother was getting dressed.
I gladly accepted the offer, but for a completely different reason. Having climbed to where my mother could not see me, but I saw her, I took off my wet panties and ran my hand along the tense shaft with pleasure. Mom, looking in my direction and deciding that I had gotten far enough, turned her back to me, pulled the straps of her sundress off her shoulders, put her hands behind her back and unfastened her bra. Taking it off, she returned the sundress to its place. I pushed myself even more energetically. She, having gotten rid of one wet rag, did the same with the other. As soon as she put her hands under the hem, I felt that I was cumming, but I held back, waiting until I saw her panties appear from under the sundress. I have probably never come with such pleasure. After catching my breath, I wrung out my panties, pulled them on and returned to my mother. She hid her underwear a long time ago, but it was enough for me just to know that she was wearing nothing under her sundress to feel excited again.
Over lunch we discussed our further actions regarding cleaning, and then we got back to this dusty task. In the hallway on the ceiling I discovered a hole into the attic and immediately wanted to climb up there. Well, really, should I have my own personal territory? Mom didn't mind.
It took a lot of time to find the stairs. She turned up in the barn, swayed, creaked and did not inspire much confidence at all, but for lack of anything better, I decided to take a chance.
The room greeted me with stuffiness and dust all over. First of all, I rushed to the windows on both gables, but it turned out that they did not open. But you can pull out the frame along with the glass, which I immediately did. It immediately brightened and felt fresher. It turned out that one window faces the river, and the other faces the neighboring houses. Then came the turn of the garbage, which turned out to be almost more than in the rest of the house. In short, by evening I was like a pig again, but I was afraid to invite my mother to go to the river. My surprise was all the greater when she suggested it herself:
“Come on, Vov, let’s take a dip before leaving.”
I agreed, although I didn’t understand how she was going to avoid that sticky situation.
Provencal style kitchen in the country
Only when I arrived home did I realize how tired I was that day. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I fell into bed, muttering something incomprehensible in response to my mother’s question about dinner.
We arrived in the village on Friday evening. After unloading, I immediately noticed that life appeared in the surrounding area. Somewhere a radio was playing, there was a whiff of barbecue in the air, and the lights were on in the neighboring house. We, however, had no time for this. First, we had to provide ourselves with a civilized overnight stay, so my mother stayed up late cleaning the room, and I tried to strengthen the two rickety beds left by the previous owners.
Saturday also started with trouble. I was cleaning out my attic and my mother was doing something downstairs. It turned out that someone had already tried to settle in the attic, but apparently something went wrong. In any case, I was left with a table, a chair, a huge chest and shelves nailed to the rafters. I built the bed myself, a wide one, from boards found in the barn.
She climbed up, looked around, ran her finger along the nearest surface, making sure that everything was clean.
At that moment there was a knock on the door from below:
I rolled down the stairs and jumped out onto the porch. A healthy middle-aged man stood at the door, wearing a T-shirt and shorts and smiling from ear to ear.
- Great, kid! You are alone?
The address shocked me. Of course, I’m young, but not that young.
- Well, call the others. Tell me, your neighbor has come to meet you.
I left him outside the threshold and returned to the hallway, intending to call my mother, but I was too late. She was already going down the stairs herself. Without any second thought, I came closer and then I got a view from below under her dress. I almost tripped. The panties today were different, smaller, with a lace border, covering a small part of the buttocks. The visible part of the elastic hemispheres rolled seductively when mom moved her legs. In addition, the steps of the stairs were quite far from each other and she had to raise her legs high. This made the panty strap in the crotch stretch and try to move to the side, exposing first one or the other sponge. To my deep regret, this never happened, but before my mother noticed me, I managed to figure it out and step aside, as if I hadn’t seen anything.
- Neighbour. I came to meet you.
The man was hovering at the door. We let him inside and sat him down at a table on the veranda. A bottle of cognac immediately materialized on the table. It remains completely unclear to me where he hid it before. Mom gathered something to eat, treating the uninvited guest quite friendly. Fuck knows, maybe this is how real men should go to strangers' neighbors? I still didn’t like him for some reason.
During the conversation, it turned out that he and his brother had exactly the same house-dacha right behind our fence, and had been for three years now. At the same time, he enlightened us about the other neighbors. A young couple, about twenty-five years old, lives next to them. A little further are retired gardeners. On the other hand, an elderly aunt with small children. And so on. The less left in the bottle, the more talkative the man became. We learned more and more secrets about the local inhabitants, no longer understanding whether we should believe everything we heard. The outpouring was interrupted by the appearance of the second brother:
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The number of women in the bathhouse increased.
“Dear, can I ask you to free the shower?” Lyudmila asked the gypsy.
She pretended not to hear. Lyudmila repeated again. But there was no reaction. The woman continued to shower.
And in the hall there was already a queue for one single shower.
- Can you hear me? There's already a line like in a store! – Lyudmila said very loudly. She could not calm down, as a queue had formed at the only free shower.
And the gypsy calmly washed herself alone in her own cheap cabin, so to speak.
“You’ve already drunk all my blood!” Do you hear? - the gypsy suddenly shouted. Lyudmila dropped the bath cap from her hands.
- There is no peace from you, you tortured me! I drank all the blood! – the gypsy continued to scream.
The women's bath line froze.
Quite a funny picture of women in foam and leaves.
“Don’t mess with her, you’ll ruin your day,” the woman from the bathhouse line quietly advised behind her.
Then the door opened and more gypsies entered the hall, there were many of them.
“Tabor is going to the bathhouse,” Lyudmila said doomedly. The line laughed.
“We need to finish the bath procedures and look for another bath next time.” But this is such a wonderful steam room! And always clean, comfortable, friendly and attentive staff.
It’s a pity that you’ll have to look for another bathhouse,” Lyudmila was upset.
The gypsies, all as one, with huge, identical green basins, stood in a noisy crowd almost throughout the entire hall.
The bathhouse became like a trading market.
Only at the market everyone is dressed, but here it’s the other way around. An elderly woman was indignantly telling them something in the gypsy language.
Stories of an inveterate bathhouse attendant 2
Back in the late eighties, I worked and lived in one of the small (slightly more than 100 thousand population) cities of the Urals. There, my wife and I became addicted to the steam bath and visited it at least once a week. There were three baths there. And we chose the newest and most spacious one, and even closer to home.
A woman of about forty-five worked in the men's department. She conscientiously performed her duties, always washed the floors and cabinets on time. She had a daughter. Name was Rita. When I started going to this bathhouse, she was still a schoolgirl and I saw her there sometimes. She went to her mother, either for a key or for something else, and did this quite often, as she herself said, they had one key to the apartment and they constantly passed it on to each other. She somehow organically grew into this department. Some newcomers were even embarrassed by her mother when she walked past, even with a mop, but Ritu was not. Well, when she was still a schoolgirl, of course. But then she entered a technical school, but continued to visit her mother at work. She had some kind of energy that immediately aroused trust in her. In addition, she confirmed this with her behavior. I have never seen her stare at naked men, smirk, or have her girlfriends come to her. She behaved as if there weren’t even a few dozen naked men around.
Of course, occasionally there were snobs who complained that SOS, a girl in the department, but it was perestroika times and everything worked out. In addition, she helped my mother a lot, especially during the spring and autumn thaw, when the compartment had to be washed several times a day. She quickly became a favorite among visitors. Always friendly and sociable, she quickly put you at ease. He will come with a broom or mop and apologize for the inconvenience.
She wore a short dress or skirt, and since the department was well heated, naturally, she did not wear tights or leggings, and when cleaning or wiping down cabinets, she always showed neat panties, neither thongs nor see-through ones. Ordinary, but no one protested. Everything was perceived as a production process, and not an element of temptation. Interestingly, over the years, her uniform has not changed. It’s inconvenient to work in a long one, she said. As she grew older, Rita didn’t give up the mini, it just became tighter and, accordingly, the picture was shown less often. But it didn't disappear completely. Some men said that when Rita's panties flashed, it would be a good day.
The old wardrobe lady wanted to get into the men's part of the wardrobe, but Rita's mother persuaded the management to take her daughter to her department. Rita and her mother were in good standing and she was accepted. So, officially, a family team started working in the men's department.
The benefits of this were undeniable. The trips to the department by all sorts of “inspectors”, “their” workers and other incomprehensible women immediately stopped. Previously, Rita’s mother didn’t want to quarrel with anyone, that’s why the usherettes, the firemen, or God knows who else stopped by. Rita immediately put things in order and the passageway ended.
Soon the number of visitors increased by almost half (!?). One newbie told me so. He lives near one of the bathhouses, but he started going here, although it’s a bit far, because there are no excursions for “mentally ill women” and the service is excellent.
Soon we changed our place of residence and much later, from friends, I somehow learned that Rita’s mother worked until retirement, and Rita bought the bathhouse and made a water and entertainment complex, in which the old building remained, but it now has modern decoration and equipment . It is interesting that Rita continued to work, despite the fact that she was the owner of the complex. I asked a friend, how did you break up with the mini? The friend laughed and replied that what would happen without a lucky mini and white panties, because attendance would drop sharply and everyone’s luck would turn away.
PS I was asked how Rita became the owner of the bathhouse. It's simple. During the crisis, in the 90s, the owners of the cafe bought the barely breathing bathhouse for cheap and made Rita the director. Of course, taking it as a share so that it would work better. But then, something didn’t work out for the cafe owners. It seems that they wanted to sell the land for some kind of construction, but they miscalculated. There was plenty of space, and practically for nothing, in the Ural town. Rita successfully took out a loan from the bank for a business project and bought out their part of the bathhouse, leaving the partners with premises for a cafe. The business quickly went smoothly and profits soon appeared. The bathhouse became a complex, with a swimming pool, a gym and even an individual laundry, where everyone could bring laundry from home, throw it in the car, and go take a steam bath or drink beer. Or you can go to the cinema, to the pool, billiards or a small supermarket. By the way. If you buy a ticket to one of the halls, laundry is free. It's interesting that a lot of men started using it. And what? I loaded the laundry, to the delight of my wife, and went with my friends to sip beer or take a steam bath. A friend told me on the phone that many families go there as if it were a holiday.
Is it possible to calculate the gender of the unborn child during pregnancy?
And Rita, as I already said, works like this. Only not from dawn to dusk, but several hours a day. Everyone asks her why she does this? And she replies that physical work does not allow you to relax in business. But I still think that she got used to it and can no longer live without communicating with naked visitors. A born bath attendant.
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