The rain pounded the tin roof of the bathhouse, creating a cozy, detached noise. I sat on the oak shelf, all steamed up, listening to the coals crackling in the stove, and enjoying the peace. My father had gone to town on some urgent business, promising to return only tomorrow evening. We were left at the dacha alone with Irina. My stepmother. She was young. Too young to be a father. She was barely forty, and looked thirty. Slender, fit, with a look that made my twenty-year-old self get a hard-on. I always tried not to show it, looked away when she walked past in her tight shorts or bathing suit. It was torture. The door to the steam room creaked. I turned around and was stunned. Irina was standing on the threshold. Wrapped in a small white towel that covered the most important things, but hugged her curves so tightly that it took my breath away. Her damp chestnut hair was gathered into a messy bun, her cheeks were flushed, and drops of water were running down her collarbones. “Is the seat vacant?” Her voice sounded quiet and a little embarrassed, which was unusual for her. “Yeah… sure,” I muttered, moving back to the wall, feeling the blood rush to my head and below. I covered the rapidly growing arousal between my legs with my hand. She walked in, and the rich scent of her floral shower gel mixed with the scent of oak whisk and hot stone. She sat down on the bottom bunk opposite, crossing her legs. The towel slipped dangerously, revealing a slender thigh almost to her firm, round bottom. I couldn't take my eyes off her. My cock was painfully hard, throbbing under the towel I was wearing. I saw her looking at it, at that obvious bulge, and then looking up at me. There was no reproach in her gaze. Just curiosity and… hunger? We were silent for a minute, maybe two. Only the rain and the crackling of logs broke the silence. "He never did anything like that," she suddenly said quietly, looking at the fire in the stove. "He didn't heat the bathhouse, he didn't make herbal tea... He didn't do many things at all. I didn't know what to answer. I just looked at her, at the way the towel was delicately held on her high chest. She stood up slowly to add steam. She raised her hand with the ladle, and at that moment the knot in the towel loosened. It slid off her body and fell silently onto the damp floorboards. Irina froze for a second, her back to me. I could see her entire back, her thin waist, the roundness of her buttocks and her long legs. She didn't bend over. She didn't cover herself. Slowly, as if giving me time to examine every detail, she turned to face me. I forgot how to breathe. She was perfect. High, firm breasts with plump, dark pink nipples that were already hardened by the cool air. A flat stomach, and below that… a neat strip of dark hair between her legs. She was a goddess. The MILF of my wildest fantasies. She took a step towards me. Then another. Her eyes were burning. "Your father," she whispered, stopping so close I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "He never knew how to please me. Never." Her words sounded like a sentence and an invitation at the same time. My brain switched off. Only animal instincts, the smell of her body and a wild, all-consuming erection remained. She dropped to her knees in front of me, her fingers shaking as she tugged at the edge of my towel. It fell, and my cock, rock hard and ready, shot up, almost in her face. “Oh, what a…” Her voice became low, hoarse, full of lust. “I always knew you had an impressive dignity.” She didn't hesitate. Her lips, full and soft, wrapped around the head of my cock. I groaned, throwing my head back onto the hot wood of the shelf. Her tongue immediately began to work: she licked the entire head, played with the frenulum, looking up at me with her large, promising eyes. Then she took it deeper. Her mouth was hot and wet, like the steam room itself. She sucked with some kind of insatiable, animalistic greed, like a hungry woman who had been waiting for this for years. She slobbered on it, making soft slurping sounds, her drool running down my shaft onto my scrotum. I saw her cheeks suck in, her neck tense, trying to take him deeper. “Iri…” was all I could breathe out. She released my cock with her mouth with a loud smacking sound. “Be quiet,” she ordered in a whisper and stood up. “Now it’s my turn.” She lay on her back on the wooden floor right in front of the stove, spreading her legs in front of me, exposing her wet, pink pussy. She was completely bald, and every fold of her was glistening with excitement. - You'll cum inside me, okay? - It wasn't a question, but a condition. I collapsed on top of her, unable to hold back any longer. Our lips met bukvoeb.run in a wild, greedy passionate kiss. Her tongue sought mine, she bit my lips, her hands dug into my back with claws. I felt her pussy with my hand, it was scorching hot and swollen. I inserted two fingers inside and she moaned into my mouth, arching her whole body. “Come on, fuck me, pound me properly!” she hissed, ruining my modest boyish experience. I positioned myself at the entrance and with one powerful thrust entered her all the way. She screamed - not from pain, but from pleasure, wrapping her legs around my waist, squeezing me in her vice. And I started moving. Slowly at first, feeling every quivering fold, every inch of her tight, amazingly elastic pussy. Then faster and harder. I pounded her without any tenderness, just like she asked. Just like my father had apparently never done. The bathhouse filled with the sounds of our bodies: the slap of skin on skin, her hoarse moans, my wheezing. The heat became more and more unbearable, sweat flowed off us in streams, mixing. I watched her breasts move in time with our thrusts, her nipples harden even more. She was the first to scream. Her body shook in a powerful orgasm, her pussy clenched around my cock so tightly that I almost came right away. Heat gushed out of her, a real squirt that washed over my lower abdomen and thighs. "Don't stop! Come on! More!" she sobbed in ecstasy. I turned her over, pushed her onto her knees, and entered her from behind, slamming my cock into her wet, accepting flesh again and again. I dug my fingers into her firm buttocks, watched her back arch as another orgasm approached. She came again, loudly and shamelessly, and I couldn't stand it anymore. I pressed her to me, entered as deep as I could, and with a low growl began to pour all my accumulated sperm into her. I came long and hard, feeling myself pulsating inside her, filling her to the max. We collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily. My heart was pounding like it wanted to jump out of my chest. Her back was pressed against my chest, I was still inside her. We were silent. The rain outside the window stopped. The coals smoldered. After a few minutes, she slowly turned to me and kissed me on the lips, softly, almost tenderly. "He won't be back until tomorrow," she said quietly, and that same hunger flared in her eyes again. "We have plenty of time."