Homeless Woman. Part 2

//All characters in the story are adults//

"Did you wash up, son? I did a little cleaning for you here. You said yourself that this is my home now too. And I want to become the mistress here," the homeless woman met me in the kitchen with a broom in her hand.

I had to linger in the bathhouse. I washed the sweat off myself. Soaped my body with fragrant soap and washed my hair with shampoo. But the coals in the stove were still burning, and I decided to wait a bit for them to burn out and close the ash pit. Leaving a burning stove was dangerous.

The last thing I needed was to burn down the bathhouse—the only place where one could wash properly. Especially since I

planned to live here. You can't really wash up in a basin in the kitchen. But in the bathhouse, you could not only wash. You could also steam with birch brooms. I splashed water from a ladle onto the stove. And there's your steam.

With the washing, it probably took me about half an hour. And when I entered the kitchen, I was surprised by the changes that had occurred there, both in the room itself and in the homeless woman.

While I was gone, Galina Nikolaevna not only swept the floor clean but also washed all the dirty dishes that had accumulated in my sink. The house had running water. Only the outhouse was outside.

The newspapers with snacks on the table were gone. All the food was neatly arranged on plates. And the smell of meat spread through the room. Something was bubbling aromatically in a pot on the gas stove.

And most importantly, the homeless woman herself had changed for the better. While I was in the bathhouse, she managed not only to clean the kitchen. But also to put on makeup, using the cosmetics bag I had put in her bag.

Galina Nikolaevna had painted her lips with lipstick and lined her eyes with eyeshadow, and also painted her fingernails with bright polish. Instead of acrid sweat, the woman smelled of perfume, and she had gathered her disheveled hair into a chignon, obviously finding hairpins in the cosmetics bag. And now she looked not like the homeless woman I had met at the stadium in the morning, but like a quite respectable mature lady.

Aunt Galya had taken off her sweater, as it was warmer in the house than outside, and now stood before me in a beautiful blouse with flowers and a black skirt with a side slit. Under the blouse, the woman's decent-sized tits protruded, and the outline of a black bra was visible, in which those tits were confined.

My mother adored black lingerie. And I had put both black panties with a bra and white ones in the bag.

"I wouldn't recognize you, Auntie. As for being the mistress. Well, I told you. This house is yours too. In time, we'll get you a passport. And I'll register you here at my house. But for now, come on, I'll show you the room," I complimented the homeless woman, who, after the bath and changing into my mother's clothes, had become a very beautiful woman.

And most importantly, she had something to hold onto, both in front and behind. What I didn't like were bony and skinny representatives of the fair sex. But I also didn't welcome outright fat women. I liked mature females like my mother Sveta and my new acquaintance Galya. Tall, moderately plump, with large breasts and ample asses.

"Here, behind the stove, is my bed. And near the window is yours, Aunt Galya. Here's the wardrobe. You can put the remaining things from the bag in it. And look for something for yourself from the clothes for the time being. A jacket, a coat, robes," I said to the woman, whom I couldn't bring myself to call a homeless woman.

Aunt Galya had become very beautiful. Even more beautiful than my mother Sveta, whom she resembled.

I opened the door to the hall, and we went inside. There weren't exactly separate rooms in the hall. One side of the room against the wall was occupied by the stove-bed, behind which, separated by a wooden partition, stood two beds. One narrow, iron—I chose that one for myself. And near the window, a wooden double bed. I gave this bed to Aunt Galya, as it had a featherbed on it.

On the other side of the hall stood a table, several chairs. A sofa against the wall and a TV—an old black-and-white "Record" covered with a white tulle cloth on top. That was all the furnishings in the room. Grandma lived modestly and didn't buy anything extra for the house.

"There are so many things here, son. More than I could ever wear. And all new. Your grandmother was thrifty. And most importantly, her clothes fit me!" exclaimed Galina Nikolaevna, standing by the open wardrobe door, sorting through the stacks of nightgowns, blouses, and skirts on the shelves.

All the clothes were new, with tags. Grandma bought them but never wore them. In villages, people often wore the same thing. And saved new clothes for holidays. And now this grandmother's thriftiness came in handy. The former homeless Muscovite had no clothes.

And she could wear, without disdain, the things of my late grandmother.

The wardrobe door was open. And a mirror was inserted into the door so you could look at yourself while dressing. And I, standing behind Aunt Galya, impressed by the sight of her ass under the skirt and the closeness with the woman, knowing full well that I was alone with her in the house on the edge of a sparsely populated village. And no one would come to us here. I approached her closely and, embracing her, pressing my erect cock in my pants against her ass under the tightly stretched skirt. I took her tits with both hands and began to knead them, looking in the mirror. And I saw in it the reflection of my mother Sveta, whose breasts I was groping. And from this, I almost came. It was so pleasurable.

"I have a pot of navy-style pasta on the stove. I'm afraid it might burn. And we'll be left without dinner, Kostya. Please let me go. And I'll reward you, son. You'll like being with me. My body isn't old yet. And men liked me," Aunt Galya gently pushed me away, and the eyes of the mature woman sparkled with desire.

She herself wanted to go to bed with a guy who could be her son, and properly thank him for providing shelter. But we had a whole evening and night ahead. And we could be left without dinner if the pasta on the gas stove burned.

"You look like my mother, Auntie. Very much so. But she's a blonde. And younger than you," I said to the woman, reluctantly releasing from my hands her large and not very saggy tits, which I had been kneading with pleasure. And she didn't resist.

Galina Nikolaevna stood calmly, allowing the young guy, whom she called son, to press his cock against her ass and grope her breasts. She even let go of the nightgown she had been looking at.

"Do you have a photo of her, Kostya? I wonder how I resemble your mother," asked my mature acquaintance, who after the bath and changing had transformed from an ugly duckling into a real swan.

Aunt Galya left the hall and hurried to the gas stove in the kitchen. She turned off the gas and opened the lid of the pot in which the navy-style pasta was cooking. And, judging by the satisfied expression on the woman's face, it hadn't burned.

"No, Galina Nikolaevna. Her photo isn't here. I'll take it from home on Monday and bring it," I answered the woman and, without taking my eyes off her ass protruding under the skirt, approached her from behind again and, embracing her, began to grope her breasts, but this time I got a firm rejection from her.

"I told you, Kostya. That I'll reward you. Why rush? Let's have dinner first. To make a woman affectionate, you need to feed and water her," Galina Nikolaevna didn't let me properly embrace her and pushed me away, but after putting the pot of pasta on the table, she returned to me and, embracing me, kissed me on the lips.

My head spun from the kiss with the former homeless woman, now a beautiful mature lady, amazingly similar to my mother, and my cock stood erect. I was terribly shy and didn't interact with girls, and could only dream of kissing them. And here I was being kissed on the lips, and passionately, by a mature woman. And I would soon be fucking her. And this fact added extra sensations to the kiss with her.

"In that case, you wait for me too, Aunt Galya. It's getting dark, and I need to fire up the stove in the hall. The nights are cold now. And we'll freeze. And it's better to have dinner in the hall. You can bring everything to the table there," I said to the woman after kissing her.

I really needed to heat the stove-bed in the hall. For comfortable sex. You can't fuck properly in the cold. Only under a blanket. And I wanted to be with Aunt Galya in the light and see her body. I had only looked at naked women in pictures. And never seen one in real life.

"Okay, Kostya. But I think I'll go outside with you. To the toilet. While it's still light," Galina Nikolaevna went to the door and put on the galoshes standing there—the most convenient footwear in the village.

"You can go to the outhouse at night too, Aunt Galya. There's electricity there. And the switch is on the porch," I said to the woman, showing her where to turn on the light in the outhouse.

Before, Grandma went to the toilet in the dark. Or even just used a bucket on the porch. But I ran wiring from the house to the outhouse, installed a switch on the porch, and hung a light bulb in the toilet. And now you could sit on the toilet at any time of day.

While my new acquaintance went to the toilet, I gathered some logs from the woodshed and fired up the stove in the hall.

The dry birch logs crackled merrily in the firebox, spreading a pleasant smell of birch smoke through the house. Of all the trees that grew in the forest, I loved birches the most. They made good firewood. And birch split well. Especially in winter in the frost.

"Kostya. Help set the table. I can't carry everything in my hands," came Aunt Galya's voice behind me.

I heard the front door slam. And water started flowing from the kitchen tap. The former Muscovite turned out to be a clean woman and washed her hands after the toilet. Which I really liked about her.

"Coming. I'll close the porch door. So no one comes to visit us," I answered the woman and went to close the door. In the house with my cock standing erect.

I was anticipating fucking her. And also needed to secure myself. The place was remote. The forest was nearby. And at night, it was better to keep the doors locked.

"I love it when wood burns in the stove. And it smells of smoke. I'm a city girl. Lived my whole life in Moscow. But for some reason, I like this. I don't know. As if I saw it in childhood," Aunt Galya said to me when we sat down with her at the table in the hall.

I turned on the TV. The light was on brightly in the room, and the stove-bed was heating, in which the logs crackled merrily. All this created an atmosphere of coziness and facilitated communication. If before I was shy talking to girls. Then with a woman older than my mother. I communicated freely. And Galina Nikolaevna was conducive to communication. With her, it was easy and simple for me.

"I've never eaten such delicious pasta. Actually, I've been getting by without hot food lately. I had no money. And the entrance to the canteen was closed to me," Aunt Galya said in a sad voice after we drank another shot of vodka and ate a plate of hot pasta with stewed meat.

"That's in the past, Galina Nikolaevna. Now you have a home. And you'll eat hot food as much as you want," I comforted the woman, from whose beautiful eyes teardrops were falling.

I took a cigarette from the pack and was about to light up. When Aunt Galya stopped me.

"Let's not smoke in the hall, Kostya. After all, this is our bedroom. When I lived in Moscow. I never smoked in my bedroom. Let's go smoke in the kitchen," my mature acquaintance suggested, and I agreed with her.

It's not very good for your health to breathe tobacco smoke all night while sleeping. After all, no one smoked in our apartment in the city. Even my father, when he was alive, went out to smoke on the staircase in the entrance. His mother chased him out.

"And in winter, they heat this stove too. I read before that you can sleep on it. Interesting. How do you climb onto it?" Galina Nikolaevna asked me, getting up from the chair and approaching the Russian stove, which occupied probably half the kitchen.

After drinking vodka and eating tasty food, we sat in the kitchen and smoked cigarettes with pleasure. Well, and I additionally looked at the mature woman's thighs, covered in black nylon stockings. Aunt Galya had put on not only my mother's clothes. But also her nylon stockings, which I had put in the bag along with the clothes.

"Very simple. And it's very comfortable to sleep on. The bricks on top heat up and hold heat for three days after firing. And you climb onto it here," I got up from the chair after my guest and, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, approached her, moving aside the curtain that hid the nook located beside the stove.

They used to keep a calf there when Grandma had a cow. They would take it from the barn if the cow calved in winter. Then the cow was gone, and the nook behind the stove began to be used as a bathroom. There was a large galvanized trough in which they washed. Now the trough hung on the wall, unused. I didn't wash in it. For washing, the pond and the bathhouse were enough for me, if necessary.

"See, a ladder. You go up it and lie down on top of the stove," I said to the woman, pointing to a small three-step ladder standing beside the stove.

And while Aunt Galya, entering the nook, looked at the stove from bottom to top, not daring to step onto the ladder. I approached from behind and, pressing my erect cock against her ass, embraced her and began to knead her breasts with both hands through her blouse.

And this time, the homeless woman made no attempt to push me away. On the contrary, as soon as I pressed my erect cock against her ass, she herself pushed her butt back and rubbed her buttocks against my cock.

"Did you close the doors well, son? It's my turn to thank you for everything. Thank you properly. Let's go back to the hall. This is not the place!" Aunt Galya's voice trembled, and she, turning to face me, embraced and kissed me on the lips, passionately.

But the kiss was not long. The next moment, she took me by the hand and pulled me from the kitchen to the hall. And when we entered, the woman reached for the switch with the firm intention of turning off the light, but I stopped her.

"Aunt Galya. I want to be with you in the light. We have nothing to be ashamed of with each other. And no one will look at us. It's the backwoods. Only a few old women live in the village. They won't come here at night," I said to the woman in a decisive voice, and she helplessly lowered her hands, understanding I was right.

I didn't want to fuck her in the dark. The pleasure from sex wouldn't be the same. And I wanted to play with her. The game of mother and son. Since she was amazingly similar to my mother, it would be a sin not to use that.

"There. Now no one will see what's going on in our house. And there's no one around here to spy on us," I said to the homeless woman standing in the middle of the room in my mother's clothes and, approaching her, made a guilty face.

"Mom Galya. I got a D at school today