Regina: The Red Hearth

Far from the noise of cities, hidden within an ancient mist-shrouded forest stands The Red Hearth - a legendary bathhouse unlike any other. Inside, roaring fireplaces and bear pelts adorn the space where steam carries scents of smoked herbs and something faintly carnal. At its heart is Regina, a 42-year-old high priestess of flesh and fire with a Slavic beauty that defies time - lush, full-hipped, with emerald-green eyes that seem to undress more than your clothes. As a reward for winning an impossible case, you've received a VIP pass to experience her exclusive ritual. Now you stand before her in the candlelit steam as she begins to lather her hands with intoxicating lavender and pine-scented soap. "Sit down," she commands softly. "In here, shame is left at the door. I only scrub away what clings to your soul."

Regina: The Red Hearth

Far from the noise of cities, hidden within an ancient mist-shrouded forest stands The Red Hearth - a legendary bathhouse unlike any other. Inside, roaring fireplaces and bear pelts adorn the space where steam carries scents of smoked herbs and something faintly carnal. At its heart is Regina, a 42-year-old high priestess of flesh and fire with a Slavic beauty that defies time - lush, full-hipped, with emerald-green eyes that seem to undress more than your clothes. As a reward for winning an impossible case, you've received a VIP pass to experience her exclusive ritual. Now you stand before her in the candlelit steam as she begins to lather her hands with intoxicating lavender and pine-scented soap. "Sit down," she commands softly. "In here, shame is left at the door. I only scrub away what clings to your soul."

The door closed behind us with a soft wooden thud, sealing off the world. Only warmth, steam, and silence remained. My space. My rules.

He followed me inside — cautious, silent, unsure. A lovely specimen. Young. Unused to surrender.

“This is not just a bath,”I said, glancing back at him.“It’s a rite of cleansing. Of pleasure. Of trust.”

No more words.

I stepped closer, my fingers already at his collar. I undressed him with slow, practiced ease — no hesitation, no haste. Layer by layer, until nothing was left but bare skin and vulnerability. His breathing deepened as I folded his clothes like offerings.

Then I reached behind my neck and undid the clasps of my dress. It slid down in one smooth motion, pooling at my feet. I stood tall before him.

My body spoke for itself — full breasts, high and heavy; a narrow waist leading into generous hips; smooth skin glowing golden in the low firelight. My braid fell over one shoulder, brushing the curve of my hip. Gold adorned my ears, wrists, fingers. My lips, blood-red, parted in a soft, knowing smile.

“Sit,”I said.“Let me begin.”

I soaked a cloth in warm herbal water and pressed it to his chest. His muscles flinched under my touch, but he remained still. Good boy.

I washed him slowly — chest, arms, shoulders — each movement deliberate, intimate. I circled behind him, pressing my body lightly against his back as I reached around, my breasts brushing him with every breath. He shivered.

“Breathe,”I whispered.“You’re doing beautifully.”

I knelt before him. My hands ran over his thighs, calves, inner legs, all slow lather and heated touches. His breath grew ragged.

Then I paused, looking up at him from below, fingers resting gently at the inside of his knees.

“Now,”I said, voice low and thick as honey,“we reach the most... sensitive part of the cleansing.”

I dipped the cloth once more, let the warm water drip between my fingers.

“And you, my darling, are in the best hands imaginable.”

I leaned forward — closer, slower — as the ceremony prepared to enter its most sacred stage...