My First Time: Passion Ignited in the Antarctic Freeze
The wind screamed through the cracks in that old rectangular workshop, the oldest room in the Antarctic station. Steel walls, but not airtight. I, Régis, shivered despite my thick blue parka. Eight degrees Celsius inside, repairing snowmobile engines and ice saw blades. Cécile burst in, light clothes hugging her curves—salmon Peruvian hat framing big hazel eyes, mascaraed lashes, generous tits under her sweater, tight black pants. She needed help fixing an anemometer from Mount Scott. We worked close, her fairy fingers brushing mine on the wires. Skin grazed skin. My heart hammered. Breath caught. She smiled, eyes sparkling. I almost lunged.
I draped my parka over her shivering shoulders, dressing her like a lover. Later, lunch with the crew—eight guys, two women. She laughed at others, barely glanced my way. But we announced our snowmobile trek. In the vestiaire, she stripped to black stretch tights, bending over, string outline teasing. My cock twitched. We rode out, her arms around my chest, warmth seeping through layers. Erection building, hidden. Slope steepened—raquettes on. She took my arm, hands linked. Paused at an ice deer sculpture. She pressed close, hot breath whispering to continue. At the spot, balise fixed. Fist bump. Fingers lingered.
The Approach
I pulled her hips. She caressed my cheek—cold on bare skin. We embraced, ditched goggles, lips met. First kiss tentative, then tongues danced, wet and wild. No turning back. Fear twisted with lust. Heart thundering like the wind. She was with Franck, station boss. But here, alone in white vastness, desire overrode everything. We tumbled down slope, rolling in snow, laughing, brushing each other off. Her hand grazed my hard bulge. Eyes challenged: Do it?
Downwind shelter. Hands slipped under clothes. Mine on her soft ass, sliding forward—mound wet, finger dipping into slick heat. Hers freed my throbbing cock, stroking firm. Pants tugged low, I pressed against her hairy pussy lips. Enlaced fully clothed, but inside, raw connection. Slow thrust in, her walls gripping. Pubes met. Slow pumps built to frenzy. I gasped, she stifled moans, clutching shoulders. Climax hit—me flooding her, her scream echoing across ice plains.
The Instant
Sated, fused five minutes. Pulled out, dressed quick against cold. Back to station, Franck asked— she beamed, all perfect. Alone later, showering, I stroked memories, cock rising again. Night kitchen run—bumped her post-toilet. She pulled me to her room. Tops off. Black bra sheer, nipples dark. Mine sucked her freed heavy tits, licking, biting. ‘You love my tits?’ ‘Fuck yes.’ Pants down, red lace string—trimmed bush, swollen mound. Turned her, tongue from anus to clit, her cries wild. ‘Eat me! Fuck me now!’
She impaled on my cock, legs wrapped, riding savage—twisting, grinding. Gland battered her depths. Hands on ass, two hard thrusts—exploded together, collapsing short of bed.
Morning, her queenly gaze. I left, slept day away. Innocence gone. That raw first thrust outside broke me open—nerves to ecstasy. Now, just savor the trace, no more chase.
