Stepping off the Air France Airbus in Reykjavik, June sun high but air biting cold. I zip my coat, drag my rolling suitcase through empty customs. There she is: Martha, tanned Icelandic firecracker in pink tank top, bare arms, wild blonde hair under that ridiculous Peruvian hat. She waves wildly, huge grin splitting her face.
I rush over. She lunges, lips smashing mine—plump, silky. Tongue dives in, electric jolt shoots down my spine, straight to my cock. I drop my bag, grab her waist, grind against her. Hard-on throbs, no hiding it. We kiss for minutes, breathless. Hall empties. Desk girls giggle, customs guys elbow-laugh.
The Stopover: Charged Airport Reunion
Her dusty, mud-caked Land Rover waits on vast empty lot. ‘To my place in Husavik. Five hours.’ She drives left-side, cautious at first. Silence heavy. Landscape rolls: green hills, black-rock coast crashing waves, endless glaciers. No houses, just wind-whipped void.
‘The article… friends in Grenoble laughed.’ Her French perfect, pouty. Guilty pang—I published her mountain masturbation pic without asking. ‘What to forgive me?’ ‘Fell in love, Frenchie. But pay up.’
We arrive at her tiny fisherman’s shack by Husavik harbor, sun still blazing late. One room, massive mattress on floor. Door shuts, bags drop. Tongues tangle, she strips me naked fast. My cock stands rigid. I yank off her tank, shorts. We crash onto the bed.
She devours me: tongue on nipples, ears, toes, then swallows my dick. Hot mouth, swirling tongue, teeth grazing. I buck, near explosion. She stops, flips me. I worship her tits, sucking hard till she moans. Down to her soaked pussy, tongue circling clit, fingering G-spot. She yanks me up, guides me in. We fuck slow then savage, bodies slamming, cumming in screams.
The Transit: Mud-Slicked Ecstasy and Departure Heat
Morning: chaotic drive to geothermal hellscape. Cold wind, black sky. Mud pots bubble rotten-egg stink. Geyser erupts, I slip, boot in scalding mud. She laughs. ‘Mud bath time—to forgive.’ Naked, she sinks in. I hesitate, freeze in wind, then plunge. Glued thick, can’t move. She massages mud-slick tits, nipples hardening. Turns, offers ass: ‘Fuck me here.’ Fingers her tight hole, cums hard shaking.
I watch, cock stirring but trapped. She hauls me out, kisses deep, bodies sliding. Rinse in scorching hot spring—burns like hell, but her mouth revives my shrunken dick. Underwater blowjob with hot gulps: feels like fucking a steaming cunt. I explode down her throat as sun breaks.
Dry off shivering. She straddles rock jet—freezing spray. Caresses tits, offers nipples to blast. Then spreads pussy, clit out, grinds on water jet. Hips buck, screams echo as she squirts orgasm.
Back home, tender fuck. Six days like that: mud-lubed anal bliss, her wild spots. Airport goodbye: promise article approval. We meet often now. Iceland’s cold? Bundle up—but always glove that cock.