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Subject: {GordieD}Keeping Warm in the Arctic Circle (MF Rom)
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Contains sexually explicit material
Do not read if under eighteen

E-mail comments welcome
Archiving OK


Keeping Warm in the Arctic Circle
           by Gordie D

Without even looking up at the sun, Carl knew it was time to be heading toward
home. He had brought the herd a long way to find grass, perhaps two hours, and
being caught out after dusk this far north could prove a bit hazardous,
especially if the winds picked up.

He nudged the largest of the goats in the direction of home with his staff, the
rest dutifully following. Even though there was a few hours of sunlight left it
was still bitterly cold. But it brought no moaning or cursing from Carl. He
knew the secret to thriving in cold weather was to use your mind to overcome
any discomfort you might be feeling. With a confident smile, he trudged along
the frozen plain, thinking of his beautiful wife Greta, the dinner she would
have waiting, sausage, or perhaps a beef stew, always a big cup of red wine,
and of holding her close in their warm bed that evening.

The walk back to his home was uneventful, only using his rifle a couple times
to scare off wolves, and once to kill a rabbit to bring home to his wife. He
thought of Greta, picturing her body. Actually, getting a good look at his
wife's naked body was something of a rare treat for Carl. Their lovemaking,
practically every night even though they had been married fifteen years, took
place late at night, Greta coming to bed in her heavy flannel nightie, taking
it off only after she had warmed up under the covers for a few minutes. The
only time he really got a good look at her was on the occasions he was still in
the house around midmorning. Sometimes Greta would allow herself the luxury of
a proper bath, but usually just warmed up a couple of buckets on top of the
stove and poured them into the tub in the corner of their two room cabin, and
took a quick sponge bath, standing up.

At the infrequent times Carl was around the house at this time, he would sit
down at the table with a cup of coffee or a piece of fruit, cross his legs, and
watch her. Her heavy breasts swaying and jiggling, she would briskly run the
washcloth over herself, her trim waist, the beautiful curve of her hips and
buttocks, down her strong, shapely legs. Rinsing the soap off her would reveal
the pale, smooth skin of her body, with a healthy glow to it, from lots of
fresh air and hard work around the farm.

Noticing Carl watching her, she would sigh, with good-natured exasperation,
"Honestly, am I putting on a show for you?  You are like a little boy. If I did
all my chores naked, would you watch me all day?"

"We would starve. I would never get any work done."

With a very slight smile, she would exhale impatiently. "Little boys are
punished for being so wicked. I'm not sure it wouldn't do you some good too."

"If you wish, but it will have to wait until tonight. I have a great deal of
work to do today."

She groaned, pursing her lips to keep from laughing. "What can you say to such
a foolish child . . ."

Less than a mile away now, Carl had the cabin in sight. He clapped his hands to
keep his circulation going. Whenever he caught sight of their isolated farm he
would worry about leaving his wife alone, but after a moment he would shake his
head and chuckle, thinking back. A few months ago he had been patching a hole
in the roof when he had spotted a fox trying to dig into the goats' enclosure.
He called down to his wife, who had been bringing in the laundry. Greta reached
behind the door for his rifle, aimed for no more than a second, then blew the
foxes' brains out at fifty yards. She then set the rifle back behind the door
and got back to her laundry, as though she had just shooed a fly out of the
house. The old girl could handle herself, Carl laughed.

"Sorry it couldn't be flowers or chocolates," Carl said, tossing the rabbit
carcass into the sink and giving his wife a peck on the cheek.

"Always thinking of me . . ." Greta said with a weary smile. "Dinner will not
be for a while. There is water on the stove- go take a bath. You smell like one
of your goats."

"Yes, ma'am." Soaking in the tub, Carl looked at his wife's face. Sometimes, he
thought, he took her for granted. Without a trace of makeup, her face had an
absolutely beautiful health glow to it, with a trace of red in her cheeks. Her
shining blond hair, even though it was casually braided, coiled up and pinned
to either side of her head, had the same radiance to it, as did her bright blue
eyes. She radiated beauty without trying, and seemingly without caring much
about it.

"You're really beautiful," Carl said.

"You are hoping for an apple tart after dinner, maybe?" She said skeptically.

"No, I mean it. I see these women in the city with their made up faces- they
are trying to look the way you naturally look."

"Well . . ." She blushed and looked away, "Dry yourself off. Dinner is ready."
Greta hated the way she became a bashful little schoolgirl whenever Carl
complimented her. She did try to look nice for him, though. Even at
thirty-eight, Carl still had the muscular upper body, narrow hips and flat
stomach he did when they first married, and Greta tried hard to keep her figure
as well. Her own mother, as most large breasted women did, got quite heavy as
she got older, and Greta was determined not to let this happen to her. Her
breasts weren't as high as they once were but, she thought with a little laugh,
Carl still seemed to enjoy them. She shivered as she thought of him suckling
them, running his tongue firmly around, kissing them all over, pulling the soft
flesh into his mouth. Her hips definitely had more of a curve to them, but her
husband assured her that he liked them even better this way. Assured her almost
every night, she thought with a little smile.

After dinner they both sat near the stove, Greta sewing and Carl with his
complete Shakespeare. After a while Greta noticed her husband looking at her.
"What is it now?" She asked patiently.

"I was just thinking- I seem to be getting older every year, but you stay
exactly the same." Greta shook her head, sighed, stifling a small smile, and
went back to her sewing. "I'm serious," Continued Carl. "People will think I am
your father. They will throw me in jail for living in sin with my own

"Good. Maybe then I could find somebody who isn't so foolish."

Carl laughed, then got up and kissed Greta on the forehead. "Well, the old man
is going to bed. Good night little girl."

"If only you would act a little older. I will join you in a few minutes."

In the bedroom, Carl stripped down, tossing his clothes on a chair, then turned
down the oil lamp. Stepping quickly across the freezing floor, he jumped into
bed and pulled the covers over him. After shivering for a minute he began to
warm up, then began anticipating his wives' arrival.

He saw her come into the bedroom wearing a full length nightgown, perhaps the
faded pink one. She slipped into bed and curled up, facing away from Carl. Carl
pulled her tightly against himself with the curve of her buttocks nestled into
his groin. Together, the bed became luxuriously warm.

Carl ran his hands along the curves of his wives body, over the thick flannel
of her nightgown. He felt the delightful curve going from her waist to her
hips. A squeeze of her butt always got a reaction out of her (She was a little
bit ticklish ). He felt her magnificent breasts, feeling the bump of her
nipples, growing, through the thick fabric. And that wasn't all that was
growing. Carl felt himself slowly stiffening, pressing into Greta's backside.

"Oh, Carl," Greta said bashfully, feeling his erection. Carl is such a silly
little boy, Greta thought, he probably likes me to be a bit coy and reluctant,
like he is making a conquest every night. Well, I'll play along. As long as he
makes me feel the way I do, it's worth it.

The old girl likes to make things difficult for me, thought Carl. Well, it kept
things from getting too boring or routine, even after fifteen years. I can get
her to come around. I know what she likes.

"Oh, please, stop, Carl," Giggled Greta, as Carl took her hand and put it on
his now rigid erection.

"Take off your nightgown, pussycat," He whispered.

"Oh, you are terrible," She protested in a squeaky voice. "You never seem to
get enough."

"You like it as much as I do, admit it." Snuggled under the warm bedcovers,
Carl began pulling up her gown, with Greta eventually helping, wriggling
herself around, then pulling it over her head.

He took her in his strong arms and pulled her against him, squeezing her
tightly, pushing his lips against hers' hard, kissing her. He took his arms
from around her and took one of her large, velvety soft breasts in each of his
strong, work roughened hands. Massaging them, he pushed the two squishy globes
together, sucking them, going from nipple to nipple, pulling them inside his
mouth and running his tongue around. Greta let out a deep gasp. Carl ran his
hand firmly up and down her body, gradually working toward her inner thigh. She
moaned as he rubbed in between her legs, working his finger in a bit.

"Have you been a good girl, Greta?"

"Oh, don't make me say it. You are impossible."

"You know you don't get it unless you've been good."

Greta exhaled sharply. In a mixture of annoyance and giggliness, she answered,
"All right . . . Yes, I've been a good girl." Carl disappeared under the warm
covers. Parting his wife's legs, he found her clitoris with his fingers,
massaged it a minute, then leaned in and ran his tongue around in gentle
circles. He could hear Greta's sighs from under the covers.

Greta sometimes wondered where he had learned about such things. He had spent
several years in the navy when he was young. She knew that sailors talked
constantly about women when out at sea, and she figured that was where he had
picked it up. Although Greta wouldn't have dreamed of surrendering herself to a
man outside of marriage, there were probably more than a few young girls
foolish enough to give themselves to a handsome young sailor. If Carl had
sampled a few, well, as long as he was hers alone now. As long as he was as
good at it as he was, she thought with a small wicked grin.

Carl liked to make Greta writhe around in exctacy. She always acted so sensible
and mature, working diligently all day, never thinking about herself and
scolding Carl for being foolish or frivolous. It was a treat seeing her lose
control. He knew just what she liked, exactly where, how firmly to use his
tongue, how slowly. Carl could bring Greta to a quick orgasm, but she seemed to
like him to draw it out a bit. She would moan and run her fingers through her
husband's hair as he would blow on it and suck it lightly with his lips.

As her breathing got heavier and she got close, sometimes Carl would slow back
down. "Please Carl, don't stop, don't stop," She would gasp. He liked to hear
her beg a little sometimes. Circling his tongue firmly once again, Greta would
let out a long, breathless, satisfied groan. He would continue, hearing his
wife's heavy breathing, until he felt her rub her hands in circles on both
sides of his head, the signal that she had enough.

Coming back up, Carl would always take another moment to squeeze and massage
Greta's beautiful breasts. "You are so wicked," She would say with a bashful
smile as Carl would put her hand on his erection and gently push her down
toward it.

"Stop pretending you're such a good little girl. You're just a horny little
minx, that's all you are." Under the covers, resting the side of her head on
her husbands stomach, she would bend his rigid penis toward her and very 
gently kiss the very tip of it, and stoke it slowly with her thumb and
forefinger. He was already fairly erect, but Greta knew that he could, and
would, get bigger still. She enjoyed stroking and teasing and tickling her
husband until he was wonderfully big and stiff, throbbing and eager. Being
penetrated by Carl when he was as long and thick as possible, rigid and
powerful, seemed to symbolize to Greta her husbands' strength and competence.
She dragged her lips slowly along the head of his penis and let her tongue skim
lightly along the underside. Going slowly, she knew, worked just as well as
being more vigorous, but doing it more gently meant that intercourse would last
all that much longer. Too vigorous, she remembered from early in their
marriage, could result in being surprised by a mouthful of Carl's semen.

Feeling a pat on her fanny, Greta knew that Carl was ready to get started. Now
skimming her lips along the shaft, she gave a few more gentle sucks, then
withdrew it from her mouth. His erection felt enormous in her hand, and
magnificently stiff as she gave it one final squeeze. Carl did tease her about
not admitting how much she enjoyed sex, and Greta played along with the game.
Who knows how he would react if she told him how much she really loved it, she
thought with a giggle.

Kissing her face and neck, Carl whispered in her ear, "You're a bad girl- You
want it more than anything, don't you?"

"Please, give it to me, Carl." She said breathlessly. She wasn't acting now.
Getting on top of his wife and pulling the covers tightly around them, Greta
putting her arms tightly around him, Carl poked the tip of his erect penis
around carefully till he found her snug opening. He couldn't imagine a better
feeling than when he first entered her, her vagina gently resisting initially,
then giving way, the sensitive head of his tool sliding in slowly, being
gripped by her warm softness. He liked it so much, in fact, that at the
beginning he would pull out several times, just so he would have the enjoyment
of pushing his way into her again.

"Oh, you are teasing me," Greta would whisper. He would ease his way in and out
of her slowly, making it last as long as possible, feeling her soft rounded
body against his firm, muscular body, enjoying the smell of her long silky

Occasionally they would make love in the morning, but, Carl thought, it worked
out much better in the evenings. When he would give it to her in the morning,
in his usual slow and easy manner, Greta, thinking of all the chores she had
ahead of her that day, would keep saying, "Honestly Carl, could you hurry? It
feels wonderful, but I have a great deal to do today." The old gal could be
just a little too sensible at times, Carl determined. Evenings, from now on.

His big, hard penis being massaged in Greta's snug vagina, Carl groaned in
pleasure, as did his wife. He ran his hands over one of her breasts. Her
nipples were standing out, stiff and erect, and the areolae surrounding them
was quite swollen as well. By pushing them upward he could play with them in
his mouth as he eased himself in and out of her.

Putting his arms around Greta, Carl rolled over on his back, with Greta now on
top. As he pulled the covers tightly over them, she began the slow, teasing
rhythm that she knew Carl liked.

"Oh, that feels so good," Carl sighed.

"There can't be a happier woman on earth right now," Greta whispered
breathlessly, leaning down and kissing Carl. In a moment she felt his big
erection start to throb, and, knowing his orgasm was close, increased the
rhythm slightly. Carl wrapped both his strong arms tightly around Greta,
crushing her breasts against his chest. Pumping herself up and down, she heard
Carl give out a deep, satisfied grunt, and seconds later felt his huge
throbbing erection shoot a powerful jet of semen deep inside her. She then held
still as Carl, groaning, pumped out spurt after spurt, coating Gretas' insides,
inundating her with his thick, slippery fluid.

They lay there panting, holding each other, Greta on top of Carl, for a long
time, Carl still inside of his wife. As they both drifted off, the fact that
they were in a small isolated cabin, on a frozen plain, with winds howling
around them, was the furthest thing from their minds. For all Greta and Carl
were concerned, they were lying in the warm sun of a tropical island, the blue
water of the ocean lapping at their feet.

               The End

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