The Tempest Is Thy Namesae

Author's Note: Welcome randy reader. I am honored that you have selected my story.

I have written 'The Tempest is Thy Namesake' in three parts covering the expanding sexual explorations and experiences of Wendy Rains. I hope that my randy readers will find that each part reads well enough as a stand-alone story. For those many readers that are here to only indulge in the final adventure of a lusty young lady who finds sexual arousal in tempestuous weather, I trust you will enjoy Part 3.

Let it be said that here in Part 3, I come back to several themes that were introduced in Part 1. I believe that for the subset of my randy readers who enjoy broad character development in their erotic stories, they will find the ending of Part 3 more gratifying after having explored the awakening of Wendy's quirky sexual interests in Part 1 and followed her evolving development through Part 2.

Enjoy your randy reading - Sandy

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I was ready for a change.

I was ready to expand my horizons beyond my Midwestern roots.

I was ready for a new life in a new place.

I was ready to explore and fully embrace my weather-induced quirky, flirty and dirty personality trait. I had accepted the strange twist of fate that came with the name of Wendy Rains. The meteorological pun in my name gave me an intimate connection with the weather; I identified myself as Wendy of the wind and I was Rains of the thunderstorm. The approach of nasty weather would transform Wendy Rains from a modest and circumspect young woman to a brazen, lustful she-devil with an alternate personality that I knew as Stormy. Nasty weather brought Stormy out from her hiding place in the dark, psychological shadows of my soul. My storm-driven sexual identity was all about the weather.

Graduation from the university brought an offer of an excellent position with a good firm headquartered locally, which I was pleased to accept. After several months I was offered a chance to staff a new district office that would be opening in Austin, Texas. I consider my options and it didn't take me long and accept the transfer with enthusiasm. I was ready for a change.

My decision to change my location and my life had much to do with a memory of a lecture from my freshman Introduction to Meteorology course. I remembered a lecture discussing the reasons for frequent hurricanes and severe weather outbreaks in the southern U.S. along the Gulf of Mexico. I remembered that lecture because I was quite sexually aroused by my fantasy of being fucked by a mysterious storm-lover at the height of an intense Gulf Coast tempest. I had discretely rubbed and played with myself in the lecture hall as I fantasized about stormy sex while the professor droned on about tropical depressions and ocean water temperatures.

My meteorology class not only connected me with the science of the weather but also connected me with a very personal and intimate quirk of my body. My female sex organs could detect coming atmospheric disturbances by the throbbing of my vagina, by my swollen and puffy labia and a pumped up sensitivity in my nipples as they firmed in erotic anticipation of nasty weather. The approach of violent weather changed me into a howling sex-fiend demanding orgasmic satisfaction during the height of severe weather.

I would take the transfer to Texas, knowing Texas was one of those southern states that had a coastline along the Gulf of Mexico. Austin was not a coastal city, but I reasoned it had to be close enough to the Gulf to see some of that extreme weather. This transfer to Austin offered me the opportunity to live in a place subject to sexually thrilling meteorological events. For me, it was all about the weather - and the sex.

Austin is a town with a vibrant social scene and a chance for extreme weather; it was the kind of place made for Wendy Rains -- and her lusty alter ego, Stormy. When those fierce and exciting Texas-sized storms came billowing over the horizon, I would welcome them and the change they would bring to my freakish weather-driven sexual personality. A big-as-Texas storm would fit well with my super-charged craving for a storm lover who would fuck me as hot as blue lightning and pound me as furious as Texas thunder. If my storm lover happened to be a long, tall Texan, all the better.

I was in a new town. I was a new woman in a new town. I was young, professional and intelligent with an excellent career and now was the time for me to unfurl my wings and work on my new identity as a storm-chasing seductress. I loved the idea of enticing the right man to find me at my moment of weakness and make passionate love to me at the height of torrid weather. I was ready to work with Stormy and let our chosen man catch us and fill us with steamy satisfaction in an electrified storm-driven tryst.

My first summer in Austin brought heat, humidity and exciting news. A tropical depression was developing in the Gulf and the weather models showed it had a good chance of making landfall along the Texas coast as a hurricane.

This tropical depression was anything but depressing for me; I was getting that edgy, wound up feeling. A distant throbbing in my girl parts came from just thinking about what might happen if that hurricane blew ashore south of here. The forecast held out the possibility of severe weather with an elevated chance of tornados. These were my elements. I reminded myself, I am Wendy, queen of the wind and I am Rains, empress of the thunderstorm.

A girl has to have the proper outfit for the occasion. In Texas, she has to be ready for any kind of weather; I was told shortly after my arrival in the Lone Star State, "If you don't like the weather in Texas - wait five minutes, it'll change."

Listening to the forecast, this girl would have to be ready for some stormy Texas weather in the coming days. As I considered what my proper, new storm-chaser wardrobe should be, I had to smile to myself; remembering how I had been shy and reluctant to wear those sexy black bikini panties up until my first experience with Bridgette's dildo in that wild storm-ravaged orgasm extravaganza five years ago. I also had fond memories of the indigo tie-dyed bra and panty set, too bad I only wore those panties once before they were lost to the whirling wind at the picnic pavilion. I had matured in my sexual confidence since my university days. My lady parts were agitated and getting hot and bothered with the possibilities of severe weather headed in my direction. I was ready to leap out into the storm-tossed world as a big girl.

Walking into a lingerie shop, I tried to exude more confidence than I actually felt; feeling a little naughty and shy in my plans to dress the part of a seductress in a raging downpour. I settled on a feminine, lacy look; buying my first thong and first corset.

While trying on my selected lingerie, I found the contrast between the two garment's coverage to be a unique and thrilling feeling. I felt rather exposed down below with my thong and so covered up above with the corset's fabric embracing my ribs, lifting and launching my boobs like bulbous weather balloons. The shimmery silver, silken fabric gave me a classy sheen like a cumulus cloud dazzling in the bright sun. The silver corset made my bosom jut out seductively above my trim waist, giving me a silhouette reminiscent of the classic profile of an anvil-shaped thundercloud. The lace accents gave my garments the feathered edges of a fluffy cloud. I loved my new look, it made Wendy Rains feel the power of her feminine energy. I am Wendy Rains, queen of the wind and empress of the thunderstorm - and I looked the part.

My nipples became hard, rosy knobs alerting me the change in atmospheric pressure. The approaching storm system with its possible severe thunderstorms gave me a very sexy edge as I dressed in my silver and lace corset in front of my mirror. I got a thrill tucking the girls into their cups and seeing them settle into the smooth lining, sitting up high with the rigid boning lifting my round and bunched bosom high into the stratosphere. I pushed my excited nipples down just below the lace rim, feeling them get firm with my caressing attention as I hid them just barely out of sight.

The immodest amount of fabric that lay across my swelling pussy lips would be soaked by my flash flood of girly juice soon enough, ruining the lacy thong until laundry day; but all for a good cause - right Stormy?

I twirled around in front of the mirror, watching myself, trying different looks and angles of arms and legs; what pose should a seductive young woman strike? How should she walk to attract attention?

Then it struck me, in the middle of my style-show fantasy, I discovered the weak link in my plan to seduce a strange man and be taken advantage of in the middle of the onrushing tempest. I chided myself, how could I have forgotten to think this through beyond my lingerie? I was a silly, stupid girl. I should have a plan. I didn't.

Where would I go to find my lover? I had not scouted out a prospective dive. And if I had a place to haunt, once there, how does a woman find the right man? And how does she signal her desires without looking like an outright slut? Those women in the movies, they had a charming script; but me? I'd never done anything like this. I didn't know the first thing about pulling off the femme fatale persona. I was doomed. Yeah, all dressed up Wendy, but nowhere to go. Looks like I set myself up for a pity party.

I stood still before the mirror, watching my reflection slip into despair. My special opportunity was going to be spoiled. My fantasy of taking a storm lover was all for naught. Feeling half like crying, my shoulders slumped as I languished half dressed staring at my image.

I heard a voice, not audible, but an odd and strong idea floated into my mind from somewhere deep inside me. Stormy suggested, "C'mon girl, tits up! There now. Look at yourself, you look quite fetching, don't you agree? Cock your knee; throw your arse to the side. We like the way we look now, don't we? This evening will bring you into your elements, will it not? Are you not Wendy of the wind and Rains of the thunderstorm? Seize these elements girl! Make this your storm of storms. Find your lover in the tempest and find the passion that is ours by birthright. The tempest is thy namesake."

I felt Stormy's exhortation rather than hearing it; but all the same, I marched back into my buxom silhouette, twirled in confidence and purposed to follow Stormy's advice. I paused to take stock of my body's unique weather vibes; yes my nips were erect and provocative, I sensed a throbbing in the back of my vagina and my ass cheeks, bare and beautiful, felt frisky in the new silver thong. I could and would do this.

I zipped up a navy pencil skirt around my near-nude hips, selected a starched white blouse, conservative in style, leaving the top two buttons undone. I twisted my hair and rolled it up and pinned it behind my head. I looked business professional at first glance, but I hoped the open invitation of my blouse would be a hint to the discerning man of my choice that there was a party underneath. I strapped on my longest pair of heels, noticing that my hips thrust forward in a seductive tilt. And courtesy of the corset, my tits jutted out in magnificent proportions, my tight cleavage visible, yet subtly displayed.

Stormy was ready to step out and hunt for possibilities on the town. I looked at the sky, it was dark slate blue. It looks like nasty weather was on the way. I was happy.

A smart girl would take her umbrella with her.

A clever girl would not mind being caught in the rain without an umbrella and having her white blouse turned semi-transparent.

A naughty girl would not mind being caught in the rain, and then caught in the arms of a passionate storm-lover.

A very naughty girl just might find herself enjoying a thunderous pounding as her storm lover struck with his lightning-filled rod over and over into her thirsty cleft.

Stormy was ready to see what we could make happen under these conditions. It looked like rain was on its way. I stepped with a brisk stride to my car, leaving my umbrella behind. I'm happiest when it rains.

I found a parking spot a few blocks away from the well-trod, tourist-infested entertainment district around Sixth Street. Under the heavily clouded late afternoon sky, I wandered some of the backstreets hoping to find a spot to connect fantasy with reality. I envisioned my fantasy tryst unfolding before the evening crowds filled up these watering holes.

My instincts took me away from the trendy bar and restaurant scene and toward a neighborhood of older homes. I strolled not knowing what I was trolling for; I'll know it when I see it, seemed to be Stormy's attitude.

At the edge of a neighborhood of dilapidated wooden houses where it became a block of brick industrial buildings from a bygone era, there was an old, red brick converted machine shop. Hanging above the weathered wooden door, the simple neon sign glowed, 'Blue Norther'.

I knew it as soon as I saw it. Stormy whispered, "First impressions - tits up girl. Let's go." I pulled on the heavy door; the wind gust that had just blown up made the effort difficult. I made my entrance. The die had been cast. Let the good times roll.

Two men were slouched over the bar in the dim light filtering through the high transom windows, their elbows bearing their relaxed posture. By the looks of their attire, they'd finished a day of physical labor. The door lingered open, held ajar by the gust. The glinting light of the low, late afternoon sun streamed below the dark clouds and through the open door into the darkened interior. The shaft of light filling the open door frame behind me illuminated the floor under my high heels like a theatrical spotlight. Gripped with stage fright, I froze.

The heads of the Blue Norther's only two customers turned in my direction after a swig of their beers. I had an instant pang of regret; was this really such a great idea? The guys stared at me; the wind kicked up dust and debris and blew it across the floor where it swirled at my ankles. I went stupid with indecision, holding the door open with my right hand behind me. I feared I had made a serious miscalculation. This time my libido and Stormy had taken it too far.

"Hey, hey, hey. Lookie what the wind just blew through our door, eh?" One of the fellows in a sweat-stained t-shirt dropped both of his work boots off his barstool onto the rough planks of the hardwood floor, standing to face me. He pushed his cap back from his matted blond bangs pasted to his brow with dried sweat. "I'll make sure I can find some room for you around here," he swept his arm through the empty joint. "It's yer lucky day, there just happens to be a seat available next to me." His sweeping arm stopped and pointed at the barstool next to his.

The oval patch sewn above the left breast pocket of his drinking buddy read 'Clive'; Clive straightened up, extending his invitation to me as well. "Well little missy, just don't stand there, shut the barn door behind your sweet ass and come on in here. Make yersef at home." Clive grinned, showing a gold upper front tooth surrounded by yellowed, tobacco stained teeth. The thought of getting the rare chance of hitting on a well dressed young woman on his own turf animated him in a creepy way.

"Now Clive, behave yourself proper. We's got a classy young lady come visitin' us. You can't just be invitin' our young missy to make herself at home, no dude, you got to treat woman folk like this with fine respect." He pulled out the stool next to his and made a show of dusting off the seat. "Miss, I'd be honored to have you as my guest; please take this here humble throne. What's your pleasure this afternoon missy?"

"Hell. She don't want to sit next to a filthy slob like you Clint. You smell bad and you look a hell of a lot worse than you smell." Clive chuckled at his clever insult which he had just delivered to Clint. Clive took a step back and pulled the stool next to him away from the bar, sweeping his hands in an invitation for me to take the alternate seat next to him.

Clint, having been insulted in front of an attractive woman of his interest, bowed up. He moved to stand behind the stool that he'd offered me while blocking access to Clive's offered seat. "It ain't what's on the outside that maketh a man unclean, but that which proceedeth from within that maketh him unclean. That's in the Bible, Clive; I guaran-damn-tee it. You can look it up, you mother fuckin' son of a bitch sinner.

Clive snickered, "Jeez H. Christ Clint; where'd you get off thumpin' me with your Bible words. Jesus ain't never goin' have time for a stinky piece of shit like you. Fuck off Clint. I ain't no more of a sinner than you is. But the natural fact is, I look and smell a whole lot better than you Clint." Clive again chuckled, shook his head slowly, thinking he'd once again gotten the better of Clint with his rehashed insults.

This is not where I wanted to be. Yet, I did not slip out the door in the middle of Clint and Clive's exchange of insults. I hesitated. I regained my wits and was about to leave when both men noticed my body language and walked over to me. Clive pulled the door so that it came out of my hand and shut behind me. Clive swung in behind, taking a stance with his arms folded across his chest in front of the door handle. Clint got close to me, looked me up and down, keeping his eyes on my displayed cleavage for obvious reasons.

Without lifting his eyes, Clint spoke to my tits, "Please excuse the crude words of the low class clientele that unfortunately sometimes sneaks into this otherwise fine, wholesome establishment." Clive was about to let go another retort, but Clint held up his hand to silence his outburst. "As I was saying Miss, before our polite conversation was so rudely interrupted; c'mon over and have a seat. What'll it be? My treat. My pleasure to have the company of a classy lady." Clint raised his gaze to my eyes as he finished his invitation.

"I hope you weren't thinkin' of leavin' just now - were you?" Clive sneered as he stood between me and the door. The first outer rain bands of the hurricane approaching the coast hurled heavy drops against the high, narrow windows. The glass plinked and the roof beams creaked. "Cause little miss, I don't think this is the kind of weather a young lady should be caught outside in. It's lookin' kind of bad out there 'bout now. I suggest you take this port in a storm. Wouldn't you agree Clint?"

Clint put his hand on the back of my shoulder, guiding me to the far end of the bar where he intended me to sit next to him. Once I took a step in the direction that Clint directed me, Clive came around to my other side and walked close to me, placing his hand at the small of my back as he ogled my cleavage. "Now you ain't expectin' to meet anyone here, is you?" Asked Clive as he was sizing up the situation and looking for an advantage.

Clint offered, "We don't often get such pretty visitors at the Blue Norther. Makes me more than a little curious as to how you come to drop in here." Clint kept his hand on my shoulder, panning across the fabric to feel me and see if he could detect a bra strap. "You know what else has got me kind of curious right now? Are them knockers natural and how do you make them look so good? Whatcha got going on underneath that shirt?"

Clive dropped his hand from the small of my back to grope my butt. "Careful there Miss," the two guided me onto the barstool, "I'd hate to see you tip over, yer lookin' a might top heavy with them high angle titties balancing above them shoes." Clive pulled his hand off my butt just before I sat on it.

The bartender came out of the backroom, walking to his station behind the bar. He looked at me and the situation, "Ma'am, are you all right? I can get you a ride if you're not comfortable. Your call. What are you thinking?"