The Tempest is Thy Namesake Pt. 01

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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 believe that each part reads well enough as a stand-alone story. So, if you are here for the wet and juicy exploratory masturbation experiences of a young lady, I trust you will enjoy Part 1.

For that subset of randy readers who enjoy a broader sweep of character development; Wendy Rains is just getting ‘warmed up’ in Part 1 for her later sexual explorations. If you find this young lady’s quirky love of tempestuous sex during a storm compelling, I encourage you to follow Wendy Rains into her Erotic Coupling adventures in Parts 2 and 3.

Enjoy your randy reading – Sandy


What’s in a name?

If mother and father had given me another name would the course of my life have flowed in a different direction?

Can there be something within our given name that congers mystic forces which weave and wrinkle the fabric of our destiny?

I have pondered these questions and wondered if I am bound to my fate by the mere sound that crosses the lips and tongue as my name is bespoken into a human ear? Or, does the arrangement of letters on a page that so marks my identity predestine my choices?

What’s in a name? Shakespeare’s tragic Juliet asks this question along with me; fair Juliet’s answer is ‘That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet’. Juliet believed that a given name is inconsequential. I do not share Juliet’s belief. No, I know there is power in a name. Our identity is not a trifle; to speak a name is to breathe into existence that person so named. Do we exist without being known? Can we exist without being named? I believe not.

A name carries consequences. I am convinced.

What am I to believe about how I was named Wendy Rains and the life path chosen for me by that name? My parents did not name me to be mocked or to be a joke on the middle school roll sheet — no, they did not think like that. They liked the name and so they bestowed it upon me at my birth; oblivious to its amusing catch phrase or to its consequences. It was my classmates who found the pun in my name. I had been christened with a pun and fortune chose to either smile or snicker, I knew not which. As Wendy Rains, my fate was to be intertwined with the tempest, I was the namesake of a meteorological phenomena.

It’s windy, It’s raining, It’s pouring, It’s Wendy Rains and she’s snoring, She bumped her head and went to bed, And couldn’t get up in the morning!

Dean had inserted my name into the childhood ditty at the bus stop as we huddled out of the wet weather. Every kid on the bus was delighted to join the mocking chorus. Dean’s lyrics were an irresistible pun sung at the expense of a shy fourth grade girl. All of Miss Mortensen’s class was chanting its sing-song lyrics as our teacher walked down the hall to open the classroom door. To my classmates my name lent novelty that seemed ever so clever when fitted to a delightfully cruel rhyme. To her credit, Miss Mortensen caught the sharp edged words as they were slung at me while I stood against the wall, silent before my tormentors. She lit into her students, admonishing them to stop and think about how they’d feel if the whole class was to make fun of them. The door was opened and my classmates filed inside, quiet and chastened, but I think not shamed. Those cutting words that are the searing brand of a grade school mob, had opened my eyes to my unique moniker. Because of my name, I had been singled out and taunted. My world and my life changed that rainy day. Being named Wendy Rains brought the new knowledge that my identity was seen as funny; exposing me to the smirking mocks of my peers.

Because my name made me a pun on the weather, I discovered on that cold blustery fourth grade morning that my conscience was jarred and thrust onto a strange and different path. The taunting barbs belittling my name stung my feelings. In my embarrassment I found a resilient character beneath the surficial nettling; I embraced my identity. In a quiet, yet strong voice I declared to myself, I am Wendy Rains. The weather is my namesake, the wind is mine and the rain is mine. There is power in my name; I am Wendy of the wind, I am Rains of the rainstorm. Do not mock me for I am resolute and I feel my destiny in these elements. Those were my feelings, if not my words, that came to me in Miss Mortensen’s class as the storm buffeted our classroom window and prevented us from going outside for recess.


I learned to watch the sky and I grew to associate stirrings in my mind and my body with the changes I observed above me. I became excited when I felt the wind pick up, longing for it to bring rain; heavy, frog-strangling, pouring cats-and-dogs kind of rain. This was my weather. I was happiest when it rained.

My body matured and my mind connected the changing nuances of my mood and body with the changing casino oyna weather. I loved the storms. I knew I was different in the way that I felt about stormy weather. Most people found it depressing. I found exhilaration in the tempestuous forces of a dynamic weather front splintering the sky.

During a violent electrical storm one night, my younger sister fled in terror from our room to the safety of our parent’s bed. Left alone, I felt a strange welling of sensation beneath my nightgown. The intensity of the storm brought a rising intensity within me. I was compelled by the rattling of my bedroom windows to rattle and explore my novel sensation at my core. I first awakened to my sexual feeling at the height of a thunderstorm.

From deep within I knew that my maturing body and my maturing understanding of myself was intimately involved with the weather. I was in the wind and I was in the rain. I was Wendy Rains and my identity was in the storm.

A change in atmospheric conditions brought on a change in my moods, I was a different person on stormy days. When I mentioned this feeling to my friends they told me it had nothing to do with the weather. My friends chided me for my naiveté, “We all pretty much go through this every month. Didn’t you pay attention to ‘The Talk’ in seventh grade Wendy?” I knew it was more than that for me, but I kept it to myself. It was different for me. When the weather was about to take a turn toward the damp and dismal, I found myself edging into an excited nervousness. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but I understood my mind and body were influenced by the weather unlike anyone else. I was different. I feared I was a freak.

Leaving home for the University gave me the chance to explore my personality. Foremost in these thoughts of self-exploration was the question; who is Wendy Rains and what is her connection with the weather? I made mental notes on my emotions and their surging flows of heightened restlessness which corresponded to changes in storm patterns. My weather related mood swings were apparent to my new university friends and I shouldn’t have been surprised to have picked up the nickname ‘Stormy’.

In my second quarter I had to fill some of my General Ed requirements and for my science course. I chose the obvious, meteorology. The professor was quick to acknowledge the pun of having Wendy Rains enrolled in his Introduction to Meteorology 401 course and made sure his lectures took full advantage of the humor found in my name. In return, I embraced the attention and grew in confidence of my mysterious harmony with atmospheric phenomena. The science of barometric pressure, warm and cold fronts and the serpentine shifting of the jet stream confirmed that my body was prescient in its ability to forecast weather shifts as accurately as the professor’s instruments. I was most sensitive to drops in barometric pressure, a harbinger of the coming storm.

I had the science to now connect the changes in the atmosphere with those strange shifts in feeling that had long come over me. Out of the blue, it struck me; the name, the weather, the ecstasy of a powerful storm, the welling up of those intense feelings at my center, a stormy personality – they were all connected. I realized it was sexual. I could feel a coming storm in my loins. The fair weather Wendy Rains was a mild mannered young lady, circumspect in her personal choices and subdued in her behavior. The ‘Stormy’ Wendy Rains was a frenzied and horny creature with a sexual appetite that roared with the thunder and my pussy flashed heated pangs of lust with the white hot heat of a lightning bolt.

I had solved my private mystery. Those weird thoughts and freaky feelings that lurked deep inside me had a cause. I became sexually charged and sexually changed with an approaching storm. Wendy Rains secretly harbored an alter ego, a buried persona. I named this hidden, lusty sexual side of me after my nickname, she was Stormy. Stormy was the manifestation of my secret bad girl desires driven out of hiding by severe weather. Stormy is a naughty girl and she wants to come out and play in the rain. Stormy craves sensual experiences in foul weather. Stormy imagines she’d love to be fucked hard like a bad girl during bad and nasty weather.

Once I realized that Stormy was the personification of the hidden, sexual creature inside of me; the question was, do I dare let such a ravenous bad girl come out to play? Wendy Rains was apprehensive about meeting the Stormy alter ego dwelling inside. As I looked in my mirror one morning, I called her by her name. From the speaking of her name out loud, Stormy’s existence was now established. To speak a name is to breathe life into the one named. Stormy was a part of me now. Stormy was real. Stormy scared me. Stormy excited me.

What had I done? Someday, Stormy will have to emerge from the psychological shadows within me and I tremble at what she will demand of me. My fears mixed with my warming excitement as I realized that the temptation to give my body over to Stormy canlı casino would be irresistible for me. Some day Stormy would lead me into the tempest. I knew that. I was frightened of that coming day of fury when the violent heavens would open and I would come face-to-face with the part of me that rode on dark clouds, driven by windblown lust, in search of a storm-lover. The thought of this side of me emerging and forcing me to drink in the raging storm; mixing the sky’s turbulence with my young, awakening sexual energy unnerved me. I was terrified. I was thrilled.

There was a crawling tingle between my legs; a storm was brewing beyond the horizon. If I was still and listened, there was the beat of a distant drum pounding a faint rhythm at my core. I knew the throbbing would get stronger and fill my intimate void. I knew I would feel the vibrations grow within my hidden feminine recess. The approaching storm would arouse me, my clitoris would grow hard with the edgy sensitivity of a lightning rod perched high in a thunderstorm. I was aware that my nipples had grown tense and erect with the change in the climatic elements. My nipples were not capable of relaxing into their fair weather ease of unobtrusive existence; they were at attention. I was aware of their rigid presence as they pushed hard into my cups, sending small waves of pleasure through my tits as they rubbed against my bra’s fabric. I was changing. For the first time I knew what this all meant; I craved to be thunderstruck with a bolt of hot lust and to explode and shake with sky-wrenching orgasms under the coming storm.

I could feel my sexual arousal growing heated. My pussy was getting humid, anticipating the storm front arriving. I could feel the rumbling between my labia. I was detecting the distant thunder with my sensitive flesh attuned to the elements. When this storm arrives tomorrow, I will be frantic to masturbate my buzzing clit and inflict some naughty nipple play to accentuate my pleasure during the storm. My intuition told me that the front would roll through early evening tomorrow. It would be Friday, that was good; I only had one morning class. The problem was my three suitemates; I wanted to indulge myself in a raging, tempestuous, orgasmic extravaganza – but not in front of everyone.

“Hey Wendy, guess what? We all got a last minute invitation to Kyle’s parent’s lake house for the weekend. Do you want to come on up with us?” My suitemate Betsy was excited to skip her studies and party with the gang. Betsy enthusiastically recruited the rest of us gaggle of girls to join her at the lake.

“Thanks Bets, that’s real sweet of Kyle. Sounds like a lot of fun, but I really have to get some studying done. Sorry, maybe next time.” I was thrilled that my suitemates would clear out in time for my masturbation extravaganza. This was the opportunity for which I’d hoped. But I also feared this moment; was this the time for Wendy Rains to let nasty Stormy come out and play? I was giddy with excitement to embrace the sensual, storm-agitated sexy Wendy Rains. I was ready to finally meet the sensual woman hidden inside of me for all of these years. I was ready for Stormy to make her debut and to make my acquaintance.

I returned from class and was making myself lunch as my three suitemates were jostling for space in front of the mirror, meticulously checking their casual looks before they dashed out the door for Kyle’s lake house party. “Sure you don’t want to come Wendy? There’s always studying, but there’s not always a chance to party with these guys. We got room in the car Wendy.”

“You guys go ahead. I really need to get a grip on some stuff here this weekend. Give my regrets to Kyle, he’s so sweet.” I waved then off from the doorway. I was excited to see then leave. This was going to work out well for all of us.

I parted the blinds covering the big picture window in our living room and threw a couple of large, overstuffed pillows on the floor under the window. I lay on my back to watch the afternoon skies. I was alone with my private thoughts and feelings. The dark clouds built up from a hazy gray, growing into an ominous black that blocked the lowering sun. I love the feeling of the gathering storm. I am happiest when it rains. This time I planned to enjoy the storm as I had never done before. From all that I had recently figured out about myself, this storm would bring out a sultry, indulgent orgasmic sensuality — if I let it. I felt the anxiety of a schoolgirl waiting for her first date as I waited for the nasty weather to come calling.

My usual pre-storm edginess was heightened as I let my thoughts drift while I dipped into my deepening sexual anticipation, which brought small ripples of pleasure that lapped onto the shores of my consciousness. The churning and throbbing inside me had been rising for about a day with this storm’s approach. I could feel my vulva had become flush, the flesh between my thighs filled with warm blood, making my labia puffy and giving my strides across campus a subtle, voluptuous feel.

I kaçak casino imagined that my pussy was a ripening peach bursting with sweet juices that would trickle out the moment it was plucked. The rounded fullness of my breasts had recently filled out so that they hung with some heft in my palms when I cupped them, lifting them in private exploration of their soft, warm feminine form in front of my mirror. If I teased the girls with a firm exploring touch, their tips would grow sensitive and rise into my fingertips with an aching pleasure. My pinky twins, when prompted, would gain stature and become bossy and hard, dominating my topless profile with their extended posture — which I believed to be superior in length to most other girls. They rose skyward, proud and dark pink, from the dome of my upturned breasts like finely tuned antennae, sensitive and pricking in their perception of the changing atmosphere. I admired my nipples, thinking they were awfully cute in the way they defied gravity as they strained towards the heavens from their bases of small, rose colored areolas.

Since yesterday my nipples had grown stiff, alerting me to the coming storm. In my nether region I felt the tightening coil of arousal wringing precipitation from my throbbing vagina, moistening my panties ahead of the coming rains.

I had the uneasy sense that I was about to be swept away from my moorings and transformed into a new sexual creature as I awaited the storm’s arrival. I had the silly idea that a girl on the edge of such a transformation should be dressed appropriately to meet her new self.

I left my place in front of the big window and went to search for the right things to wear before I undressed and masturbated to orgasm. I was disappointed in my lingerie choices, which were mostly mundane cotton underwear. Stormy would demand to be outfitted in sexier apparel, not the tired selection offered by the contents of my top drawer. I shed my jeans and conservative, collared shirt as I riffled through my wardrobe. My bras were nothing if not functional. I had nothing that would pass for a sexy, dressy ensemble for my tits; too bad, they deserved better. Better off not to bother with a bra. No need to restrain the girls tonight. Let them ride bold and bare into the coming fury with pride and their perky presence.

I stripped out of my pale pink cotton panties, well dampened by my gathering excitement, letting them fall to the bedroom floor. I discovered a pair of black silky bikini panties hidden in the back of my knickers drawer with little red bows at the hips and a lacy appliqué above the crotch. I’d forgotten about these; I’d been too embarrassed to wear them — until now. I let the slinky feel of the black satin play across my fingers as I fondled the fabric, rubbing it over my cheeks, sending ripples of excitement through my nips and down to my hips. My naughty-girl secret panties were cool, smooth and sexy.

I pulled them up over my buttocks and thrilled at their tight, sensuous embrace as the elastic snapped around my waist and thighs. I had to rub my fingers across my ass to feel how slinky and sexy I’d become. I then ran my fingers around my hips, down the front lace and poked my finger at the luxurious fabric above where my clit was hidden inside my labia. I pressed firmly as I held my hand still, sending out circles of heat though my pussy. I let up from the pleasure of the pressure, letting my finger glide over the black cloth at the crotch and slowly down my groove, christening my virgin pair of sexy black panties in my girly juices. I twirled around in the hallway mirror, feeling slinky and excited. I gave my buns a little spanking because I looked and felt like a bad girl.

I skipped back into my room and slipped into a pleated plaid skirt, throwing a white button down blouse over my naked titties. I tucked the blouse in tight and looked approvingly at the protruding tent-shaped contours behind my blouse’s breast pockets. Damn Wendy, those long bossy nipples do make for a sexy look if I do say so myself. I imagined myself running through the imminent downpour, getting soaked through to the skin as my white blouse was plastered skin-tight and transparent to my boobs. The sexy contours of my titties would be shown off to the voyeuristic delight of everyone foolish enough to be outside as I skipped through the puddles. It was a turn-on for me to think of turning heads with my wet titties bouncing in a rainstorm. The idea of indulging my sexual desires in the middle of what was looking like an intense electrical storm made me a little nutty, and no doubt I was feeling a little slutty.

Feeling slutty, I gave into the temptation to do things I had never done before. I had the urge to snoop in my suitemate’s rooms. At the bottom of Bridgette’s lingerie drawer I found just the kind of thing I was hoping to find; a fat dildo. I wanted him at first sight. I made careful mental notes on how she had it placed, so that I could put it back without Bridgette noticing the liberties that I intended to take with her wall mounted boyfriend. He looked exceptionally large, stiff but flexible with a suction cup behind his rubber scrotum. I stared at the dildo, breathless and excited at the risky transgression I was contemplating.

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