Tamara and I had looked forward to our summer vacation at the North Carolina shore for months. We had both been under a lot of strain with my deadlines at work and her pressures with starting her home business. The weather cooperated with sunny, warm days and cool nights punctuated by the salty, refreshing breezes coming off the ocean. We spent long, lazy, romantic hours strolling along the beach barefoot, feeling the sun's lulling warmth on our shoulders, watching the long deep swells of the quiet Atlantic. A few times we went on bicycle trips through the quaint, picturesque harbor town of Chincoteague, admiring the sloops with their crisp white sails and the old fashioned shops and romantic cafes that lined the cobbled streets. It was the perfect time to reaffirm the deep love we felt for one another and rekindle the sensual and erotic feelings we had let lapse somewhat.
One day, while driving in the car from a deliciously fresh chicken salad lunch on the opposite side of the peninsula, we passed through an idyllic Southern pine forest and Tamara, being the nature girl that she is, insisted that we stop for a look. It was a gloriously beautiful day and we strolled about the lush glades and burbling brooks, her soft, warm hand in mine, her head resting upon my shoulder. My Tamara is one special lady. She has the thickest, most sensuous strawberry blond hair, usually drawn up short but on that day she let it tumble down in a cascade of glossy curls, a few precious ringlets curling about her cheeks. Her immaculate skin is rosy, accentuating the enticing allure of her full figured body. The tiny sapphires she wears in her ears and at her throat pale in comparison to the glittering luminescence of her sparkling blue/green eyes, so deep yet so vulnerable, the windows to her soul, the reflections of her heart. My God, I do love that woman!
We came to a secluded little pond and rested there, our bare feet wiggling in the cool water, tossing pebbles, giggling and laughing, talking about her, me, us. I cannot imagine how long we sat there chatting and reminiscing; but it came as a shock to feel a chill bite to the suddenly blustering winds. Looking up, we were pretty much shocked to see our perfect day was now marked by slate-gray skies with dark, threatening clouds building up just off the coast. It was quite obvious that there was a very turbulent storm rumbling up the seashore. While Tamara and I didn't want to break up our little sojourn, those thunderheads were looking almost vicious, bringing up an almost palpable tension in the air. We raced for the car, but even as we slammed shut the doors to the Blazer, the rain was falling in sporadic, heavy drops, splashing dully upon the roof in a slow, mounting rhythm of sorts.
Before Tamara and I became lovers, I thought that I knew her really well, but I soon found out that there are things that invoke seething lust in my lovely lady other than a man's broad chest, tight buns or a thick, meaty penis. Some women get in the mood for sex by simply listening to soft music or by dressing in sexy lingerie, but for her it takes something else to put her hormones in a tizzy and make her cunny crawl with arousal - listening to the rain. I was the first man she ever confided her particular turn-on to and I could tell by the way she kept blushing and the naked look in her eyes that she was entrusting me with something highly cherished, profoundly intimate. I know that she still thinks it's childish but trust me, there is nothing childish about her on a rainy day: She is an insatiably horny woman!
Needless to say, I was intrigued by this unique side of Tamara's sexuality and gently drew out more details. One day we were talking about our earliest experiences with masturbation and she told me that even as a young girl, the rain was special. She had her bedroom in the loft of an A-framed house and the patter of the falling rain would calm her and put her in a dreamy state. Only many years later did she realize that what she had thought was a mystical trance was actually sexual arousal. Even now, she tells me that the rain is like making love; just imagine a drizzle as comparable to gentle, romantic sex, while a full-blown storm is the equivalent to wild, hot, steamy fucking. "It's the sound they make," she'll whisper if we are in bed and she starts hearing the drops falling.
Over the years, I've learned to welcome the onset of a storm because of how much it heightens Tamara's passion and desire. Whenever an azure sky turns a dirty white, blending with dull clouds, she inevitably finds me, if I'm at home, and we begin to fondle one another. And when the lightning is flashing all around us and the thunder is coming in rolling crashes, something extraordinary happens. The sun maybe shining on another part of the world, but it certainly doesn't see my frantic lover going absolutely crazy-horny over wild sex with the sound of the rain punctuating her every moan, grunt, whimper, shriek and scream.
You know all those stories that start with, "It was a dark and stormy night"? Well, as I began driving the Blazer back to our motel, this was the real thing, sans the night; although, the sky was becoming so dark it might as well have been. The rain was really coming down, glittering, translucent sheets that pounded relentlessly onto the car. I cannot say, as I was surprised when Tamara's hands moved down to cup her full breasts, shuddering at her own touch. She's told me many times that to her that unique sound dances out a delicious little rhythm on her clit and her nipples. A quick glance at her braless blouse showed her pinkish points poking shamelessly against the flimsy cotton. My cock surged in response, getting ready for the hot sex we would most definitely be having once we got to the motel room.
Usually by this point, Tamara's hands would be all over me, but the intensity of the storm was growing dangerous. Instead, she simply hiked her skirt and drew her panties to the side, exposing a moist delta of tangled curls and sensitive fleshy pink lips for her stroking fingers. I groaned, knowing how awful the driving was; but unable to keep the intensely erotic scene of my girl parting her beckoning tender flesh so she could stimulate herself to the very core of her cunny. Despite the fact that I was probably tailgating the guy in front of me in hopes that he was more familiar with the landscape, I couldn't tear my eyes away from Tamara as she played with her juicy cunny. Her teeth were nipping the fullness of her lower lip while she rubbed at the morsel of her clit with blissful abandon. It was a unique mixture of relief and frustration when we pulled into The Surfside, our motel, and knew we'd have to finish it a little later.
We grabbed the essentials from our car and ran through the steady downpour toward our separate bungalow. Glancing over at her as I fumbled with the door key, Tamara was absolutely drenched, bedraggled, dripping wet, but gorgeous, to me, with her remarkably long, light eyelashes and her soaked blouse clinging to her breasts. She was panting heavily, not caused by our mad dash for cover as evidenced by her ripe nipples, firm and stiff, sticking out like tiny buds. There was a saucy wiggle to her cute ample tush as she sauntered into our room.
It really was a nice place. The bed was very generously sized with thick blankets and fluffy pillows. The pictures hung on the wall in oak frames, all done in a lighthouse motif, and there was a large vanity dresser. Tamara tossed her purse down on top of it, making her way towards the large and spacious bathroom on the other end of the room. I heard her turn on the full-size walk-in shower and thought about joining her but I found myself caught up by the expansive, panoramic view of the ocean afforded by the wraparound windows and the balcony beyond. It was like that from bow of a ship fighting the angry North Atlantic. I had never been at the shore when a true Nor'easter roared through like this. Huge waves rose, crested and attacked like charging beasts, the sound reverberating up there, a good hundred yards distant. It was an awe-inspiring sight.
I don't know how long I stood there watching the breath-taking spectacle of nature as if it were playing for an audience of one. I even forgot what sort of effect it would have on Tamara until she approached the sliding glass doors for a better view. She was completely nude and the sight of her naked form standing there against the harsh backdrop of the storm was something to behold. The soft light of the room against the gathering gloom outside put her in an intriguing silhouette. Soft shadows played over the flowing curve of her back, tapering into an attractive, to me, full waist. Her hips swelled smoothly out, the rounded mounds of her rump growing out shapely and firm.
Seemingly oblivious to her own nakedness, as well as me, she listened intently to the rain, moving her body to the simple rhythm, bouncing her finger in the air to keep time. She didn't turn but I knew she could feel my admiring gaze. To me, there is nothing sexier than looking at the woman I love in her natural state, to allow myself to fall to the seductive allure of soft, sensuous, voluptuous curves and silky-warm flesh that drives this man wild. Tamara, acting upon her vixen-like impulses, pressed her hands to the glass and leaned forward until her nipples touched the cold, clear wall that shielded her from the rain, enjoying this little show just as much as I.
.... There is more of this story ...