Night of the Tornadoes

The following is offered with many thanks to OneSilky for the inspiration, suggestions and editing advice she provided. Enjoy. Jb7

Tempest Coney looked at the plant order in her hand, tears streaming down her face as she swore at her Pap. He expected her to harvest, package and arrange to ship 25 English boxwood plants to arrive in Rushford, Illinois by August fifth, ten days from now. He told her to do whatever was needed and just get it done.

She had graduated from high school that June, a few weeks after her nineteenth birthday. A couple of weeks later, her Mam had been called to take care of Mam's mother.

Last week, the month-long absence of Mam had finally got to Pap. He had come home Saturday, after a long afternoon of sampling a friend's sour mash, and grabbed her, telling her she had to make up for her Mam being gone. He had grabbed her from behind, seizing her titties and pinching her nips, frightening her.

She had bent over at the hips, trying to pull away, and felt Pap's rigid pole against her bottom. Pap had pulled his hands back, startled, releasing her. When she straightened up, she had knocked him backwards, down the porch steps. The six steps were open in the back, and his left foot had gone through and been caught by one of them, dislocating his knee and severely spraining his ankle.

He had tried to stand up to get back up the stairs to her, and fallen when he tried to step on his left foot. He had cursed her as an ungrateful bitch in his pain and drunkenness, then told her to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital in Tuscaloosa. He had sobered up some by the time it arrived, and he had instructed her to take care of the nursery, filling the orders she could.

Her Pap had spoken with Mr. Fitzroy, the customer, and promised a speedy delivery for the boxwood plants he wanted. Now, he expected her to keep his promise, however she could. She made a decision and grabbed a sheet of paper to put in the typewriter. ####

Dave Fitzroy, owner/operator of Rushford Landscaping, looked at the letter in his hand. It confirmed the purchase of fifteen one-year-old Southern boxwood plants from Coney's Plant Farm and Nursery in Brookton, Alabama, a small town northwest of Tuscaloosa.

In an apologetic tone, the letter asked if he would be able to pick the plants up. The owner of the nursery was currently laid up following an accident. The only help the small nursery had was the owner's nineteen year old daughter, who would not be able to harvest, pack and ship the number of plants he needed by the time he needed them. If he could pick them up, they would discount the purchase 5 percent.

"Well, shit!" he thought. "A day down, a friggin' long day, another one to harvest and load the plants, and a third long friggin' day to drive back. Horseshit! No use stewing about it, Peterson wants those friggin' boxwoods, and this is the only place with any available right now." He reached for his phone.

The young woman who answered recognized his name. She identified herself as the daughter of the owner, and apologized for the inconvenience her father's accident was causing Dave. He told her he could be there Monday to harvest and load the plants. She told him that was fine and she would expect him Monday morning.

Dave told his wife, Ellie, about the impending journey over dinner. "Oh, Dave! We were going to take Jim to Sarah's this weekend, remember?" He swore softly under his breath.

Sarah's husband, Phil, had died just before Christmas, leaving her with a small farm about an hour and a half away. His son had been given the task of refurbishing her lawn so she could easily care for it by herself.

Until Jimmy had started high school, the two couples had often traded partners while visiting each other on vacations. The plan had been that, this weekend, as a surprise, they would initiate Jim into replacing Phil. In preparation, the randy couple had abstained from their daily sex for the past week.

"I'm sorry, El, there's no way I can go. You'll have to drive him, and the other will have to wait 'til another time. Maybe you can convince Sarah to visit at Christmas." She glowered at him, and he knew the abstinence would continue.

Ellie and Jim had taken off right after supper Friday night. Recognizing he was not one to do well left on his own, Dave decided to start for Brookton early Saturday morning. As it turned out, he had severely overestimated the time it would take him to drive to the small nursery, thinking it was further south.

He had started from Rushford about six that morning. When he stopped for lunch just outside of Birmingham, he checked his maps and realized he would be at the nursery by two o'clock. A few rain sprinkles drew his attention to the sky. A large bank of cumulus clouds was rolling down from the northwest. He figured he needed to hurry.####

Tempest was worried. The radio said there was a storm coming, and a tornado warning had been issued for Tuscaloosa County. She dreaded the big black funnel clouds. One had passed over a storm cellar she was hiding in when she was a young girl and demolished the house she, Mam and Pap had been living in.

Worse than the swirling clouds, she hated the warning sirens and their ululations. She swore she could feel the howling sound in her bones. Worst of all, one of the hateful towers was situated just a few hundred yards down the road from her house.####

He made Tuscaloosa in record time (for him). The girl had told him how to find SR 171. He was to take it north toward Moore Bridge. Just before he got to the Sipsey River, there was a marked private road heading south for a mile to the nursery; from the center of Tuscaloosa to their front door was twenty-two miles.

As he pulled into the driveway of the nursery, Dave cast an anxious eye at the sky. There was a bank of dark green cumulonimbus clouds bearing down on the farm much too rapidly for his comfort.

He got out of the truck as a young woman danced down the steps from the porch. They met about half way, and as she started to ask his business, a loud siren sounded. Dave recognized the tornado warning, having heard it frequently in southern Illinois.

The girl's response to the siren was to collapse and assume a turtle position. Even so, Dave could see the sobs racking her slender body. The rain started in large pelting drops, quickly soaking the thin dress the girl wore, revealing the fact that the dress was all she had on. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms and asked if they had a storm cellar. She shook her head. Basement? She nodded, and Dave started for the house.

In the house she pointed him through the kitchen to the stairs past the back door and down to the cellar. It was a large open area, with the furnace and set of slop sinks, next to which was a wringer washer. Dave smiled, remembering the one his mother had when he was in high school, some twenty years ago.

He felt the girl shivering in his arms, and began to feel his own chill as the wetness in their clothes reminded him of why they were there. He put her down on her feet and began to pull her dress up over her hips. She tried to hold it down with her arms. "We need to get dry, or we'll get sick," he explained to her, as he unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled it off.

He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and thin as a whip at 175 pounds. Because of his work, and the absence of any excess fat, the muscles in his arms and legs were large and well defined. As he slipped his cut-offs down his legs, the young woman, who hadn't spoken since the tornado alert, pulled her frock over her head, confirming Dave's observation that she was naked under it.

She was hardly bigger than a minute, he thought, about 61 or 62 inches tall. If she weighed over a hundred pounds, it was because she was soaking wet from the rain. Carrot red hair adorned her head; the bush she sported below confirmed it was natural.

Her C-cups were capped by erect nipples almost the same color, but slightly darker. Under a brow wrinkled because of her confusion, her green eyes were wary of him as she watched him drape her dress on a hanger and suspend it from a nail in one of the ceiling joists.

While he put his clothing on another hanger, her eyes explored his body, so much different from Pap's. Pap wasn't exceptionally tall at 5 feet nine, but he was heavier than this stranger.

Tempest wasn't shocked by the sight of the man's penis. Pap showed his off every chance he got, walking around the house naked when the business was closed. She couldn't remember the last time her bath wasn't interrupted by him coming in to use the toilet.

When her eyes swept over the man's organ, she caught her breath. Even when Pap was hard, he wasn't as long as the stranger was half hard. She had changed enough babies and seen Pap in various stages of erection that she knew a semi when she saw one.

She looked up just as he turned away, searching for his face. "If we're gonna be nekked together, you could at least tell me your name," she said to his back in a soft voice, her broad Alabama accent clearly noticeable.

"Dave, Dave Fitzroy," he said, turning to face her just as the ululation of another tornado warning startled her, making her jump up into his arms, trapping his member between her crotch and his abdomen.

The sensation of her moist heat stimulated his organ to grow to full erection. Her eyes widened in wonder as a wide smile spread from her eyes to her lips. Tightening her legs, she slid up and down on his rigid staff.

Although she was familiar with how men were equipped between their legs, Tempest was as near a total virgin as she could be. Pap had absolutely refused to let her date while she was in school. It was made clear to the college boys he hired for the summer that anyone caught fooling around with his daughter would return to college with a crotch resembling hers.

She knew how the parts fit together, and had watched Pap and Mam more than a few times while they were joined. It was not unusual for Pap to pull Mam down on his lap in the living room after dinner and skewer her in one hole or the other while Tempest cleaned the kitchen.

They were visible from the kitchen as she worked, and frequently were still at it, both naked, when she finished. She could also hear them at night in their bedroom, across the hall from hers.

Dave reached down and lifted her by her buttocks just until his cock was able to slide back far enough to be captured by her passageway, then relaxed his grip so she slipped down over his eight inch rod. She winced briefly and tightened her arms around his shoulders.

He kicked over a pair of baskets of dirty laundry he had planned to search for towels and spread the contents to create a makeshift bed for the two of them. Kneeling on the floor, he lowered her onto the pile and began to slowly move in her.

As the pain abated, Tempest became aware of spasms of pleasure emanating from her quim, increasing in intensity as Dave moved in her. She tightened her arms and legs around him and let instinct drive her body to reciprocate his motion.

Outside, the wind could be heard increasing in velocity and intensity. Shutters were banging, barely audible above the wind noise. The two lovers, strangers to each other, started the drive toward their mutual and individual climaxes.

Dave felt rather than heard his partner's scream of elation as he erupted in her. Simultaneously, there was the crash of glass breaking heard upstairs in the living room.

"Wow," he grinned, "I've come hard before, but this is the first time I've broken a window."

She laughed. "This was my first..." She searched for the word, "org... erg..."

"Orgasm?" She nodded. "First time you've made love, too?"

"How did you know?"

"When you were sliding on to my c...organ, it looked like it hurt you a little." She nodded again. He bent to kiss her on the lips. "Thank you," he said, "for letting me be your first. I know her first time is special for a woman, but being a girl's first is special for a guy, too." He kissed her again, a long, soft kiss, slowly increasing in pressure. Just before he pulled away, his tongue came out and briefly caressed her lips.

Tempest's first kiss was pure pleasure, magnified by the afterglow of her climax. When she felt his tongue caress her lips, opening them was almost a reflex.

He was back almost immediately, covering her open lips with his, his tongue snaking inside to caress hers and engage it in play. This time when he pulled back, she followed him, not wanting to part yet.

He re-engaged with her, while his hands explored her breasts and belly, then gently pulled away. "Usually, this part happens first," he grinned, then bent to start kissing the side of her throat, licking a line of nips down to her shoulder, and beyond to the erect tip of her now super-sensitive breast. He seemed to inhale her nipple, dragging it between his teeth as she moaned her pleasure.

It was almost pure rapture, surrendering her body to his caresses and kisses. She relaxed and let him have his way, sometimes pushing her body toward his lips or hands, wherever the pleasure she wanted to increase was located. Her own hands came into play, rubbing his back and shoulders, head, whatever she could reach.

He spent several minutes caressing her breasts, alternating kisses and sucks with manual caresses and light pinches and twists. He would grab her nipple with his lip-covered teeth and tug on it, occasionally lightly shaking it like a puppy with a toy, repeating this action with his thumb and finger on her other breast. In between, he covered the top and bottom and sides of her twin mounds with kisses and nibbles.

She began to push her chest into his face, attempting to force her breast deeper into his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his head, pulling him closer; he felt her body stiffen and begin to shake. Very softly, so low he could barely hear her, she began moaning "ohohohohohohohohooh." With a final drawn out "ooooohhh," she went limp and fell back onto their makeshift bed.

Dave moved up to lie beside her, and pulled her to him so she lay on her side, facing him, wrapped in his arms. When she had recovered sufficiently from her orgasm, he began to lightly caress her back, running his fingers and palms alternately up and down her spine and around her shoulder blades and the small of her back. "What's your name?" he asked, kissing her lips softly.

She smiled shyly. "Don't laugh," she said. "It's Tempest. My Pap wanted to name me Stormy because of the weather the night I was born, but Momma thought that would be bad luck, like temptin' fate or somethin', especially with my red hair. But she thought Tempest sounded pretty, even though it means the same thing."

Dave grinned. "I agree with your Momma, it is a pretty name, and it seems app..." He was interrupted by the wailing of the tornado warning sirens again. Tempest leapt on him again, pushing him onto his back. As she came to rest on his chest, he felt her heat engulfing his erection. Almost immediately, she was moving on him, like a she-wolf in heat, in rhythm with the alert.

"Ohmigodohmigodohmigod," he could hear her murmuring as her hips kept time with the siren. He grew harder, longer, thicker in response to her movement. She responded with harder, faster thrusts while the pitch of her voice increased, howling like the timber wolf she seemed to be emulating.

Outside, the volume of the sound of the wind was increasing. The wind whistling in through the broken windows found its way to the basement and chilled the pair as they mated. To protect her from the wind, Dave turned them over and began sawing in and out of her newly opened vagina, responding to his inner need.

His erection disappeared into her flame colored thatch, full and thick enough that he couldn't see her lips on his shaft, where incredible, silken, moist heat was enveloping his staff.

He felt her arms and legs encircle him and tighten, holding her body to his as she experienced her third climax of the day, indeed, of her life. Feeling her walls gripping him, her nails clutching his back, and her hips beating a tattoo against his, triggered his own eruption, bathing her heat with his hot spend. His collapse on her chest was marked by the sounding of the all clear.

"Good gawd!" he huffed, his breath still short from his efforts. "Damn, little girl, you are something else." His kiss was returned with the same passion and need he showed. He turned them back so Tempest was lying on his chest, still joined pelvis to pelvis.

His hands renewed their exploration of her back and sides, eliciting moans and squirms on his body as she ground her pubes and breasts against him. In a few minutes, he felt her open her knees to straddle him, resuming her drive for release and satisfaction.

"Again, Davey," she breathed in his ear. "Again, and more. Fuck me, Dave, that's what we're doin', isn't it? We're fuckin'? Oh gawd this feels so friggin' good! More, harder, Davey, fuck me hard! Please! Godohgodohgod! Do! It! Now! Yessss!" she howled. And outside, the howling ululations of the storm warnings sounded anew.

In spite of her climax, Tempest wrapped her arms and legs around Dave's torso and held on to him like a raft in a stormy sea. He again flipped them, remaining in her heated sheath, supporting himself on knees and elbows.

He felt her breathing regulate itself, felt her begin to move on his staff. He responded, reciprocating her movements until their hips were only a blur, his eruption triggering her fifth climax that day.

He rolled onto his side, maintaining their connection. In that position, they fell asleep on the pile of laundry that was their bed. Sometime later, Dave awoke to a clear sky and setting sun; his shaft shrunk to its usual flaccid size. He got up and slipped on his shoes, and went up the stairs to look into the kitchen.

Most of the floor was clean, as were the walls, furniture and appliances. A band of mud fanned out from the doorway to the living room, three fourths of the way across the kitchen. In the mud, he could see the glitter of broken glass.

Gingerly, he walked across the mud deposit to look in the living room. The entire floor was covered with a half inch of mud and detritus from the storm, including the glass and sashes of the windows which had been broken by the wind and wind borne debris. He looked to the stairway and saw similar conditions, but not as severe. The top steps, in fact, looked clean.

He returned to the cellar, stopping in the kitchen to be sure no glass had stuck to the soles of his shoes. He shook the sleeping woman, calling her name, "Tempest. Tempest, sweet. Time to wake up."

She rolled on to her back and stretched, smiling, arching her back so her breasts and pussy were well displayed. Dave felt a strong twitch in his crotch along with a definite surge of blood to his staff. "Damn, girl! You look good enough to eat! 'N fact, I think I will!" he exclaimed as he leaned forward to grab a breast in his mouth.

Tempest squealed in surprise and tried to back away, but the surprise quickly gave way to pleasure, so she ceased struggling. Pleasure was replaced by concern as he abandoned her tit and began to nibble around her navel, resulting in a light tickling sensation, sending ripples of suppressed laughter and arousal up and down her torso. She reached down to push him away only to have him continue down her body thru her carrot colored bush and beyond.

The first brush of his tongue traveled from the top of her hair-covered slit down and stopped just beyond the bottom of it, then reversed, probing between her labia and spreading them. Her response was a long grunting moan while she pushed her hips up into Dave's face. He pulled away and lay down beside her.