Named Storm

Hi, my name's Tom and I was born and raised in Wensleydale, famous for its cheese and dry-stone walls; if you've not heard of either, then Google's your friend. Those dry-stone walls are my business, albeit that I and the blokes who work for me, tend to spend our time building decorative ones around smart houses and public buildings, rather than the farmer's field variety.

That was how I'd first met my girlfriend Ariana, when the lads and I were restoring a Ha Ha wall (you'll likely find those mentioned on Google too) for her father Jack, along the front of their family home, Thorne Hall. Not that we were doing much wall building today as the first big, autumn storm was blowing through; it'd been named Ariana, so I was looking forward to teasing her about that.

The storm had been forecast a week ago, but the meteorologists had expected it to only batter Scotland and nobody notices or cares much when it's just Scotland getting battered. Besides, the locals are well used to coping with them anyway; a sudden change in the jet-stream had pushed Storm Ariana further south and it was instead howling through Wales, the Midlands and northern England.

You can't build dry-stone walls in that sort of weather, or not of the quality we construct, so I'd sent out a WhatsApp message to all my lads around mid-morning, instructing them to pack up their tools and get over to Askrigg for a staff training and team-building event. Well, OK, it was a booze-up at the Crown Pub, but it would be going down as staff training on my tax return.

Whenever we got washed-out like this I would foot the bill for an afternoon in the pub and those were usually at the Crown; the Landlord there could be trusted to ensure that the guys all got home safely at the end of it. Sure, it cost me a few quid, but it helped to ensure that the best men wanted to work for me rather than the competition.

Normally I would've joined them, but this afternoon I headed home after an odd pint to clean out the newest of my twin-cab pick-up trucks. I'd been co-opted into collecting Ariana, along with her father Jack and brother Jamil, from the airport. Jamil's wife Priss (Priscilla) had be going to pick them up, but she was concerned about the weather, so I was going instead.

The three of them had been in Latvia all week at a trade show; their business is plastic mouldings. They have eight factories in the UK and as many again across Europe and beyond; rumour has it that they're the largest privately owned plastic moulding company in Europe? I wouldn't know, but Jack, indeed the whole family, are absolutely minted.

Jack started the business with his father in law, another Jamil -- Ariana's grandfather -- and when he died, the old man's shares were passed on to Ariana, her older brother and her mother Farah. It's very much a 'family business' and while Farah probably knows no more about plastic mouldings than I do myself, Ariana and Jamil are both actively working Directors.

As you've perhaps already guessed from those names, the maternal side of the family originates from the middle-east, specifically Iran, or as Farah invariably refers to it, Persia. Farah's elder brothers were killed in the revolution of 1978, but she and her mother were already out of the country and her father also managed to get himself out, just ahead of the Pahlavi regime's fall.

Ten, years later Jamil crossed paths Jack, who was both a Chemical and Mechanical Engineering whizz-kid; by then Jamil had the money to back him. When his daughter Farah subsequently met, fell in love with and married Jack, the two of them became full business partners and the rest as they say, is history.

I'd almost finished on the truck when I got a second phone call from Ariana: While the weather was okay in Latvia and their plane had arrived, it was forecast to be too windy for it to safely land back at Leeds-Bradford airport -- that place sits on top of a bloody great hill -- so their flight home wouldn't be leaving until the following morning.

I assured Ariana that I'd be there to collect them then; if Ariana phoned me when they were about to depart, I'd have ample time to drive down to Leeds. I also checked that Farah and Priss also knew about this delay and heaved a sigh of relief when I heard that they did; I didn't envy Jack that conversation with Farah, she would be absolutely livid:

She and Priscilla had originally been going to go to Latvia for the week too; a week of sightseeing and shopping in Riga, followed a family party weekend -- I'd been due to fly over for that too -- to celebrate Farah's forty-eighth birthday. When the trade-show's venue had been changed at the last minute, that plan had been changed with it:

Having Googled the place, Farah announced that she 'wasn't spending a week in some grubby town famous only for its shipping docks and lumber yards'. Instead, Farah instructed that Jack, Jamil and Ariana were to leave their staff to wrap-up at the show, while they flew back early for a party at Thorne Hall; that party was to have been tonight, Farah would not be a happy bunny.

By then it was too late for me to go back and join the lads in Askrigg; they would be well pissed already and I'd never manage to catch-up. Instead I finished cleaning the truck then went into my office to chase up on a few outstanding invoices and get my other paperwork up to date; I was still in there when Ariana phoned for a third time at about 6:30.

The connection wasn't good, Ariana was phoning from a bar or restaurant and the place sounded to be bouncing; it was only afterwards that I realised she would be two hours ahead of me in Latvia. Ariana assured me that all was OK, other than that Jack was being inundated with calls from Farah, who was apparently 'frightened by the stormy weather'.

My own thoughts were that Farah was likely just feeling sorry for herself at being alone on her birthday. Ariana didn't dispute that opinion, but asked if I could 'just slip over to Thorne Hall anyway and offer mum a bit of reassurance and company'.

'Slip over', For Fuck's Sake, Thorne Hall was fifteen miles away from me! Why couldn't Priss go and over hold Farah's hand? Jamil and Priscilla had restored, extended and upgraded an old Gamekeepers cottage and moved into that when they got married; it was within the grounds of Thorne Hall and not half a mile from the main house.

I calmed down when Ariana reminded me of the stream which ran between the two houses. Jamil had apparently phoned Priss already, but when she tried driving across to the hall, she'd found the ford was too deep for her car, with water even lapping over the adjacent footbridge. "Okay love, I'll get changed and drive across there now." Not best pleased, but what else could I say?

I also asked Ariana to call her mum and let her know I was on my way and had to laugh at the reply: "No, I can't do that, or mum will think that she's won; don't you phone her either, just turn up and tell her you've called in as you were passing." Thorne Hall was in the middle of nowhere, nobody, most especially me, would be 'just passing' on a night like this.

Half an hour and a quick shower later saw me climbing into the pick-up truck, dressed in albeit freshly laundered work clothes rather than anything vaguely smart. I'd loaded a chainsaw, shovel and a couple of tow ropes into the load-bed too, Christ knows what I was going to find out on the roads; the wind was howling and the rain sluicing sideways.

The journey proved a lot easier than expected; driving the pick-up I was able to use a gravel shooting track that ran across the moor. That brought me the back way into Thorne Hall and kept me clear of any fallen trees and the more flooded roads down by the river; by eight o'clock I was pulling-up and parking on the driveway, right outside the front portico.

Parking there's frowned upon by Farah, but it was still lashing with rain and I was doing her a favour, so fuck it! I grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne and box of fancy chocolates off the front passenger seat -- I'd bought those earlier in the week in anticipation of the planned party - put on my best smiley-face and made a dash for the front door.

The door was already opening as I got there, so I rushed straight through it, pushing past Farah as I did so, then helped her to close it again, against the raging weather. I'd barely been outside for ten seconds and still looked like a drowned rat, whilst Farah, as always, looked impeccable, a poster girl for Vogue magazine and every inch the 'Lady of the Manor'.

To be fair, Farah is a looker; other than for their complexion's she and Ariana are cast from the same mould: Tall, slim and athletic, with great bone structures and eyes so brown that they're almost black. Those eyes are especially arresting in Ariana, set within the pale, blonde, north European colouring, that she's inherited from Jack.

Farah meanwhile, and Jamil too, are unquestionably Iranian in their appearances: Those same eyes being framed by olive skin and jet-black hair, with Farah's lustrous tresses reaching half-way to her waist; I'm guessing that Farah's no doubt expensive hairdresser must take some of the credit for her maintaining that ebony gloss nowadays?

Farah's figure is all her own though and nearing fifty she's still film-star slim. I suspect that like Ariana, Farah may have been 'fashion-model slim' when she was younger, but those extra years and motherhood have given her a little more... curvature. Farah's curves are in all the right places though and she boasts an eye-catching cleavage; sadly that wasn't on display this evening.

Farah's gown (I wouldn't dare label it a mere dress) this evening was in a shiny, silver-grey material -- no doubt silk - and finished slightly below the knee, tailored to those inviting curves, but it's disappointingly high neck-line, ran right up by her collar bone. The outfit was complemented by matching grey hose and three inch black heels.

Typical of Farah though: Home alone on a shitty night like this and she was still dressed-up to the nines. Not that I was complaining, the acronym MILF was coined for women like Farah.

"Tom, what on earth are you doing here? Jack told me that you already knew my birthday party had been postponed."

"Yes, they did call, but you know how it is: With Ariana stuck in Latvia and there not likely to be any pretty girls out and about on a night like this, I was feeling starved of attractive female company, then I saw these chocolates and champagne on the kitchen table and was reminded where I might find an attractive and no doubt lonely lady"

Farah was silent for perhaps five seconds before bursting into laughter; just as I'd hoped. "My God but you're an incorrigible flirt Tom Watkins; I don't know why Ariana puts up with you."

"She doesn't, Ariana's swanned off to Latvia leaving me to feel deserted, lonely and unloved."

More laughter from Farah, then "Well, we can't have that can we... You get those boots off while I find the champagne flutes, we'll keep each other company over chocolates and bubbly."

By the time that I reached the Drawing Room -- a posh lounge to the likes of you and me -- Farah had the glasses to hand and the champagne bottle standing in an ice-bucket; unopened of course... A lady would never do that task herself. Farah was sat in one of the club chairs when I came in, so after filling and passing her a glass, I settled myself into the other one.

Our conversation covered everything and nothing; the weather, my business, their business -- I was right, about Farah knowing no more about that than me -- some work she'd been having done on the house and assorted snippets of local news and scandal. As I said, all fairly bland, though in my efforts to keep Farah smiling, I did take every opportunity to flatter and flirt with her.

It was about nine-thirty when I poured the last of the champagne into Farah's glass; I'd drunk barely two glasses myself, I still needed to drive home and the weather hadn't improved. Soon after that, I suggested that it was time I was leaving, but Farah was having none of it. "Not yet surely, it's still early Tom... We've plenty of champagne, open another bottle."

"I'd love to Farah, but I'm driving, so I can't have any more to drink; besides which, I've no idea what time Ariana's going to call in the morning, I may need to make an early start to the airport."

"Well that's settled then, open another bottle and stay here. You were planning on staying over after the party, so your room's already made up and I know you keep an overnight bag in Ariana's room in case of such plan changes. As for making an early start in the morning, you'll be twenty minutes closer to Leeds sleeping here than you would be at home."

I couldn't fault the logic, but it felt somehow... strange to stay here with just Farah in the house. "But what about your neighbours? What will they think if one of them call's by to find me here, Jack away and not even Ariana to play chaperone."

That, as expected drew a smile from Farah. "I hardly think that's likely, who the heck would be 'calling by' on a night like this and even if someone did, I think there's every chance they'd be envious." The smile with which Farah punctuated that reply, only added to that 'strangeness' I was feeling.

"OK, but only if you have some beer... I can't abide bloody champagne."

"Peasant! Don't worry, Jack bought some beer especially for you before he left for Latvia, that'll no doubt be in the fridge too. But do put it into a glass; it's bad enough your drinking beer, without you gulping it straight from the bottle."

Farah waved me in the direction of the kitchen as we exchanged grins; my propensity for necking beer straight from the bottle was a longstanding bone of contention between us. By the time I was back with my beer -- in a glass -- and a second bottle of champagne, Farah had relocated to the Chesterfield Sofa, her shoes discarded and feet tucked up beneath her.

I didn't find that the most comfortable of seats, but when Farah patted the space beside her and announced "It was too hot so close to the fire, let's sit here." I could hardly refuse. I don't remember another feeling of 'strange' at that point; perhaps I should have?

Having refilled Farah's glass and settled myself beside her we continued our vanilla conversation for perhaps another half hour before Farah fell silent; an enigmatic smile then spread across her face. Not sure what that signified, I played safe and tossed the ball in Farah's direction: "So, what shall we talk about next?"

Farah's maintained her silence and that smile for several more seconds before replying: "Well, as there's no one around to overhear our conversation, what I'd be most especially interested in finding out about is your gorgeous cock and exactly how well you know how to use it."

That statement was something of a conversation stopper in itself, while the sensation of Farah's left hand hand dropping onto my thigh as she spoke completed the job. Farah's hand began sliding back and forth, with her fingernails tracing the outline of said cock through my jeans as she waited, still smiling, for my response.

When that wasn't forthcoming, Farah continued: "I hear that your cock's the perfect size and boasts a cute little kink near to the end which ensures the tip really hits the spot. My fingers are confirming the former, but I can't tell about that kink while it's inside your pants."

Farah's fingers continuing to stroke along my shaft put paid to any possibility of my forming a coherent response. "I... Wha.. Who said... Where have?" I gave up and concluded with a liquid gurgling groan, which drew a full blown laugh from Farah.

"Ariana of course, though not to me obviously. I was walking past the library door about a week ago when I overheard Ariana Face-timing her friend Heather. You won't have met Heather, she and Ariana were at university together, after which Heather went on a gap-year to Australia; she met a man and never came back."

I was still no nearer to intelligible speech and Farah's hand was still on the move; if anything stroking more forcefully rather than less. "Yes, Ariana was very... indiscrete, regarding your manhood and what you do with it; though if you're not going to tell me, I suppose I will just have to find out for myself."

Farah's left hand never slackened, but her right now went to my waist and began unbuckling my belt. I remained silent; Hell, I was having enough trouble just breathing! I didn't do anything to assist Farah in her task, but I wasn't resisting either; though when Farah's left hand released my cock to join her right at my waistband, I did raise my bum off the couch for a second or two.

Farah's left hand caught my cock in the moment it sprang free from my pants and her left was barely a moment behind it. Farah signalled it's capture with a girlish squeal, immediately followed by a husky "Gosh, Ariana wasn't exaggerating was she; I can see what all the excitement was about now... and that little bend near the tip"

I was still unable to formulate words, but my prolonged and bestial growl probably sufficed with regard to expressing my thoughts on Farah's presumptuous actions. Farah's touch was lighter now, the fingers of her right hand sliding gently along the length of my shaft, while her left addressed the tip of my cock; Farah slipped a fingernail inside my foreskin to slowly scrape it's way around the crown.

No one had ever done that before and the sensation drew another of those bestial growls from my throat. Farah's fingernail must've made a dozen circuits before she removed it; that drew a whimper from me, which Farah consoled with a crooned "Don't fret Tom, you'll enjoy this even more."

An second later Farah's right hand tightened on my shaft, a downstroke pulled my foreskin back and her lips engulfed the head of my cock. Farah's tongue then began circulating in much the same way as her finger had and I was back to those bestial growls; they became deeper still as Farah's tongue eased off and she began taking my cock deeper too.

I'd always thought Ariana was a great cock-sucker, but her mother was in a different league; International Standard! That it was Farah's mouth around my cock perhaps added to the wow-factor? Not so much a mother/daughter thing, though that no doubt contributed, but the fact that this was Farah... The ever elegant Lady of the Manor, who was blowing me off.

Farah slid off the couch to kneel beside me without her lips ever breaking contact with my cock; by now she was really going for it, I'd never penetrated any woman's throat so deeply. The physical sensations, combined with the added psychological buzz of their being delivered by Farah soon bore fruit, I was going to come... and soon!

I grasped Farah's chin and pulled her off my cock in the moment I realised. "If you keep going I'm going to come... In your mouth"

Farah released a wicked laugh as she shook herself free from my grip. "And there was me thinking that was the whole idea of a blow-job." An instant later my cock was back between Farah's lips and not ten seconds later, as warned, I was spewing come into Farah's mouth.

Ariana had been gone since Monday and the week before had been her period... I was loaded. Cum was pouring out of me like a fire-hose, but Farah coped with the flow easily; fuck but the lady could suck cock! Even when I thought I'd finished Farah's mouth and fingers continued to draw on my prick, draining every last trickle from my balls.

I was still recovering from my climax, heart-rate and breath racing when Farah scrambled back onto the couch beside me; she remained silent, but wore a cat-that-got-the-cream smile as she allowed me to recover and gasp "That was bloody incredible... you're amazing Farah."