tagNovels and NovellasAunt Hazel's Hairy Pussy

Aunt Hazel's Hairy Pussy

bygeronimo_appleby©

Foreword by the fuckwit who wrote this piece:

FUCK!

I missed the deadline for the Earth Day competition.

Arse!

OK, bugger it, I might as well put this in Novels and Novellas for the 2 points in the survivor contest at least. *sigh*.

Right, now that I've finished feeling sorry for myself here it is, a series of scenes that track the burgeoning sexual relationship between Carl – a university student of twenty-one who lives with his mother's sister, Hazel. He's in her house because his aunt happens to live in the city where Carl is studying. It was an economic and convenient arrangement, at first.

One Saturday evening, after a disastrous date, Hazel shocks her nephew by performing an obscene act in front of him. The following day sees Hazel and Carl trying to work through the issues that confront them. And it goes on from there, with what Hazel set in motion gathering momentum.

I had the nucleus of an idea in my head, the setting of the North Yorkshire Moors and a picnic, but when I began to write, the piece just trundled on like a steam-roller.

I'm unsure about the amount of sex I included, and there might be a seemingly unnecessary amount in the following. I did consider cutting some out, but then left it in since if I start culling sections from the scene I might well run past the deadline for entries. Anyway, I'm hoping you can give me some feedback on that particular point, as well as providing feedback for the overall piece as well, of course.

I hope you enjoy the scene, it took me quite a few aborted attempts at making a start, and I do hope it works.

At the end, as you'll see if you read through, there's scope for a continuance, but I'm not making any promises to that effect for a number of reasons:

First, I'd hate to promise more of these two – with the potential inclusion of a further character (see the ending to clarify) – and not deliver. I already have a few series that tapered and cooled, and have been questioned about them as well, so to make noises about more to follow without actually doing so seemed out of order. I'm loath to leave another dead-end behind. By all means, extrapolate at your leisure.

Second, it's always a gamble, writing a piece and putting it out there, I can never be sure if something I write is any good or not, and there's the potential for this scene between Hazel and Carl to crash and burn. If that's the case and it bombs, I deffo won't be adding a sequel!

Right, I'd best STFU. Sorry about that, I'm a gabbler.

Please send feedback, etc.

GA – Sanur, Bali – 14th April 2013.





Saturday March 30th

When I said she looked lovely, I meant it.

My Aunt Hazel had offered a shy, self-conscious pose and a doubtful grin, crows' feet of unease creasing her blue eyes when she said, "You're just saying that."

"No," I returned, "I'm not."

Hazel's grin widened into a smile. "Thank you, Carl." She stepped towards me and laid a soft kiss against my cheek.

"You smell good, too," I said, my fingertips caressing the place her lips had brushed a moment before.

Then, before things got awkward, the chiming of the doorbell grabbed her attention.

Hazel carried out perfunctory adjustments in the hallway mirror, baring her teeth at her reflection as she checked for lipstick, smoothing away imaginary stray hairs from her immaculate blonde bob that shimmered like liquid silver under the bulb in the hall.

Hazel turned her back to the mirror and craned her neck awkwardly. "You look gorgeous from behind," I said, pre-empting my aunt's question the moment her mouth opened to ask. "Honestly, Aunt Hazel, you really are lovely."

Then she left for her date with Ian. I settled down with my coursework, books scattered across the kitchen table. In less than two hours Hazel was back, upset and close to tears.

My aunt perched on the edge of the leather sofa in the living room with a tumbler of vodka in her hand, the second since her return "What is it that I did wrong?" she asked with a sniff, eyes downcast.

I shrugged and didn't answer, the plain reason being that I didn't have an answer.

Hazel eyed me, her look questioning. "Come on, Carl," she said, somewhat belligerently, as though the failings of my sex could be laid at my door. "Tell me, you're a bloke, tell me what it is that I did wrong."

"I dunno, Aunt Hazel," I replied, more than a little uncomfortable at the position I found myself in.

Drunk people make me nervous, I don't know how to handle them and, in the few times I found myself confronted with someone less than sober, I've so far managed to always say the wrong thing. Not that my aunt was totally sozzled, but she was definitely a couple of drinks into it.

Stammering, I added, "I ... I dunno why he did it."

My aunt swigged the vodka down in one go. She held the glass out towards me. "Be a love, Carl," she said, waving the tumbler at me. "Get me another, eh?"

I rose from my own seat, one of the cracked leather armchairs that matched the rest of the suite in my aunt's front room and reached for the heavy glass. Frustrated by the way the evening had been derailed – I had a week's worth of notes to write up – I left my aunt alone in the living room and went through to the kitchen to refresh Hazel's drink. After sliding the ice tray back into the freezer compartment I pulled a beer from the fridge. I might as well have a drink myself, I reasoned.

"Am I not pretty enough?" Hazel asked as I passed her the vodka. "I admit, I might be pushing forty but I don't think I've completely gone to seed." To my relief my aunt sipped rather than swigged before continuing. "I do my best; I don't eat rubbish food, I go to the gym three times a week." She fixed me with eyes bleary from either alcohol or upset, I wasn't too sure which. "You tell me, Carl, and be honest, totally honest – am I unattractive?"

I swallowed heavily and felt the heat rise in my face, uncomfortable at the potential for deeper questions to follow. "No, Aunt Hazel," my eyes slid away from the challenge in the woman's stare. "I actually think you're pretty. I told you before you went out – I think you're gorgeous."

I tilted the beer bottle to my mouth and took a deep draught to mask my discomfort in the silence that ballooned between us.

"Really?" Hazel asked. I could hear the need in her voice, the necessity for confirmation. "You're not just saying that because I'm your aunt and you're living in my house?"

"No, Aunt Hazel," I replied with a sigh of irritation – how many times did I have to tell her? "I'm not just saying it. You looked lovely tonight; I don't have a clue what Ian was thinking."

My aunt blinked, apparently accepting my reassurances, and offered up a wan smile. "You're so kind," she murmured through quivering lips. I had a thought that real tears were imminent, but then, after a heavy sigh, Hazel added in a determined tone: "If I'm honest with myself though, Carl, I had an inkling that Ian would dump me tonight. He's been off with me for a few days; I don't know why, he didn't say, he just came out with the old guff about it being him and not me." My aunt gave a snort of derision followed by a brittle laugh. "He spouted some crap about not wanting to tie me down or disappoint me." Hazel gave a small shrug and sipped at her drink.

My heart went out to my aunt when I saw her eyes glistening with the unshed tears, tears she refused to allow. Three blokes, all in under a year, had thrown her aside. One, the second one, Murray, had asked her to marry him, but he'd been a player and had two other women on the go at the same time as he was wooing my aunt. This last one, Ian, had come along and pursued Hazel relentlessly. Still picking up the pieces of a heart shattered by Murray the Player, Hazel had only agreed to go out with Ian to get it over with, to end his relentless, dogged pursuit of her, so she could say 'thanks, but no thanks, I've had enough'. But Ian had somehow won her round and they'd been out a few more times in the last couple of months. Now it seemed that Ian had, for reasons of his own, blown her out, which left my aunt on the sofa at ten past ten on a Saturday night with me for company.

Hardly the best shoulder in the world to cry on – what did I know about women and their problems? Especially relationship issues!

"Well, I reckon Ian's a dickhead, Aunt Hazel. I honestly think you're beautiful and clever. You're really sexy, if I had a girlfriend like you I—"

I'd said it without thinking, told her she was sexy. OK, it was true, I did think that, but it wasn't something I should have said – I mean, it is a tad inappropriate, calling my mother's sister sexy. Besides, it wasn't like I actually knew what I'd do with a woman like Hazel. What would I know about wooing an experienced woman twice my age? I didn't even have a girlfriend.

Realising my experience to date was totally inadequate for the statement I'd just blurted out I clamped my mouth shut.

All of a sudden my aunt seemed less squiffy, her eyes brightened, and cleared, losing the opaque sheen. The slurring in her voice disappeared and her hand no longer shook as she took a ladylike sip at the vodka, her attention fixed on me over the rim of the glass.

I shivered under that cool, appraising, almost feline stare. Where was the slightly inebriated, close to hysterical woman of a few minutes before?

It was inevitable, her next words, the question that came out of her mouth as she stared at me.

"What, Carl?" Hazel said, the words sighing from her. "What would you do if you had a girlfriend like me?"

My face warmed in the heat of Hazel's intent appraisal. I squirmed in my chair and flicked the label on the body of the beer bottle, picking at it with my thumbnail. "Uh, well, I'd treat you nicely," I mumbled.

Hazel snorted. "Nicely, Carl? What do you mean by nicely?"

How had I managed to get myself into this? All I'd wanted was to make my aunt feel better; I'd been doing my best to comfort her during an emotional crisis, but suddenly found myself caught in the glare of the spotlight. A great bubble of discomfort, hollow and achy formed in my stomach.

My aunt shifting position distracted me. She moved against the sofa and crossed her legs, and as she swivelled to present me with a three-quarter profile, the hem of her skirt rode high, an action that revealed smooth, sculpted calves, her knees and a lot of one thigh. Seeing so much of my aunt's skin gave me a delicious buzz, a wicked sense of the forbidden. The woman was my own mother's sister, but at that moment I experienced a deep and near overwhelming desire for her and a serpentine lust uncurled in my guts. My balls tightened and I could feel my cock thickening with interest.

Hazel's voice pressed me for an answer. "Come on, Carl, what do you mean by nicely? Tell me."

The spring inside me wound tighter when I heard the change in the tone of my aunt's voice, a layer of rich seductiveness beneath her words. The moment I looked up from Hazel's thigh to her face I sensed a shift in my aunt's attitude. I saw, or thought I saw, a slither of some dark emotion cross her face, but that momentary shift in Hazel's features melted away when she wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. She sniffed and smiled at me, leaving me doubting what I'd seen. What I had no doubt about, however, was the sudden flare of illicit want for my own aunt, a sensation I'd known before but had repressed.

"Oh, I don't know, Aunt Hazel. I suppose I'd try to look after you, treat you with a bit of respect and take you to places you want to go."

My aunt's head tilted to one side, a quizzical eyebrow arched. "Where I want to go?" Hazel questioned. She sat upright, back straightening as she uncrossed her legs.

The way my aunt asked the question, quietly and with that smoky timbre in her voice, gave me the impression she felt something too. I studied Hazel's expression while she sat there, apparently considering what I'd said. The look she wore had me thinking that, at that moment, she was no longer with me. In fact, the dreamlike quality, the distant look in her eyes, told me that my aunt was lost in some internal reverie.

Then she gave a little shiver and her eyes focussed upon me again. "Would you take me somewhere romantic, Carl?"

I didn't know if this was the drink talking or if, for some twisted reason of her own my aunt was teasing me, but the tone of her voice and Hazel's soft, questioning eyes stirred me on a visceral level. My throat swelled with emotion as I pictured the two of us somewhere like Florence or Paris, cities I'd never visited but which, in my mind, were the places where lovers went. In my head I saw Hazel laughing brightly, the iconic backdrop of the Eifel Tower all lit up in a benign Parisian summer night behind her; I saw her smiling face and the shimmer of her bobbed hair in the moments before I kissed her mouth.

My aunt's mouth! I was kissing my mother's sister, our tongues were sliding over and over as I held her waist in my hands and she pressed her body against me. My hands moved over the light cotton dress she wore, sliding over the rack of her ribs, the material of the dress bunching under my palms before I squeezed Hazel's breasts.

My erection, sudden and urgent was not to be ignored, and I heard my aunt moan when her hand pressed against the ridge of it that swelled in my jeans.

"Let's go back to the hotel," my aunt whispered in my ear. "I want to see you naked. I want to see your cock all stiff for me." Hazel slipped her tongue into my mouth and we kissed for a few seconds. "I want to lick it and taste it, Carl. Let's go back and we can fuck, darling. Show me how much you love me."


The scene went through my mind in a blink. I nodded at Hazel, the real Hazel, the one sitting on the sofa right there in the living room. "Yes, Aunt Hazel," I managed to croak, "somewhere romantic, somewhere where we could be together."

I don't know if Hazel saw it in my face or if she heard it in my voice, and I can't really recall much of what followed too clearly, but I suppose my words affected her in a way I'd not intended. It all came on like a dream, hazy and indistinct, and I couldn't say who did what first, but the next solid memory I have is of Hazel standing in front of me.

She stood there and gazed down at me, the expression she wore a mystery, beyond my experience. Hazel looked wistful, seductive. She stared at me bunched in the chair, her eyes fixed on mine, her gaze filled with tenderness before her look shifted again. My aunt's mouth curled ever so slightly at the corners, a suggestion of a sly, vulpine grin that sent a tingle of arousal through my already erect cock.

"Together, Carl," my aunt murmured, "the two of us together? If only we could, darling." Hazel sighed. "Would you make love to me, Carl?" she asked in a whisper.

"Aunt Hazel," I replied with a heavy gulp." I nodded and swallowed again, squirming in my seat at the discomfort caused by my hard-on straining against my jeans. "I would. For sure I would. I'd ... I'd ..."

"What would you do, Carl?" My aunt's voice was hypnotic, her eyes casting a spell. "If we were together, somewhere romantic." She reached out and touched my hair, her hand moving slowly down over my face. Hazel leaned forward, her fingers under my chin, her thumb sliding back and forth across my cheek. "Would you kiss me, Carl?"

Of their own accord, my hands went up to my aunt's hips. We stayed like that for long seconds, an unmoving tableau, my aunt leaning over me, our eyes locked.

The word creaked out of my dusty throat. "Yes," I croaked.

"You'd kiss me, Carl?" Hazel murmured. "Honestly? Would you really kiss me? Even though I'm your aunt?"

I didn't reply verbally, I couldn't. Instead, I merely nodded.

"What else?" Hazel continued, her voice a whisper. What else would we do?"

I could hear my heart beating as the blood, hot, quick blood rushed through my veins. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell my aunt of all the things I wanted to do to her, what I wanted us to experience together. Lewd images rolled across the movie screen of my mind. Scenes in which Hazel lay naked across some unknown bed, her arms reaching for me, her smile an invitation, her open legs welcoming.

"Everything," I finally gasped.

"Would you fuck me?" Hazel supplied the word I daren't use. "Would you fuck me, Carl?" Her eyes gleamed with what I can only assume was a sudden burst of sexual arousal. The lonely, wistful look had gone, replaced completely by a feral, desperate expression of desire.

"Aunt Hazel," I gasped, shocked by her use of profanity. Swearing wasn't my aunt's usual style.

"Oh, God," Hazel interrupted, "I want a man to love me. I want a man between my legs, one with a lovely hard dick that splits me open and fills me up. I want to feel a lovely cock inside me, a living, throbbing cock pulsing as it cums and cums and a man kisses my mouth. I want hands on my body, on my tits, squeezing them and being all rough while I ride up and down on his dick."

"Yuh-you shouldn't say things like that, Aunt Hazel," I stammered. Not to me. It ... it isn't right." The memory of an illicit yearning flooded my face with heat.

If truth be told I'd harboured an infatuation for my aunt, just for a short period, a couple of weeks at most, just after I'd moved in with her. I'd found a magazine in the attic when I was lifting my empty suitcase up there for storage after unpacking – a soft-core magazine that featured a series of women who, initially dressed – secretary, teacher, doctor – then stripped down to lingerie. I assumed the dirty magazine had been left behind by Hazel's former husband, forgotten up there amongst the insulation and cobwebs. After a quick flick through the pages, I shoved the magazine into the front of my jeans and scuttled away to what was now my bedroom. It wasn't until later the same day, alone in my bedroom that I took a more detailed look at the models. I was there, on my bed, unable to resist the urge to play with my cock during a leisurely perusal of the flesh fiesta on display when I noticed that one of the models bore a resemblance to my Aunt.

The likeness was so strong that I was sure the woman was Hazel, and I even – after much rummaging in drawers around the house – used a magnifying glass in an attempt to spot any distinguishing marks, like a mole or a birthmark or tattoo. There was nothing I could see in the photos that disqualified my aunt, and the possibility, however unlikely that it was her, smiling as she offered a gynaecological pose, caused a few fantasies to form in my head.

Ignoring the other models, I'd tug my dick and picture my aunt posing for me, thinking of how exciting it would be to have her wide-legged and smirking at me in real-life. I imagined her breasts in my hands or me sucking her nipples; I wondered at the texture of her buttocks if I could just knead that spongy flesh. What would it feel like to have her straddling me, a hand holding my cock upright as she lowered her body over mine and her pussy accommodated the rigid length. I could hear my aunt's sighs and moans and soft murmurs of endearment. I could taste her kisses.

For a time, the chance, however slim a possibility that Hazel actually was the model – after all, why would her husband have kept that magazine? – I nurtured the fantasy of making love to my own mother's sister. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but that didn't make any difference. If anything the taboo only caused my orgasms to burn hotter.

It ended after a close-call, almost being caught with the magazine spread across my bed while I knelt there, fist pumping my cock. It was just as my climax struck, the jizm boiling out of me that I heard the squeak on the stairs, a sound I'd identified as the loose tread, the one fifth from the top. There was no way I could stem the flow of my outpouring as a coldwater wave of shock washed over me. Panic mushroomed in my chest, and I think I might even have blurted out a denial as a hundred thoughts clamoured inside my head at once. It couldn't be. It just couldn't happen. It couldn't be Hazel. There had to be some other explanation for the sound on the stairs. I truly, honestly harboured the fantastic belief that my aunt could walk in and catch me in such a position.

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