The Aunt Sally (a messy, humiliating and hysterical romance)

[Trouso]

When Darren and his new girlfriend, Michelle move back to his home village, a local festival is attempting to revive a rather messy tradition. But who will be the Aunt Sally? Yes, you can see what’s coming - but read on and find out…


The Aunt Sally - by Trouso


Michelle nudged open the study door with her elbow. “Here’s your beer.”

Darren was sitting at the computer, reclined, arm stretched out, his hand idling on the mouse. He chuckled at the screen. Within a Facebook page played a grainy embedded video. From the doorway, Michelle could just about make out the scene. On the tiny area of screen situated within a group of people a woman, loosely tied to a chair, was being splattered and doused with some kind of creamy paste. A tinny commotion played out over the desktop speakers as cheers went up and she variously squealed and laughed, in reassuringly good humour, as she took it all on the chin. The handheld camera zoomed in wildly and momentarily lost focus. As the picture became clear again long strands of hair swung from her bowed head sopping with glossy goo.

Darren noticed the beer. “Thanks, Babe.”

Michelle was a little shocked but nevertheless, intrigued by what she saw.
“What’s this?”

“It’s the ‘Oating’ festival,” explained Darren, as if it were both obvious and an everyday occurrence. “Celebrates fertility and that -- rites of passage”

“What on earth’s going on with that poor woman?”

“Heh! Heh! — Oh, the Aunt Sally?”

“Whatever it is. Who is it?”

“Darlin’ it’s a tradition ‘round here. She’s the ‘Aunt Sally’. It started off in the 17th century, originally just to humiliate the local harridan by throwing rotten food at her…”

Michelle’s jaw dropped. “Harridan?”

Darren backtracked. “Well, you know, er, that bit of it kind of died out and in Victorian times the ‘victim’ became known as the Aunt Sally. And over time it became a bit of fun. You know, a local girl — like a barmaid — who’d be up for it and that would, er, volunteer.”

“But I thought fairground Aunt Sallys were dummies, like scarecrows?”

“Most often they are, but not here.” He turned back to the screen as the woman, newly released from her bindings, her soggy dress lifted at the back, was screaming in mock protest and laughing hysterically whilst having about a gallon of porridge poured into the back of her panties. A number of male and female hands were patting it through out through the leg holes. The cameraman could be heard to roar with hearty laughter at this point and the camera shook and the action went out of frame.

Michelle was horrified, but compelled. “When was this?”

“Oh, I was there at this one in about…1995. It was the last one they ever did. Insurance you see. Shame. Too worried about people suing, I suppose.

“But you said she volunteered, didn’t she?” said Michelle.

“Well, yes, she sort of had…five minutes warning or so.” Darren smirked.

“So she’s wearing her own clothes as well?”

“Well she didn’t have time to get changed, did she?”

Michelle was newly astounded and imagined how she would have felt had it been her in that chair? She shuddered.

“It must have taken so long to get cleaned up.”

“Well they hosed her down afterwards and let her use the showers at the pub. It takes a couple of hours.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“Yeah, but they see her right at the end. You know, she gets clothes vouchers and that…drinks for the rest of the night and so on.” Darren swigged his beer. “Besides, the food’s not rotten anymore, it’s fresh as a daisy, ‘Health and Safety’”

“Even so….Was it always a woman? I mean, did they ever choose a man?”

“Don’t be stupid!” snapped Darren, suddenly angered.

“Well, sorry I asked…”

Michelle was about to walk out when Darren got up out of his chair, instantly repentant. “Sorry babe, yer know, er of course it has to be a woman don’t it?”

“Well, all I can say is I’m glad that they don’t do it any more!” said Michelle.

“Well you know…” Darren tailed off and returned to the screen as Michelle left.


Michelle had a fitful night. She couldn’t get the sight she had seen out of her mind. And, Darren, he’d been enjoying watching it so much! Her feelings were so mixed. Just imagine how that would feel? She thought to herself. Imagine being that messy. Messier than you’ve ever been before. She was horrified at the thought that it might ever happen to her and…tantalised by the thought of how it would feel to endure such rich humiliation.

Next morning, Michelle came down in her dressing gown as Darren was eating his porridge in his shirt sleeves.

“Morning love,” he chirped.

“Morning.” She replied, grudgingly.

“Come on darlin’! Why the long face?”

Michelle frowned.

“Look,” Darren reassured her. “I’m sorry about last night, snapping like that…you’re just a bit over-sensitive, you’ve got to toughen up a bit. You have to understand our traditions here now that were back in the village.”

“Have I?” Michelle wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t be cross with Darren for too long. She went over and kissed him on the forehead.

He smirked. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I had an email from Geoff last night — he organises the ‘Oating’ Festival every year -- and were bringing back the Aunt Sally!”

Michelle’s heart sank. “Yeah, right...”

“Look, we're reviving a tradition aren’t we? And what’s more, it raises loads of money for charity!”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“I don’t actually know…” Darren paused and thought for a second…”But it always does.”

Michelle folded her arms “Have you got someone in mind?”.

“Oh yeah, Geoff’s properly pre-planned it and everything this year, but it’s a secret, so keep it to yourself: It’s going to be Sue from the Black Swan.”

“Good for her.” Michelle unfolded her arms and placed them at her side, unimpressed, but somewhat relieved.

“Come on darlin’. It’ll be great. You’ll really enjoy it. And besides…” He pulled her gently to his side. “I’d like to show my sexy lady off to everyone.”

Michelle melted and sank her finger into the porridge and pasted a smidgeon onto Darren’s nose. He laughed and pulled out his spoon in readiness to flick it at her.

“Don’t you dare!” she said. “Don’t you dare!”



Some weeks later, it was a bright May Saturday, the weekend of the Oating Festival had begun and the village was abuzz with locals and tourists alike variously drinking, viewing sideshows and watching the capering of the Morris Men.

Darren surveyed the colourful activity on the green from the spare bedroom of his parents’ house. Michelle was just about ready. She was all made up, her hair up and she was wearing a new dress and heels that Darren had bought her.

“About time, too.” He laughed, tapping his watch.

“I just wanted to look my best for you.” She simpered.

“Thanks,” he said. “Oh, and have you got your…?”

“—That underwear you got me for Chistmas.” She replied, caressing his cheek. “Stockings, suspenders, the lot”, she whispered tenderly. They kissed and he gestured for her to proceed before him and they left the room.

She paused, “You don’t think this is too short do you? It is riding up a bit”

“No, it’s fine,” said Darren. “You look gorgeous.”

They had a wonderful afternoon together, she on his arm, proudly introducing her to everyone. She even solicited a few wolf whistles from some of the village boys as they paraded around.

Darren stopped and took her aside. Michelle wondered, just for a nano-second that he might propose to her...

“Hey! let’s go and watch the Oating.” announced Darren.”

“Oh, right.” Michelle was clearly disappointed. “You go and I’ll go and see if your mum needs any help with…”

“She’ll be fine,” Darren reassured her. “Look. I don’t want to miss the action, it’s a tradition and that, you know, and besides, I want you to share it with me!”

Michelle gave in. “All right, but I’m not standing too close to ‘the action’ as you’ve been calling it. I don’t want to get splashed.”

“Don’t you worry,” he assured her, pulling her close. “We’ll be standing at a good, safe distance.”

“Oh Yay! Oh Yay!” cried the Master of Ceremonies as the crowd looked on in excitable anticipation. An ancient, empty looking, carved oak chair, just as in the video and loosely draped over it, some flaxen rope. The timber of the chair was cleaned but showed evidence in places of swelling, stains, and tide marks made by the mess of ages. Behind this, several pasting tables heaving with buckets brim full with all sorts of foody goo. Porridge, custard, even black treacle, bottles of cooking oil, giant pats of butter and so on.

“One wench of this town we will find,” the MOS continued, “to be seated and restrained within this oak chair where she will be PILLORIED by the people of the village until she repents for her evil harridan ways!”

The mixed feelings of excitement and dread she had experienced the night she saw the video returned as she couldn’t help being taken along by the baying crowd’s revelry. She felt a bit sorry for the poor unfortunate soul that would be subjected to this, but, they were up for it, weren’t they?

“Now who should this harridan be?” cried the MOS. “We have a candidate! Oh Yes! We have a candidate,” he screamed, becoming hoarse from shouting over the crowd’s cheers.

Where was this Sue character? thought Michelle.

“The lady — if we can call her that — is local publican Susan Barr who has recently celebrated her 40th birthday and we think she deserves an extra special treat for that!”

The crowd cheered, and Michelle spied an attractive woman, standing over yonder, place both hands over her mouth in shock. This must be Sue. She was wearing a floral dress, cut just above the knee, and smart heels under a jacket. A slightly brassy looking lady, Michelle thought, with a fuller figure and had straightened, highlighted hair. She appeared to be dressed more as if she were attending the races or someone’s wedding for that matter and not, as it would seem, as someone who was going to be tied to a chair and gunged. What’s more, unless she was ‘acting up’, she appeared to have been none the wiser to this revelation than anyone else. She took it in good grace nonetheless and stepped forward but not before remonstrating with her husband and their gathered ‘party’.

“Did you know about this? I’ve just had my hair done you bastards,” she cried out to them, semi joking. Or so it seemed.

Michelle gazed at the scene before her and the crowd almost became silent in her reverie.

The MOS spoke as his assistants tied the rope around Sue’s waist and to the back of the chair. They were negotiating with her about the tightness and placement of the bindings.

“Before we begin, I must take this opportunity to announce that, in accordance with what we had agreed on the organising committee regarding the ‘humiliation’ aspect of this exercise. As it’s been some fifteen years since we last had a ‘live’ Aunt Sally and times have changed, even since then…”

Everyone fell quiet.

“…we thought it only fair that this poor woman should have some company during her ordeal! Is that delightful young lady Michelle I met earlier today in the audience at the moment?”

Michelle became extremely self conscious. Not me, surely? She thought.

“Darren Larkin’s girlfriend?”

Darren was behind her. She looked back to him for reassurance. He chuckled and gave her a gentle nudge forward. The audience became aware that she was in their midst and began to cheer and clap, ushering her onto the ‘stage’.

She felt so totally exposed in her short dress in front of all of those people but too embarrassed not to do their bidding and went all goose pimply as she stood by bubbly Sue in the chair and tentatively shook her hand.

What did they expect her to do? She regarded her clothes and thought about how long she had spent getting ready. She looked back but she couldn’t see Darren in the crowd anymore. Could this really be happening?

The Master of Ceremonies spoke once more. “Just relax Michelle! What we’d like you to do is take one of those buckets from the table and start us off today by pouring it over Sue’s head. Go on! Anything you can see on the table there.”

Michelle looked over at the table for the most innocuous substance she could, but all of it was pretty sticky or slimy looking. As there was little choice in this regard, she opted for an orange bucket, half filled with what looked like porridge.

“Go on, Michelle, let her have it!”

Sue giggled nervously at the request.

Michelle lifted the bucket and brought it up near to Sue’s face.

“Porridge. A good choice, Madam!” The MOS inserted a wooden spyrtle into the mixture and lifted some of the slop to show the audience. The crowds registered their mock disgust with a few “Yucks” and “Eughs” here and there.

Michelle really didn’t want to be the one to ruin Sue’s outfit but the people began to murmur encouragement. She began to feel, now, all of a sudden, after her initial apprehension, a little wave of sadism come over her. Furthermore, Sue seemed to be taking it rather well — all things considered.

A cheer went up as Michelle tipped the contents of the bucket over Sue’s head. The oatmeal spread over her scalp and face like so much grey lava that flopped and dripped and splattered onto her shoulders. As she tipped the bucket further over, the torrent increased and flowed down her jacket and into her lap. Sue was braced and grimacing all the while and the crowd applauded. The slop remained in motion over Sue as it continued to slowly envelop her even as Michelle put the bucket down on the ground. Multiple splats could be heard hitting the floor at this point. Michelle was surprised by how much porridge even half a bucket contained. Enough to just about cover poor Sue!

Well, it was done now. But what next? Michelle was about to leave the stage when she felt and almighty and chilly blast of water hit her bum. She squealed in shock and turned to see Darren, dressed as a comedy fireman, pointing a domestic hosepipe at her. There was much laughter, but people standing at the front quickly retreated when they realised what was happening. He moved and swished the hose pipe around and all Michelle could do was stand there as he gave her a freezing cold soaking. She could feel it quickly seep right through her dress and underwear to her skin. Her nipples stood on end as she halted there, in shock, the drenched dress clinging close, cold and wet.

“We would like to remind the audience to stay back, please, as this ritual will get extremely messy,” warned the MOS.

“You bastard!” said Michelle, incredulously.

“Come on, Babe. Where’s your sense of humour?” protested Darren.

She picked up another bucket of porridge from the table and tossed a large portion of it at Darren. He dodged most of it but she ended up splattering some of the bystanders.

“Hoi! Watch out. This is a hired costume!” he shouted.

“What the hell are you talking about? Still, more fool you as you were the one that spent £170 on this dress!” she retorted.

The audience laughed.

The Master of Ceremonies spoke up once more.

“Do you think Michelle should join Sue for the ‘Oating’, ladies and gentlemen?”

A resounding “Yes” was the reply and was doubtless audible from the next village.

Before she realised what was happening, she was tied to the chair at the waist along with Sue and then approximately half a dozen people who had been standing by proceeded to douse, soak and saturate the pair of them from head to foot in anything they could find on the table: cooking oil, black treacle, porridge, custard, more porridge, cream, jam. A particular low point — at least for our too ladies — was having a five kilo pat of soft butter cruelly shampooed into their hair before being massaged into their clothing. Sue and Michelle were soon a pair of grey dripping, sticky, greasy blobs huddled together on the seat groaning and giggling hysterically.

Next things got even more extreme. Michelle felt herself being untied and was helped to stand, along with Sue, leaning on the back of the oak chair with their backs to the audience. The tarp on the stage was awash with gunge at this point and perilously slippery. Their respective clothing was totally trashed, and clung wetly and heavily to their shapely bodies and both women’s hairdos had collapsed and were reduced to slimy mops of grey goo hanging down their backs in glistening rats’ tails.

Two of the female ‘assistants’ responsible for the recent deluges promptly set about hitching the now rear-facing Sue and Michelle’s skirts above their knickers, revealing their much cleaner rears beneath. Sue was wearing tights and Michelle, of course, revealed not only her gorgeous arse, but her classy lingerie — originally destined to be viewed only by her now doubtlessly estranged boyfriend, Darren. A baying crowd was not what she had had in mind at all!

Strangely enough, though, our Michelle found herself beginning to feel quite exhilarated by this incontrovertibly cruel debacle.

Presently, knickers were stretched out to the back and torrents of treacle and porridge were dispensed into out hapless ladies’ gussets, which were duly slapped and patted to squeeze out the mess. What a sensation! Michelle thought and came over all horny. She could feel the porridge oats rumbling through her panties against the skin of her butt and sloshing and squirming to her pussy at the front. At this point she was overcome and nearly slipped over. It would have been difficult at this stage to differentiate between her own wetness and that of the various sticky messes that annexed her skin.

And it was by no means over. The pair were now daintily turned around to the front whereupon jugs of custard were dispatched into the necklines of their dresses and down into their cleavages. A multitude of hands patted and massaged the custard beneath into their breasts. More custard was heaped and poured within and eventually made its way down to their panties at the front, bulged, slicked down their legs and slopped and sloshed to tops of their heeled shoes and to the floor. For Michelle another quivering wave of ecstacy traversed her cold hard nipples her belly and her nether regions.

Now it was time for the ‘shoe filling’. Their elegant shoes were duly removed and taken over to the tables by the Master of Ceremonies. The ladies could only stand there shivering and shaking their limbs as the audience’s attention was diverted to the activity that followed.

The MOS poured and dipped and scooped their poor shoes through all manner of gloop, sweet and savoury (including lard!) chocolate syrup and rice pudding. When the ruined shoes were eventually returned to their owners, it was difficult to tell who’s were who’s — and this also got a laugh from the audience. Once correctly identified, the footwear, still brimful of sticky gunk was placed oozily back onto the feet of their owners. Schluck!

Both Sue and Michelle were now really getting into the spirit of things. They couldn’t get any messier, after all. Some big muck buckets were brought on filled with more sticky porridge in which they were encouraged to dunk their heads several times, taking it in turns to shampoo and squish long strands of each other’s hair, mixing in honey and treacle and forming it into ‘punky’ styles. They then both sat right in the buckets and wiggled their bums, displacing and sending massive amounts of porridge over the sides and onto the floor.

There was pretty much nothing left to throw about now and so the women took to scooping up the muck from the floor with their hands and chucking it at each other. They and the stage area and some ten metres around was now completely devastated by the colourless, creamy mess.

One of the splattered assistants brought on a new container filled with something very dark looking indeed, which turned out to be thick, black, shiny, smelly, slippery grease. Even in their saturated state this might have seemed a step too far, but the MOS assured them that it was quite harmless.

Publican Sue delved her gooey, gold ringed hand slowly into the thick black lubricant and to everyone’s sheer delight smeared it slowly over Michelle’s breasts. Sue could feel the other woman’s nipples pointing through from beneath her soggy, wrecked dress. Her hands wandered over Michelle’s face, rubbing it into her cheeks and then grasped some more from the container and slicked it through her long hair, pulling her hand firmly along right to the end of each slippery strand then returning to the her scalp and beginning again. Michelle reciprocated, plunging both hands into the thick, oily grease and treated Sue’s now equally debased crowning glory to the same procedure. The audience couldn’t believe how filthy this was becoming. Michelle and Sue were also now so involved as to be oblivious.

By now, on their hands and knees in the quagmire of foody filth, Michelle laid Sue down on her back and began to grease her legs through her now laddered tights, which she then proceeded to tear away and then continued to smear and rub grease, treacle and everything else from the floor into Sue’s bare skin. The now mainly male audience gathered close in around the pair. Someone was even filming the action on their phone, the ‘official’ camera’s viewpoint long ago obscured. The destroyed clothing was ripped and removed and discarded until all that remained were the two ladies writhing around in the marbled, grey and black, sloppy mess. Michelle promptly orgasmed many times at this point, just before the crowd parted and the hoses came.

It took several hours of hosing, rinsing, combing, soaping, scrubbing and hot showering to restore the lovely ladies to anything like their original state and they were provided with some towels and clothing to go home in. They realised, as their hair remained lank and greasy even after four or five washes, that it was still going to take a few more days of washing to get back to normal.

Darren appeared at the door of the pub bathroom where the women had retired to clean up. He looked somewhat sheepish and held some wilting flowers from a nearby garage which he proffered to her. He wasn’t expecting her to want to speak to him at all, if the truth be known, but Michelle, not able to be cross with him for too long, was actually glad to see him and thanked him for the flowers.

Actually, she felt more relaxed that she ever had.

“I don’t know what kind of therapy that was, but it worked. I feel so relaxed.”

“After I’d stitched you up like that I thought you’d never want to see me again, babe!”

“When you appeared with the hosepipe and the fireman’s outfit I have to say, it very nearly was over. But thanks for the experience. I hope you enjoyed watching it.”

“Are you kidding, I had a ‘semi’ throughout the whole thing and I had to take myself off somewhere to ‘jettison’.”

“Alright, that’s plenty of information, Darren.” She laughed, then noticed something:

“What’s that you’ve got in your hand behind your back?”

“Oh! As well as the flowers,” Darren explained, I thought you might like some chocolate.”

Darren revealed the jug he had been holding behind his back, full to the brim with liquid chocolate.

“Chocolate? You’re not seriously…”

Darren gently pulled at the waistband of Michelle’s Lycra pants that had been lent to her in place of her wrecked outfit and slowly poured the thick, gloopy liquid inside. Just as the warm chocolate was welling in her crotch and simultaneously running down her legs, bulging and seeping though to the surface of the tight pants, Darren got down on one knee.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She nearly wept with happiness. “--But I tell you what, Mister! You’d better get in here pretty quick and fuck me ragged ‘coz I’m still sopping wet down there and as horny as a fucking rhino.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.

“I am dirty!” said she.

[pieclown]

Very nice, I love stories were someone is at a fair and "forced". I do like the thing of a guy being Aunt Sally, a CD WAM thing.

[morepies]

Very enjoyable story Thanks!

[treacleman]

Great story. I have never heard of this Aunt Sally thing but it certainly makes a good story.

I will be searching the net for messy Gala Day/ Garden Fete events this summer!

[mdamper]

I really love how the wilting flowers somehow represent the fading in the story - it is beautiful. A beautiful symbolic for you did not use freshly bought or fresh flowers delivered but the fading character of a flower that once was beautiful but now grows older and starts to lose fight against life. I really like that.

[Pacman]

That has got to be the oddest targetted spam I've ever seen

[mr angry]

Trous, I really like this, like the idea of messy humiliation, with the girl enjoying it