Hazel’s Hurricane [M/FF]
Posted: Wed Jul 09, 2025 2:18 am
Hazel’s Hurricane [M/FF]
I was sodden, miserable, despondent. My worldly possessions were on my back or in my back pack, and my financial resources were a handful of coins in a pocket. I had passed up a chance at marriage, lost my job, lost my apartment. And there was this torrential downpour soaking me.
“I may as well take the easy way out. When the next car passes, I’ll just step out in front of it and hope it knocks me into the next life. This one isn’t worth much,” I told myself. Save that there weren’t many vehicles passing. I trudged on the shoulder of the road waiting for the end.
I sensed a vehicle approaching by the dim lights from its headlights, trying to judge the right moment. The rain and thunder and wind noise drowned most of the sound of its approach; when I turned to step out, it was parked beside me.
The man inside turned on the interior lights and reached across to wind down the right hand passenger window, saying, “Would you like to get out of this rain?”
I guess my survival instinct bypassed my downiness and I nodded.
“My station wagon is quite full; you’ll have to sit with your pack on your lap until I can get out and re-arrange things,” he added.
I had to squeeze into the front seat, probably soaking the soft cloth fabric, squeezing my feet on either side of a metal box occupying part of the foot well.
“Hi, I’m Roger. I’ll take you as far along this road as I can, which may not be far. It’s treacherous driving; fortunately not much else is on the road.”
“I’m Hazel, and I haven’t seen a car for about a half an hour.”
“I’ll have to concentrate on driving; if you see anything, let me know. It’s hard to see the road, signs. The road may be washed out anywhere.”
“OK,” I responded.
We drove in silence for a quarter of an hour, rarely getting out of second gear of his manual transmission. While it was probably still afternoon, it was dark enough that it seemed to be twilight, punctuated by flashes of brilliant lightning, destroying night vision for several seconds. Then there was some dull illumination ahead and Roger slowed some more. A motel, with a sign indicating a vacancy.
“I can’t go on; I’m going to see if there’s still a room.” He pulled in and parked as close to the front door as he could. “You can come in or continue walking.”
I chose to come in with him.
Roger said hello to the slim, attractive 50ish woman behind the counter, then when she got off the phone said, “Is there a room with two beds available?”
The slim woman replied, “All I have is a unit we call the honeymoon suite – it’s got a king size bed.”
“I’ll take it,” Roger said immediately. The woman, whose name turned out to be Carole, reached over and switched on the “No” part of the vacancy sign, then handed Roger a registration card to fill out.
“Is the restaurant still open?” he inquired.
“For about the next half hour. Then the day cook has to go home to her family. That call when you came in was the evening cook, saying she couldn’t make it in – her power’s out, her man’s away somewhere, and she has to stay with the kids. She was going to have to quit being a full time cook anyway, just be a part time because of her husband’s schedule. And I have no one else to cook.”
“I can cook,” I heard myself say, “I was a cook for 4 summers at a kid’s camp. Not quite the same thing, but I’d be willing to give it a try.”
Roger added, “I don’t know what I could do, but I’m willing to help, even if it’s to ensure I can get something to eat.”
“Well, I do have a motel full of guests who are going to want something to eat.”
“What happens if the power fails?” Roger wondered.
“Good question. I’m not too bad. I have propane for most things, and a large propane generator, enough for emergency lights, the kitchen, here, the water pump. And the tank is full.”
Carole led the way to the restaurant, after locking the till and putting out a ‘Back in 10 minutes’ sign.
The day cook showed us the preparations for the evening meal, where things were located, how to work some of the stoves. “I don’t know how you will manage; just don’t burn the place down. Though with all this rain, it’s hard to see a fire lasting.” To Carole, the cook said, “I don’t know about the morning. I’ll get home OK because I have a truck, 4 wheel drive. But the roads may wash out this evening.”
“Please call me and tell me that you reached home safely, or call if you have a problem. If you can’t make it in tomorrow, we’ll have to see what we can do. Cold cereal, perhaps.”
“I’ve cooked two roasts, they seem to be popular in bad weather. And made lots of muffins buns, and a fresh urn of coffee.”
So Hazel set out to master the works of a large restaurant kitchen all by herself. Carole had said she would try to serve the tables, and tell everyone the situation. Roger would help as he could, clear the dishes, load the dishwasher. “It’s not as if anyone is in a rush. The satellite TV won’t work in this downpour, so they might as well take their time,” she told me. “We’ll prune the menu to the things you can handle reasonably.”
Part way through the evening Carole came to me after a phone call. “There’s a neighbour a couple of miles away who has lost power to her freezer several hours ago. She has a couple of turkeys which have started to thaw and offered them to me. If necessary, could you cook them tomorrow?”
“I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life,” I replied.
But Roger overheard, and offered, “Well, I could. How big are they?”
“Twenty five pounds or so.”
“Will they fit in your ovens?”
Carole replied yes.
“Well, I’ll cook them, if you want. My mother used to cook a turkey in the wood stove in the cottage every Thanksgiving and I’ve kept up the tradition. So have your friend bring them over early in the morning and perhaps come back for dinner.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
Six hours later I was exhausted but we had fed all the guests, a few who stopped in, and some travellers with sleeping trailers who decided to stay the night in the parking lot. Roger had pitched in, handling all the cleaning up, delivering the food to the tables, doing some of the cooking – mostly French Fries, and slicing the roasts. Carole had to run to the phone from time to time, and to greet people coming to the door. It was warm in the kitchen, and with my activity at least I dried out and warmed up. I was too busy to think of my own woes.
The only mishap was when I knocked a package of some brown powder off a shelf and covered myself with the powder. It coated my blouse, face, arms, and some got down my neck. I had to pull off my blouse for it was shedding brown powder all over the place. Roger found a clean apron for me, and helped me tie it high up so I was partly decent, then went about cleaning up the mess between carrying food out to the tables, returning with dirty plates to be loaded into the dishwasher.
Along the way we both had a haphazard meal, but it was better than I had had for several days.
Roger carried my bag and one of his into the unit he had engaged. As described, it probably was the local honeymoon suite, with a king sized, four poster bed, large room and large bath, warm enough.
“I need a shower,” I exclaimed, looking in my pack for clean, not too wet clothes, eventually dumping most of my things on the floor. Only a set of undies. “I don’t have much to wear, it’s all wet,” I told Roger.
“Go have your shower; perhaps wash your hair while the power is still on,” he told me, “you can have the right side of the bed and I’ll take the left. And you’ll be safe as if in a room of your own.”
I had been fearing what he might expect in return for the lift; somehow after working with him all evening I sensed he was being truthful. For I have this fear of intercourse with men after being raped by two men in situations I placed myself into; I had no one to blame but myself.
I must have been in the bathroom for a half an hour; when I came out the bed had been turned down and the room changed a bit. He had changed his clothes as well.
“I took your wet and dirty things to Carole to see if there is a washer and drier; she has a small one for herself and promised to wash what I took along. But I didn’t find any night things.
“Because I don’t have any; they wouldn’t fit into my pack.” I was wearing the damp underpants, and had a towel wrapped around my torso; it threatened to dislodge any moment.
“I have a suggestion, I have some cord that could be tied around to hold the towel in place, if you want. Oh, wait a minute.” Roger dove into his sports bag and rummaged around in the bottom, and came up with two large safety pins. “Diaper pins,” he explained, then wistfully added, “also useful for pinning two sleeping bags together. But that was long ago, another life.”
The pins were useful, but his first idea intrigued me. A cord above the breasts, and below, that was a form of bondage. Hmmm.
“I found the supply of linen,” Roger added, “and added another flat sheet to the bed. On your side, sleep on the fitted sheet with two sheets above; I’ll sleep between the flat sheets. That way you will have some, well, privacy, if I move in the night.”
Well, that was very thoughtful of him. He went for a shower and I fell asleep before he came out. Some alarm at 6AM woke us up and then the phone rang. It was Carole, wondering if we were up to breakfast.
Roger made several suggestions to Carole; as a result we adopted a buffet approach so there were a lot fewer individual meals for me to make but at the effort of make a lot of a few things. The guests were appreciative of getting any food whatsoever, and were happy with the arrangements. There wasn’t anything they could do – it still rained heavily outside. Carole reported the radio said the government had declared a state of emergency and banned all travel so all the guests were constrained to the motel. But her friend delivered the turkeys anyway. I really enjoyed working, and getting to know Carole.
We made it back to the room after midnight, though each had had a couple of one hour rest periods during the day. It was a very exciting day, busy but rewarding. The turkeys had been fantastic and Roger had stood at the buffet in a chef’s outfit he had found, carving the birds. With a buffet format, Carole was able to open the bar, then an impromptu party started when someone brought in his guitar. After dinner Roger had stripped the carcases of the birds so we had lots of meat for a turkey pot pie lunch or dinner for tomorrow.
“Phew, I’m tired,” I said to Roger as he closed the door. I looked at him in admiration and almost went over to give him a hug. I don’t know how he had the energy to handle the cooking and the cleaning; it helped that the patrons had brought their dirty dishes to a side table, scraped them, stacked and sorted them. For me, I had been stimulated all day by the thought of something Roger had said last night. “I’m going to have a shower, then might ask you something.”
“OK,” Roger replied as I vanished into the bathroom.
I returned, dressed as I was last night. “ Roger, would you try your cords to hold my towel on tonight?” There, I got it out. A bit of bondage, not much, but maybe enough for me to climax.
He looked at me, smiled, and replied, “I’ll try.” Then he left to go to his station wagon and fetch his cord. I wonder what he thought, but he clearly wasn’t offended.
“Hold the top of the towel up so I can wrap this cord around you above your bust line,” he instructed.
Just then the door opened and Carole barged in.
“I see you are going to use this room for its other intended usage,” she observed, turning to go.
“I did find some rings at the top of the bedposts that seemed to have little functional use for a honeymoon,” Roger responded.
“Huh?” I inquired.
“Some guests use this room for, shall we say, kinky sex,” Carole explained, continuing, “in the off season from time to time me and my ex used to come in here for a little fun.”
I must have looked inquisitive, or lost, so Roger explained, “Bondage, perhaps a little sado-machochism. But we weren’t into bondage, Hazel just wanted something to hold the towel up.”
“Well, maybe we were, a little,” I said flustered.
Both looked at me, and I blushed. “You see, when I am tied up, I get fantastic, strong orgasms. Roger suggested this way of holding the towel up last night, and I have been wanting to try this all day.”
“Well, there’s quite a supply of things,” Carole started to explain, taking out her large key ring, kneeling down at the side of the bed, and unlocking a drawer under the bed and pulling it out. “Help yourselves; I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, stay,” I said, and then maybe I was a little safer. For I had an unholy fear of having vaginal intercourse, having been raped by two young men in my youth when I had them tie me up. Ever since then I revolted at the thought of normal sex; it even prevented me from accepting a proposal for marriage. I held up the edge of the towel and told Roger, “Go ahead and tie this on.”
Roger stood behind me and passed some white cord under my right arm pit and instructed me to pull it across the towel and pass it under my left arm. He pulled a lot of cord, and passed it around me again, then tied it snugly behind my back.
“Let the towel down over the cord,” he instructed doing the same behind me. Then he passed the cord around again a couple of times over the towel, trapping the fold so that it hung like a tent dress. “Would you like some cord around your torso below your bust?” he wondered.
I nodded, and quickly he wrapped the cord below my breasts, trapping them in a fold. The terry cloth material was a bit rough on my sensitive nipples. At no time did he touch my front, always letting me pass the cord around my breasts, a reassuring process for me.
I shut my eyes, sank to the floor on my knees wide apart beside the bed, and had the climax I had been anticipating all day. I guess they looked on in amazement.
“Can you have another?” Carole asked.
“In a little while.”
“Would you like to be fastened further?”
My smile answered the question. Roger went to the drawer and extracted some stuff. First he put a blindfold on me, “to heighten the other senses.” Then he stood me up against one of the corner posts of the bed, moved my hands behind the post, and quickly fastened them together. Snugly, using only a few turns around the wrists, then applying a cinch rope between them, carefully tying the knot where I would have trouble reaching it with my fingers. Some other rope fastened the cords about my torso to the post so I couldn’t fall down. He added more ropes around me and the post, at my waist, hips, knees and ankles so I was an integral part of the furniture.
Finally he tied the blind fold to the post so my head wouldn’t flop over.
“There, let’s see what she does with that.”
Well, another climax, more vigorous then the first.
When I recovered my breath, he wanted to know if I wanted to be released.
Never would do, but I said, “At least an hour.”
Roger must have turned to Carole and said, “Would you like to play for a while?”
She must have nodded, then replied, “I have something to tell you. A few years ago I had cancer of the cervix, quite badly. Most of my, well female internals were removed including the most part of my vagina. So there’s not much of me, but my clit still works and I can come. Just so you know. My ex couldn’t accept the situation, so left me.”
“Well, seven years ago, I had my prostate removed. My machine hardly functions, but a good erection is nice. Let’s see what we can do.”
Roger suggested she might want to freshen up in the bathroom. I heard the shower run, and then she returned. Roger had been busy around parts of the bed and invited Carole to get up on it when she returned from the bathroom, accompanied by a blast of humid air.
“Let me put this blindfold on you, and then lie down on the bed.” I felt the bed shift with her weight. Roger walked to each corner of the bed and fiddled, so I guessed she was being spread-eagled on the king size bed.
“Comfy?”
“They could be snugger,” Carole responded.
Roger revisited the corners and I sensed a groan of satisfaction from Carole.
“I’m going to have a shower,” he announced.
When he returned, naked I presumed, he climbed up on the bed and I sensed him playing with Carole, perhaps brushing her nipples (a sensitive part of me), caressing her skin, working his hand down into her pubic region. Carole’s breathing sped up and deepened, then she thrashed as she climaxed with a series of audible sighs.
I came as well, stimulated by the nice snug bondage, and my imagination of what was happening near me.
“Get on top,” Carole ordered, and the bed shook as Roger thrusted into her body the short distance he could, both of them climaxing together. Roger moved off, cooing gently into her ear.
I woke up the next morning, lying on the bed, pressed down by some sheet, hands fastened behind me, blindfolded. Sometime in the night the towel vanished, but the cords were still there. I came again. While it could have been better if my legs had been bound, otherwise it was a very perfect moment.
My activity must have waked the bodies sleeping next to me on top of the sheet covering me for I felt Carole to my left stir and then the heavier man on my right move.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Mmmm,” I murmured.
“I remember why I came into this unit last night. The radio said the hurricane had passed by, and that road crews had been out checking the roads and were repairing places the roads were washed out. This highway was reported as OK.”
“Good,” said Roger.
“Hazel, I sense that you are at some sort of cross roads in your life.”
I nodded, though had not discussed my life with them.
“My afternoon cook wants to scale back on her work. Would you like to stay with me and become my cook? I can find a small corner for you to fit in.”
“That would give me a fresh start,” I heard myself say, “thank you.”
“ Roger, I feel you have another life. But I’d like you to know that you are more than welcome to stay here whenever you want. And if you cared to play with the contents of the drawer, I would like that, and Hazel would too.”
“I come by here on the way to my cottage several times a year. I could certainly stop in from time to time. Maybe come over for the anniversary of this storm.”
I piped up, “Maybe one time we could do without the middle sheet.”
ST