English Pub Landlady Ep. 10

I may have to change the category for my dirty little stories from Mature to Romance.

"Why?" you ask. Because Glenda got engaged. Yes, it came as a pleasant surprise to all of us. The lucky man is Farmer Craig. He has been porking her at the Saturday Night lock ins. Sort of 'Try Before You Buy', I suppose. There must have been something about each other that struck a chord because he asked her out to lunch and things just took off from there. Coincidentally, Jem works for Craig and they quite like each other so there aren't really any objections from him. No-one told him how they met.

When Glenda told me I said, "We'll miss you at the lock ins."

"No, one of the conditions that Craig insisted on was that we carry on with them and that I get shagged at least twice each time. He's such a sweet man like that," she replied.

Glenda has moved into the farm so I will need to find a new tenant for the flat above the shop. That shouldn't be a problem as there is a real shortage of rented accommodation in the countryside. If you hear of anyone who may be interested, let me know.

Glenda explained to me, "There is an annexe, separate from the farmhouse, which Jem is going to live in. It has the Internet so he is delighted.

"That leaves us free to do what we like in the farmhouse. Craig has promised to help me get over my slightly conservative nature. He says that there is lots of stuff online that he's sure I'd like to try."

I volunteered, "You can always talk that sort of thing over with me if it will help. I'm very open minded, as you know, and you can be sure that I wouldn't tell anyone else."

"That would be useful. It's always good to have another woman's view.

"Craig says that all kinds of things went on at Henchard's Farm in his grandparents' day so he's been brought up thinking strange sex is normal and so he is really looking forward to educating me."

-

Trev and Jem haven't been back to the tearoom since their Bournemouth excursion. They have both had brief but awkward eye contact with Helen in the street. Speaking to the lady volunteers they all agree that Helen has been far more pleasant to them lately. So much so that they actually enjoy their work in the tearoom.

One lady suggested to me that she thought that Helen and Mardy could be having a fling. He often whispered things to her that made her giggle. She said that most women were more cheerful when they were getting pumped regularly. Her friend was of the opinion that Mardy was a tradesmens' entrance sort of a chap so they both nodded knowingly and said, "Ah, that will be it then."

The tearoom has started to display some pieces of art; paintings and pottery. These are the work of two women who share a cottage and studio in the village. They both wear dungarees and headscarves. I find them a little unnerving. They are in their thirties. One of them is a little masculine while the other one is very pretty. She wears bright red lipstick. When I was talking to her about one of her paintings I couldn't help staring at her mouth. As I did so, I felt my clit twitch. I bought the painting. As I say, I find them unnerving.

-

The following Saturday evening there was an electric atmosphere in the pub. Geoffrey was serving behind the bar and Imogen was collecting glasses and getting touched up so the regulars were fairly confident that they would be getting their end away later that evening. Rita was chatting to Brian and Craig. Her foot was tapping nervously so I knew she was getting excited by the events to come. The boys brushed against her tits each time they picked up their pint glasses which only added to her state.

Glenda and I were seated at the bar. "If that dirty slut is not careful she is going to go off early," Glenda laughed.

"Never mind her, how is your education going?" I said.

Her face beamed, "Mostly we just fuck. Anytime, anywhere. There's not a room in the house that I haven't been shagged in. I can't bend to pick something up without being bonked. After all those years of famine, I love it.

"We have started to do some research on the Internet. Random videos and stories mostly. We both agree that we like the amateur stuff. People just like us; not perfect but very enthusiastic. We always talk it over afterwards and are honest about what we like and what we don't like. Then we fuck.

"Craig likes the thought of showing me off. He says that I have great tits.

"We read a story about a woman whose husband used to blindfold her and undress her when she couldn't be sure if she was being watched or not. I found it a real turn on.

"After Craig and I talked about it we decided to try something a bit like it. We went out in the Land Rover. I had on a short skirt, stockings and no knickers. I undid my blouse completely so my tits were on show. Craig put a lovely blindfold over my eyes.

"With the skirt hitched just above my slit, we drove around the countryside. Everytime we stopped at a junction or a vehicle overtook us, I didn't know who had seen what.

"Often the driver would honk his horn. Sometimes we would pull alongside what sounded like a tractor. It was making me as horny as fuck.

"Eventually, we pulled into a carpark. Craig insisted that I kept the blindfold on. He wound down the windows and started to finger my pussy. I was sure that there were people watching us. I had a massive orgasm.

"He made me get out of the Land Rover and bend over the seat. Craig got behind me and pumped a load into me. While he was doing it I could feel myself being groped by several pairs of hands.

"Craig drove me home just as I was, blindfold on, tits out and spunk filled.

"Next time he says he's going to let one or two of the bystanders have a go too. I can hardly wait.

"Now I'm in danger of going off early," Glenda added.

" Me too," I said "I better get the door locked.

-

I'm sure that you have a sympathetic nature so I'm certain that you'll be pleased to know that I've been a lot nicer to Harry lately. I've had quite a few things to keep me busy and so I've had less time to think of ways to annoy him. He and Gerald have started playing golf twice a week now which is an added bonus. If my medical condition flares up I'm less reliant on him as I now have the Vicar as first reserve. He's usually somewhere in the village. I have him on speed dial and he's always happy to sort me out. The Vicar is a much better fuck than Harry anyway.

One morning, spurred on by Glenda's revelations regarding her carpark adventure, I told Harry that we were going out for one of our drives. He was keen.

We had a nice lunch in a village pub on the Dorset/Wiltshire border. I felt a lot of sympathy for the landlady there. She was having to come up with all sorts of schemes to keep the business afloat. As well as serving food at all hours she had special offers on multiple drinks purchases.

I'm really fortunate that I have no need to make a profit. My only complication is that every few years I have to explain to the VAT man why we buy much more beer than we sell.

It's not that difficult; I just use a combination of flattery, drink and sex.

Harry hopes that one year they send a woman to do the checking. Then he could be the one to convince her that we are legitimate. God forbid that that ever happens. We would both end up in jail.

After lunch we drove around until we found an out of the way picnic area. I wound back my seat, undid my blouse and told Harry to perform his party piece on my nipples. He hadn't lost any of his skills and was soon pulling, twisting and squeezing them with enthusiasm.

I was just reaching the point when I would need to decide if I was going to be fucked by Harry or frig myself off while he watched from outside when there was a fearful noise. Six motorbikes swept in and pulled up not far from us. The bikers were all wearing newish leather jackets with 'Over the Hill M C' printed on the back. There was a woman riding pillion on one of the machines. The hussy was showing a little too much stocking top below her skirt and above her boots for my liking.

At first I felt a bit frightened by the whole spectacle but when the guys started to remove their crash helmets I could see that they were all in their sixties. Hence the name on their jackets, I suppose. To be quite honest they had more of the look of Hell's Accountants than Hell's Angels.

One of the bikers came over and opened the car door and said to Harry, "Do you need any help with that young man?"

Without even a glance at me he replied, "I certainly do."

Before I could grasp what was happening I found myself gently but firmly carried over to one of the picnic benches.

I was bent over and had my drawers whipped down. One of the bikers wasted no time in getting into me. The female biker was sucking the cock of another guy. Harry's nipple work had me in such a state that a monster orgasm ripped through me. The contractions caused my rider to cum straight away.

The bloke that was receiving the blow job moved over to take his place behind me. The woman took another biker in her mouth. I could see what was happening here. She was getting them ready so that they could fuck me in a sort of production line. This was obviously not their first rodeo. I didn't feel in any danger at all and, probably, if I'd called stop they would have. But there was no chance of that happening.

Harry just stood there with that stupid grin on his face as the bikers used me as a spunk dump

As the fifth guy was slipping me a length the woman bent over the other end of the bench and said to Harry, "Work your dick up me you cuckold sissy." He didn't need to be asked twice.

It was electrifying. The hussy was staring straight into my eyes as my husband fucked her. He was staring at me being fucked by a complete stranger in motorcycle leathers.

Harry came first quickly followed by the biker. I just lay there drained.

One of the bikers then said, "OK Gloria, better clean the plate."

I had no idea what he meant until I was turned over onto my back. Two of the guys held my legs in the air by gripping my stilettos. Gloria came round and plunged her face right into my minge. She started by licking the spunk that had dribbled down around my asshole. I was amazed, even Harry had never done that. She then moved on to my vagina. She lapped out every drop from it. I was on that plateau where I wasn't sure whether I would be capable of another orgasm when she moved onto my clitoris. God! It hit me like the heat from an oven door. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more intense, she sucked my clit. I shook from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. I gripped Gloria's hair and pulled her face right into me.

As she struggled free a voice said, "Better repay the compliment then."

I was pulled upright as Gloria took my place on the table. She soon had her boots facing skyward. Someone pushed the back of my head down towards her snatch. I wasn't entirely sure what technique to use so I just put my tongue out as far as I could. I soon found out why I had only been fucked by five bikers. One of them had obviously kept his powder dry for this situation. I felt him thrust into me from behind. He was quickly rumping me with a steady rhythm. I didn't need a technique. My tongue hit a part of Gloria everytime I lurched forward.

It was effective. By the time he was dumping his load in me Gloria was pulling my hair and screaming obscenities at me. She called me an uptight prissy middle class old whore bitch. I thought that there was no point in discussing the finer points of that statement with her, so I just let it go.

And then, they all got their flasks of tea and coffee out as well as their sandwiches. Very Rock 'n' Roll, I must say. It was the most English thing I've ever seen.

The 'boys' all crowded around the picnic table. I could hear them complimenting Harry on his wife's tidy fanny and plump ass. Like he had anything to do with it. Then they started to show him their bikes.

Gloria and I sat in the car. It turns out that the guys had formed the motorcycle club after they had all taken early retirement. They were living out the life that they never had when they were young. Gloria was married to one of them but took turns riding with all of them.

"My old man has given ownership of me over completely to the club to be used anyway they want. Harry will tell you I have 'Property of the Over the Hill Motorcycle Club' tattooed across my ass. We live a very normal life at home, we are just not allowed to have sex there now. When we are at club events I have to do whatever they tell me to," she said.

"Last summer I rode on the back of a throbbing motorbike for 150 miles with a butt plug and dildo in place. By the time we got to the Rally I was a nervous wreck. It was almost an hour before I could be lent out to another M C."

Gloria explained, "The club likes to travel around looking for places like this. If it's deserted the boys take turns banging me. Often there are lone men hanging around on the off-chance of sex and they join in too. That's great because they are usually younger men with really rampant cocks and they all seem obsessed with anal sex. After a lifetime of being a respectable doctor's receptionist I love being a lewd cum slut."

Sometimes they come across people like us, Gloria told me. It's surprising the number of couples who are only too glad to have their sex lives spiced up.

Gloria explained to me,"I have absolutely no lesbian tendencies, I just do it because the boys tell me, but that moment when a woman throws an almighty orgasm while I'm sucking their clitoris is quite thrilling. I'm getting rather good at it"

In a funny way, I knew exactly what she meant.

-

I had an afternoon tea invitation to the Alices' cottage. Two of the older ladies from the W.I. who have long local family histories were also there.

The ladies were keen to talk about the world that their Great-grandmothers lived in. Most of the stories were just the sort of gossipy things that old women love to talk about. Being about rural life some of it was quite earthy.

They shared the Alices' concern that the old stories would be lost when they passed on. One of them, Rose, had an old brown cardboard containing lots of tattered pieces of paper. Many of them looked as if they had been in books at some point. She wanted to know if I could find a good home for them. I perused a few of the leaves. They were seriously old. So much so that although they were obviously written in English the language was so archaic that I couldn't make out more than a few words. I did recognise some dialect words for pretty sexual things so I guessed these weren't recipes for jam.

"I have a friend at the Dorset County Museum who would know exactly how to preserve these," I said. That's a phrase I never thought I would ever say when I first met Imogen

"She will treat them with respect. Is it OK with you if she takes a look at them?"

Rose said, "Please tell her to keep them."

I made a few notes on the box about the location of the farm and the names of Rose's ancestors. Imogen would have been proud of me.

Still slightly haunted by Gloria's story I asked all the ladies if they had ever heard of anyone giving over actual ownership of a wife. They all had the same thought, "Only in the Mayor of Casterbridge."

"Lending, now that's a completely different thing," said Alice.

Lis added, "Wives were always being lent out. And sometimes husbands too, particularly if they had good track records on producing babies."

Jean, who had been fairly quiet so far said, "My granny told me that her granny told her about a strange custom that went in these parts. It's not quite lending as such but you may be interested."

She had our attention.

"It concerned wedding arrangements. When a couple were about to be married the bridegroom would spend the three nights beforehand with the bride's mother.

No-one spoke.

"Everybody knew that the young couple had obviously been having sex but that was just a fumble and a bunk up behind a haystack sort of thing.

"It was the mother's responsibility, on the first two nights, to ensure that the young man knew exactly what was needed to give his bride sexual pleasure.

Still stunned silence.

"On the third night she would instruct him on spanking, and using the leather paddle and the birch cane. These were always used if a wife misbehaved. Different methods were employed for varying offences.

Gobsmacked faces all round.

"The mother knew that wives had to be punished from time to time but she didn't want her daughter to be seriously injured so the bridegroom had to practise on her until she was happy he could do it safely.

"My granny's granny was of the opinion that this gave rise to the tradition of the mother of the bride always standing during the wedding feast."

Nobody said anything for about a minute. Then Lis commented, "It's a good job that husbands have stopped that particular practice otherwise we would all have spent a lot more time standing up."

Everybody laughed.

Rose confided, "I had to ask my husband to use the paddle occasionally, if I knew I'd been bad. He didn't like doing it but it always made me feel better."

Lis said, "More tea anybody?"