Firstly, can I just apologise to any of you to whom English English is not your first language. For the sake of authenticity, throughout the series I have used some British slang phrases (but I have avoided any Dorset dialect words). I hope that the context will make it quite clear what they mean.
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Together with my husband, Harry, I run a country pub in a little village in rural Dorset, England. I am 60 and in pretty good condition for my age; a little plumper than I was but still not bad. Harry is 61 and hasn't aged quite so well.
I came into a reasonable amount of money a few years back so we really operate the ******** Inn because we like doing it. Not having to make a profit means that we set the rules to suit ourselves (well, I do really). It's just like an old fashioned English pub used to be. We don't do food, we just sell beer or crisps. There's no jukebox, pool table or TV and we only open in the evenings. We only have about a couple of dozen 'regulars', mostly farmers and farm workers. It's the only pub for miles so there's not much choice.
I love to play the part of the Tarty Landlady. Low cut blouses (showing my larger than average knockers), short skirts, high heels and stockings. This gives the punters a bit of a thrill when I bend over. I'm sure that they come in for this as much as the ale.
While Harry likes to do whatever he's bloody told.
One of the good things about only opening at night is that we have most of the day to ourselves. On one occasion we had spent the day quite some way away at a city in the next county. Shopping and a nice lunch followed by more shopping. I don't know if it was the fact that I had been getting undressed and dressed so many times, trying on underwear to add to my collection, but I was feeling pretty turned on.
We got back to the pub at about 5-30, which didn't leave a lot of time to open at six. I left Harry to get the bar ready while I shot upstairs to get showered, made up and dressed. I slipped into the new black corset, black half-cup bra and stockings that I had purchased that day. After putting on a short black skirt and ivory blouse I thought about knickers. Maybe because my fanny was buzzing slightly I decided against wearing any.
I thought, "That will give the perverts something to look at."
During the evening the thought of the customers craning their necks to catch a look at my slit was making me feel really randy. By 'drinking up time' at eleven o'clock you could almost smell the testosterone in the air, not to mention the slightly musky odour from my minge.
I said to Harry, "When this lot have drunk up and gone home you can give me a bloody good seeing to."
Well, when he said, "You'll have to wait until after I've done a couple jobs downstairs in the cellar," I was 'gobsmacked' as we say in England. Before I could say anything to him he had disappeared through the cellar door.
I was absolutely fuming.
I strode across the bar and slipped both the bolts across the door. The eight or so customers looked quite pleased because this was usually the sign for a 'lock-in'. Which in the olds days was a way of avoiding the British licensing laws. It usually meant that I gave them free drinks. When I took off my blouse and dropped and stepped out of my skirt their jaws dropped.
I bent over a table and said, "Right you lot, anyone who can produce a hard on straight away get behind me but if you need help stand at the front."
There was a slight pause before old Tom, who always sits in the corner with his little dog, Patch, and hardly ever moves (not even to buy a drink), was right in front of my face with his underpants round his ankles. He pushed his semi- erect cock in my mouth and I instinctively started to suck it. I felt a pair of rough farmer's hands on my hips. This is going to sound stupid but, even though I knew what was coming next, I was genuinely shocked when a prick was thrust into my fanny.
Not because it was bigger than I was used to but because of the sheer youthful confidence of it. It was rock hard and was followed by a set of balls that hung at just the right level to hit my clit with force. It nearly took my breath everytime that it was slammed into me.
I was desperately trying to keep old Tom's todger in my mouth. This was made more difficult because he kept trying to lean to one side so he could see my left tit swinging around in my bra. When my nipple popped out, it was all too much for him.
He just let his load go on my tongue. I felt a bit sorry for him as he pulled his trousers up and went back to his seat. He must have believed he was going to have his first fuck in years. I guess his dog, Patch, must have smelt the sex in the air because he was staring straight at me and licking his little doggy penis at the same time.
Another of the middle aged farm hands slipped his prick between my lips. By the time he was completely stiff the young farmer,who was pumping my rump, had shot my gash full of spunk.
The other blokes sportingly let the older chap take the next fuck before his erection went. It's the British way, you know! He didn't last very long and was quickly replaced by another younger farmer.
Fairly soon, most of the men who wanted to had used my cunt. Two of the married men had just watched and wanked, which I thought was very gentlemanly and quite sweet.
The first farmer was having a second go when Harry appeared through the cellar door.
As soon as he took in the scene he said, "What the fuck?"
I shouted at him, "I was too horny to wait for you. When this chap's finished you can have a turn."
Harry nearly tripped over as he tried to get to me and get his trousers off at the same time. He soon had his cock in my mouth and it felt harder than it had been for years.
The young farmer's dick fell out of me with a flop sound. This was Harry's cue to get to my back end.
