Note from the author: the nonconsensual elements are restricted to being forced to watch and be close to two people having sex rather than direct sexual acts occurring. If this sounds like something you won't like then please don't read. This work of fiction is intentionally crass and uses purile language throughout, focusing on disgusting acts rather than character development or plot. You have been warned!
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Sunlight streamed through the drawn curtains and played across the thin face of Agatha, landlady of The Blue Bells Inn, as she began to stir in bed. The fifty-something woman ran the least popular drinking establishment in the small village of Great Tyteslove, overseeing the bar with a will of iron.
Her head felt fuzzy and she didn't seem to be able to muster the energy to raise her arms under the duvet, which was aggressively tucked in under the mattress. She tried to think back to the previous night to find any clue as to why she felt so fragile.
It had was a normal evening at The Blue Bells, the normal crowd of dour locals gathered around the cold and unwelcoming bar. She remembered staring around with her hands on her bony hips, looking ready to challenge anyone who might dare approach her, as was her normal stance of an evening behind the bar.
She remembered...yes, she remembered she had been celebrating something? A victory over a rival.
Erica!
She had heard earlier that day that the health inspectors had arrived at The Cock & Ass Tavern, the pub owned by her nemesis Erica.
Agatha had loathed Erica from the first moment she met her, with her flirtatious energy and buxom beauty. When Agatha learned of the depraved way the dirty slut conducted herself on and off her premises, her dislike solidified into pure loathing.
After a particularly wounding incident involving a portrait of Agatha (see the story Erica's Masterpiece for the full details), she had vowed revenge. She concocted a plan to tip off the health inspectors about the unsanitary conditions in The Cock & Ass Tavern. Though she didn't have a shred of evidence to back up her claim, if the stories she heard we're true they were sure to find spunk-slick floors and walls, uncleaned bodily fluids of all types, and they would have no choice but to condemn the building and revoke Erica's licence.
Hearing that the inspectors had arrived, she had been laughing and bragging about her plan to her husband, Harry. The unfortunate man had kept quiet and continued to wash pint glasses. Harry had always liked Erica, and Agatha knew all too well why. The romance had grown cold in their marriage decades ago, and despite Harry's numerous attempts to reignite their love-life, Agatha had shot him down every time.
She knew her husband was like a horny dog, straining at his leash every time Erica was nearby, waggling her arse like a bitch in heat. Well, Agatha had got the upper hand against her this time, and she had been rubbing Harry's face in it.
She remembered ordering Harry to fix her a sherry to celebrate her victory against her rival. He has mumbled something about her gloating being rude, but she had snapped at him and told him to shut up and make the drink.
She has been bragging loudly and calling Erica every filthy name under the sun, to which Harry continued to protest. Had she had one more drink? She couldn't be sure. She didn't normally feel so groggy after just a few drinks, even so.
She blinked and tried to focus on the hear and now, attempting to sit up in bed again but finding that she couldn't. Her tiredness combined with the covers being tucked in made it impossible. She turned her head to the side and saw Harry sat up beside her, his robe pulled around him.
"How much did I drink last night?" Agatha croaked.
"Only two drinks dear." Harry said, grinning. "It's what I slipped you in that second one that's making you feel all queer."
"You did what?!" Agatha said, attempting again to sit up but failing, her arms remaining pinned beneath the duvet.
"Harold, you explain right now what the h-" a knock at the bedroom door interrupted Agatha mid-sentence.
Without waiting for a response, the door swung open and a woman entered the room holding two cups of tea. Agatha could not believe who was standing in the doorway.
It was her nemesis, Erica. She had Agatha's best dressing gown on, though the thing hardly fit her curvy frame at all. Her huge titties were practically bursting out of it, and her fat hips and arse left very little to the imagination. Though she was in her mid forties and only a handful of years younger than Agatha, the contrast between the two of them couldn't have been more striking.
"Mornin' Harry." Erica said, blowing curl of her short brown hair out of her face.
She offered Harry the tea and he climbed off the bed to retrieve it, placing a hand on her hip as a gesture of thanks.
"Harry, what is that whore doing in our bedroom!?" Agatha barked. The life was returning to her now, though she was still pinned to the bed.
"Don't imagine you mind being called a whore, do you Erica?" Harry enquired as he sipped his tea.
"Certainly don't, why shy away from the truth?" Erica responded, finishing off her tea with one big gulp and putting the mug down on the chest of drawers.
"Though for preference I do prefer people call me a whore when their cock's lodged in my arse." She added.
"Ugh, disgusting." Agatha said, tutting loudly.
"Oh yes, I forgot your old lady don't like rude language Harry." Erica said in a mocking posh voice, turning to him. "Must remember to ha-watch my P's and Q's around here."
"And as to why my whore-arse is here in the first place Aggy, well you've got your husband to thank for that. It was him that tipped me off about your little plan to set the health inspectors on me. No need for me to worry of course, I'm well in with the health inspection boys around here, and they're not going to find anything but a warm welcome at my pub."
Harry had at this point finished his tea and was teasing the cord of Erica's dressing gown open.
"I think Harry had a pretty good idea how I would repay him for the tip-off though." Erica said, her eyes still locked on Agatha as the robe was split in two to reveal her mighty knockers, her lightly bulging stomach and neatly trimmed bush.
"Didn't think you'd suggest drugging her and making her watch though." Harry said, his hands moving up Erica's sides as the front of his robe started to tent.
His stiff cock finally found its way to freedom, springing free from between the folds of his robe.
"I thought it might be an idea you'd find exciting." Erica said, shrugging off her own gown so it fell to the floor and gesturing at Harry's hard prick. "Guess I was right enough about that one!"
Erica pulled at the cord around Harry's waist and disrobed him, placing her hands on his hips as she squatted down, leaving Agatha with a full view of her husband's erect member. It was a sight she had not seen in years.
"Harold, don't you dare." Agatha said, staring daggers at him. "I'm your wife!"
"Should have taken better care of him then Aggy." Erica said, cupping Harry's balls in her hand and weighing the large orbs in her palm.
"Ooh, the fucking weight of these nuts Harry!" Erica said, giving his sack a squeeze. "They must be so backed-up with spunk, you poor bastard."
Erica grabbed the shaft of Harry's cock and lifted it up, burying her nose in the folds of his hot scrotum. She inhaled deeply, nuzzling and probing his bollocks thoroughly with her nostrils as she sniffed in his musk.
"Oh fuck me, those jizz-tanks a full to bursting, I can practically smell your baby-batter through your nutsack!" Erica exclaimed, taking another nostril-filling drag on his balls.
She had one more deep sniff, then raised to her feet and stood beside Harry, her hand still gripping his boner. She started to slowly wank his cock, drawing out a few pearls of precum that greased his glans and allowed his baggy foreskin to slide easily back and forth which each stroke.
"Well don't you worry." Erica said, as she lead Harry by the cock towards the bed in which Agatha was looking on in horror. "We're going to milk every drop of spunk out of you today."
Harry's drooling knob was inching closer and closer to Agatha, causing her to try and retreat back into her pillow to gain distance from it. Erica angled his phallus over the bed and gave it a particularly powerful squeeze, causing a glob of precum to bubble forth from the tip, drip into a hanging slimy rope, then splatter onto the duvet just above Agatha's stomach. The woman's nostrils flared in disgust, and she looked from the stain to her husband's face in fury.
"Harold, if you dare let her bring that...thing any closer, I'll...I'll..." Agatha stammered.
"Oh shut up you sour old bitch, why would he waste it on your puckered old mouth." Erica said, hopping up on the bed and sitting up next to Agatha so her head was rested on the adjacent pillow.
"Now, get that fine dick of yours up here and fuck my throat." Erica said, beckoning with a combination of a lustful grin and a crooked finger. "I want me tonsils to get a shagging they won't forget in a hurry."
Harry did not waste a second scrambling over his prone wife, his stiffy swaying back and forth. He knelt in front of Erica with one leg either side of her head, then grabbing a handful of her hair in each hand, he thrust is schlong into her open mouth. He started to slowly guide his prick to the back of her throat, but Erica grasped his clenched buttocks with both hands and pulled him forward, slamming his dong deep down her throat.
With the expectations for pace and force set for him, Harry went to work pounding away at Erica's mouth. The wet slap of his spit-slathered balls slamming into her chin filled the room, along with Erica's gagging and moans of pleasure. Agatha could do nothing but look on in horror as her husband fucked this strumpet's face like a teenager pounding his own fist.
"This is disgusting. You're both disgusting!" Agatha moaned, as she was violently shaken by the rocking headboard that slammed against the wall each time Harry bottomed out in Erica's throat.
Erica pushed Harry backwards gently and his cock sprang free of her mouth with a lewd pop. She instantly grabbed it again and began to stroke on it with one hand as she kneaded his bollocks with the other.
