The Pub Landlady
Copyright© 2026 by Publandlady
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In a quiet English village lies a pub that time forgot, presided over by a mischievous and unconventional landlady. When she discovers an ancient book recording the customs, secrets, and curious sexual traditions of generations past, she finds herself drawn into a world where old rules still cast long shadows. Part orgy organiser, part agony aunt, and part keeper of village secrets, she is happy to share her stories with you—if you dare. It's going to be a bizarre and bumpy ride.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Heterosexual Farming High Fantasy Humor Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband Light Bond Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Oral Sex Clergy
A strange incident occurred not long after we took over the ownership of the pub in a little Dorset village. As we don’t open until the evening, we have most of our day free to do as we like. One of our trips out is to drive around the English countryside and then find a secluded beauty spot to picnic or to relax. On this particular day we had lunch at a country house hotel. We then pulled into a woodland car park not far away.
The place appeared deserted so I let my car seat back a little and leaned back with my eyes closed. After a few minutes I undid the buttons on my blouse and teased my nipples out so that they rested just above my half-cup bra. I said to my husband, Harry, “You know the drill.”
It is one of my favourite pastimes to have him work my nipples over while I just luxuriate in the feeling. Harry starts on one side. Gently stroking, pulling, twisting or squeezing. After a while, I just grunt and he knows that it’s time to change sides and so on. I should say that back then Harry was in his late fifties and I was a year younger.
Sometimes Harry gets a bit over enthusiastic and causes my nips real pain. I’m sure that he does this on purpose to get back at me for the way I treat him. I let it go on for a while and then I say, “Harry!” and he says “Sorry”. He believes that he is getting away with something but little does he know that I really quite enjoy it. Harry’s tit work goes on for half an hour or so until my knickers are soaking wet. Then I usually let him fuck me. If I’m feeling a bit naughty, I make Harry stand outside the car with his pants down and his hands behind his back. I have him watch me bring myself off. After that I make him put his stiffy back in his trousers and drive all the way home like it.
Anyway, to get back to the story. Harry was giving my teats the treatment when there was a knock on the window. There was a young man by my side of the car. Totally oblivious to the fact that my tits were on show, Harry let down the window to ask what he wanted. He said, “Are you dogging?”
I thought Harry would tell him to fuck off but instead he just said, “That depends. Show the lady what you’ve got.”
Before I knew what was happening he whipped down his shorts and this long rigid cock sprang at my face. As if by instinct or something I put my lips round the knob. He shuffled forward a bit and I started to bob my head. Harry just carried on working on my right nipple as if it was all perfectly normal. Eventually, I put my hand up to cup the young man’s bollocks. I could feel that he was about to cum so I jerked my head back and he shot spunk all over my tits and bra.
The chap then pulled up his shorts and ran off behind a big bush. He must have been hidden there when we arrived. He then sped off in a van with the name of some company on the side. Harry and I both looked at each other for a second and then rushed to get out of the car. By the time he got around to my side, I was already bent over the bonnet with my drawers round my ankles. Harry was up me like a rat up a drainpipe. It couldn’t have taken more than about four strokes before he spunked. Quick even by his standards. I turned around and pulled his hair until he had his face in my minge. It didn’t take too many licks of my clitoris before I orgasmed wildly.
On the way home Harry said that if a man had stepped out of the bush after we had fucked he would have let him shag me. So I told him that if ten men had stepped out of the bush before Harry had fucked me he would have been at the back of the queue.
Several years later, Harry and I are still running our little country pub in rural Dorset. 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. Like I said, 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.”