The Pub Landlady
Copyright© 2026 by Publandlady
Chapter 16
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 16 - 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 Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Farming High Fantasy Historical Humor Mystery Tear Jerker Workplace Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband Mother Son Humiliation Light Bond Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Interracial Black Male White Male White Female White Couple Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Voyeurism Clergy Public Sex Prostitution
It was true what Dorce had to say about heartbreak in a small village. In a big city, these things could go unnoticed. Here, everybody knew what you were going through.
It was like that for Jem. His girlfriend, Stacey, was offered the job of Deputy Head Teacher in a primary school on the Isle of Wight. I think that Jem had always been keener on Stacey than she had been on him. She decided to make a clean break. Everybody in the village knew about it and everybody felt sorry for Jem.
Stacey and her friend, Jules, rented the flat that I owned above the village shop. When Stacey moved out, I was aware that this would probably mean that Jules couldn’t afford the rent. I was on the verge of telling the letting agents to reduce the monthly payment when Trev let it be known that he was moving in with Jules. Their love affair had gone from strength to strength. Trev always professed his love for Jules to anyone who would listen. Jules said that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Quite a few mature ladies around here thought that she was probably right; myself among them.
I did instruct the letting agent to let them off the next two months’ rent to help with their settling-in costs.
None of this helped Jem’s situation. Whenever he wasn’t working, he would mope about the village with a long face and a large bulge in his trousers. He wasn’t just missing Stacey’s pretty face.
I saw him passing the pub window one morning. I opened the door and called him back into the pub. He looked around like he was lost. It was his first time in a bar.
“Are you OK, Jem?” I asked.
“I suppose so,” he replied.
I nodded towards his crutch and said, “How’s the little fella doing?”
“It aches like hell,” Jem said.
“Do you want to give it a workout?” I asked him. Like I said, I felt sorry for him.
“Yes please!” he said.
I bent over a table and pulled my skirt up above my waist. I dropped my knickers. I had to give them a little jiggle to get them past my stocking tops. As my drawers hit my shoes I deftly stepped out of one leg and spread my feet apart.
“There you go, young man. Take as much time as you like,” I instructed him.
Jem pulled down his jeans to his knees and positioned himself behind me. His cock was a reasonable size and I wasn’t fully prepared so his initial penetration was a bit dry. It didn’t take long for my juices to flow. Just lately, I’d almost forgotten the feeling of a fully hard younger man banging at my ample backside. As I said, it’s been a rough couple of years for everyone.
His staying power had greatly improved since he’d last shafted me. After quite a while it was going on slightly longer than I wanted. I love to be fucked but I also love to be spunked up. When I orgasmed, I thought the contractions would finish him off but he kept on relentlessly slapping his thighs against my bum. It was so loud I thought it might wake Harry.
Just then, he pulled back slightly and, using my fanny juice as a lubricant, slipped his dick into my bum.
To be fair, I hadn’t actually told him not to. And I did feel sorry for him.
Now, he did spunk in me. Quite a load in fact.
We both got ourselves straight. I gave him a little kiss on the cheek as I let him out of the pub door.
I felt quite good. It’s always edifying to do something for charity.
The new vicar and his wife seemed quite nice. He was about fifty and she was a little younger. They had previously been at an inner-city church in Bristol although I believe they are originally from Surrey. I don’t know how these things work but I guess you can only do that sort of work for so long. I like to think that they had been sent here as a reward.
The bishop had informed the old vicar that he had to retire. He didn’t really want to.
The ladies from the Women’s Institute made a collection and gave him a bloody useless gift. Helen made a speech and told him that he would be sorely missed.
“I bet you’ll miss him, you dirty bitch. I know I will,” I thought.
I didn’t think that I could ask the new vicar for the sort of spiritual guidance I got from the old one.
Afterwards, I walked back towards the tearoom with Helen.
“I feel really sorry for Jem. He’s taking the loss of Stacey badly,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
Helen went on, “He came into the tearoom the other day. He didn’t look happy at all. I made him a big mug of tea and a slice of bread pudding.
“He had this great big bulge in his trousers. There was no one else around so I took him into the stock room. Initially, I was just going to suck him off but I ended up riding him. That boy has some staying power. That Stacey must be an ungrateful cow. Some young women think there’s more to life than just fucking; they’ll learn later.
“It’s good to do something for charity every now and then,” Helen said.
I was relaxing in the garden after lunch. I had my book. I was thinking about a G&T but I don’t want you thinking that I have a problem, so I let it pass. You can guess where Harry was.
Suddenly, there was a banging on the side door of the pub.
I thought, “It can’t be Rita, I didn’t see her but I’m sure that the bar has been cleaned already today. If Harry’s forgotten his keys again I’ll shoot him.”
I opened the garden gate and peered around to find the new vicar’s wife standing there. “Sorry, I knocked on the front door but got no answer so I thought that I’d try this one,” she said.
I had spoken to her once in the tearoom but Helen and two ladies from the WI were there so I didn’t get a chance to have a proper chat with her.
“Come into the garden,” I said.
“Take a seat. Gin and Tonic?”
“Fuck me yes!” she replied. “Sorry, been living in Bristol too long.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I laughed. I liked her already.
We had a general sort of back-and-forth. Asking nonsense questions and waiting for one of us to get to the point. I knew she was going to hit me with something, I just wasn’t sure what it would be. Me flower arranging in the church? Me cake baking for underprivileged people? Surely, no one could be that underprivileged.
Then she cracked, “Helen tells me that you solve problems.”
“Does she now, and what sort of problem could you have that I could solve? My limited expertise is rather specialist,” I said.
“I’m not sure where to begin. I have a couple of problems that I hope you can help with. One is professional, if you call being a vicar’s wife a profession. The other is personal. Very personal.”
I asked, “Why don’t we start with the personal? I think that there may just be a snowball’s hope in hell there.
“After that I’d be glad to listen to the other problem. But it may not surprise you to learn that my experience of the tribulations of an Anglican cleric’s wife is nonexistent.”
“Thank you. I was afraid that you would dismiss both of them out of hand.”
That was my first instinct but I was itching to know what the personal one was all about.
Faith – that’s her name – started to explain, “Well, to put it bluntly, I’m not getting fucked.”
I nearly choked.
“Colin is just not interested. I’ve tried the sexy underwear. I’ve tried playing the tart in the bedroom. He just won’t take the bait.
“Well, to be honest, the not getting fucked thing is a slight exaggeration. In the last five years I’ve been finger fucked to orgasm when I pretended to pass out drunk at a church picnic. I have no idea who did it.
“I was fucked once when I was delivering food parcels in the St Paul’s District three years ago. A man told me that I had no idea about the lives of the people who lived there. He dared me to share a joint with his friends. The details are still a bit hazy but I think I had four or five cocks.
“That was my last time. I guess that transferring to this village, lovely as it is, hasn’t increased the chances of that happening again.”
I questioned her, “Supposing that I can help you, is it your husband that you want to have sex with or just anybody?”
Faith replied, “At this stage, anyone.”
“Normally, a vicar’s wife can’t afford to be involved in casual sex but I understand that ‘normally’ doesn’t apply hereabouts,” she went on.
“Fair enough. I am not promising anything but I’ll give it some serious thought,” I said.
“Just two questions. Can the vicar know about this? If he did know, would he mind?”
“I don’t think he would care either way. In fact I might like it if he did. I don’t think I’m a bad looking woman and it may make him realise what he’s passing up,” she added.
“Now, purely out of academic interest, what is the other problem?” I asked.
“Well, as you know, hardly any bastard attends the church services in this village. One of the reasons we were sent here was to try to change that. It’s a long shot but I hope a woman of your talents may have some ideas,” she said.
I laughed, and not just because of her language.
“Oh, I thought that you wanted me to do something easy like the water into wine thing,” I smiled.
“I’m not saying yes; but I’m not saying that it can’t be done,” I concluded.
The next day Rita had done as much cleaning as she felt like and was sitting in my kitchen drinking my tea and eating my digestive biscuits.
When I walked in, I said, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Oh,” she said, “I was just feeling sorry for young Jem.
“He looks so sad wandering about with his sad face and his hard-on.”
“I know,” I said.
Rita said, “Yesterday, I saw him walking up the lane. I just had to let him take his frustrations out on my fanny. I bent over the stile while he gave me a good seeing to. Mind you, all of the people on the Dorchester bus looked surprised as they went by.
“Still, it was the charitable thing to do and I told him not to tell his mum.”
That evening I overheard one of those stupid conversations in the bar. They were discussing the new vicar’s wife. The general consensus was that she was probably frigid. Every one of the silly old gits had a theory about what the cause was and what the best cure was.
Old Tom thought that the reason was that he’d never shagged her.
Everybody agreed that the only cure was a bloody good banging. Even Ted was in agreement.
Men do tend to simplify everything.
“Thank you very much for landing me with Faith’s problems,” I said to Helen somewhat sarcastically.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult. Just strap her to the Hoss and get Dorchester Rugby Football Club to lend you the 1st XV,” she replied.
It’s not just men who simplify things. Helen is still a bit miffed because her sixtieth birthday came and went while the whole world was locked down. She had her heart set on me devising a scenario where she was strapped to the Hoss and debauched. It just didn’t happen.
“I know that’s high on your wish list but her issues are slightly more complex,” I laughed.
“Have you heard from Imogen lately?” Helen asked, changing the subject.
“Not really, I know that she and Geoffrey were awarded a grant for some sort of research project. I really must ‘phone her soon,” I replied.
You know that local artist, Jane? Well, she volunteered to do a painting of the ******** Inn for me. She told me that lately her work was ‘really off the wall’ but that when she was at Art College she was quite good at architectural portraits.
I was intrigued to see how it was progressing as Jane had suggested it was near completion.
As I approached the studio, I could hear the distinctive strains of Argentinian music. The door was wide open so I just walked in. Jane and Claud were attempting to dance the Tango. Each time they got the steps wrong they laughed hysterically.
When Claud saw me in the doorway she said, “Thank goodness you’re here. This Sugar Thumb Fairy has two left feet. Can you Tango?”
“Well, I did learn a bit at Convent School but that was years ago,” I replied.
Claud laughed out loud, “It’s like riding a Dyke, once you master it you never forget how. Come and show Jane.”
“OK, but keep it basic,” I agreed.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.