Within the Tavern Walls 12

A week had slipped by since Mrs. G's last scandalous encounter with the elders, and though she tried to bury the memories, her body still hummed with the forbidden thrill. Each day, as she bid goodbye to her last patrons and watched them leave her tavern, a strange cocktail of dread and anticipation churned within her, wondering if another test awaited in the quiet hours. On this particular afternoon, as the sun dipped low, casting golden shadows through the now-empty tavern she managed alone, the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a solitary elder. He was neither tall nor short, but carried an air of quiet menace, his wiry frame draped in a dark robe, his eyes glinting with a knowing mischief. "Mrs. G," he started, his voice smooth yet edged with something predatory as he stepped inside the deserted tavern, "the council has sent me alone this time. Word of your… struggles with temptation has spread like wildfire. I’m here to test the depths of your resolve." Her throat tightened, a bead of sweat forming at the nape of her neck as she stood behind the weathered bar counter. "I’ve been striving to remain true to my vows," she stammered, though her voice lacked conviction, betraying the storm brewing within her, especially in this eerily silent setting. The elder’s lips curled into a sly smirk as he stepped closer, his gaze pinning her in place. "We shall see. A trial of a different sort today. Disrobe, Mrs. G, and lie back on that table over there. Let me examine the strength of your virtue." Mrs. G hesitated, her mind racing with the implications, her eyes darting to the tavern door, still slightly ajar from the last patron’s exit. "The door…" she began, her voice tinged with worry as she moved toward it to secure the lock. "Let it be," the elder interjected sharply, a wicked glint in his eye. "Even if it’s a little open, what of it? Let the world peek if it dares. The risk will only sharpen your resolve—or your surrender." Her heart pounded at his words, the vulnerability of the open door heightening her unease, yet something in his commanding tone and the memory of past surrenders nudged her toward compliance. With trembling hands, she moved to the table in the center of the tavern, shedding her clothes piece by piece until she stood bare before him, her skin prickling under his scrutinizing stare and the faint draft from the cracked door. She sat on the edge of the sturdy oak table, then slowly reclined, her legs dangling over the side. The elder, too, cast aside his robe to reveal a lean, weathered body, sinewy with age yet radiating a raw, primal energy. He approached, positioning himself between her legs, his presence both intimidating and electric as he pushed her knees apart with a firmness that brooked no argument. "Relax, Mrs. G," he murmured, his breath warm against her inner thigh as he knelt closer, his hands tracing the curves of her hips, the tavern’s stillness amplifying every sound. "Let us see how steadfast a faithful wife can be. And while we’re at it, let’s ponder how lonely these months must be with your husband away at work. How many nights have you spent aching for a touch, hmm, while tending this tavern all on your own?" Her face flushed with a mix of shame and unwanted heat at the mention of her husband, absent for months on end, leaving her vulnerable to such temptations and sole responsibility for the tavern. Before she could respond, his mouth found her pussy, his tongue delving with a skill that sent a jolt of raw pleasure through her core. The sensation was overwhelming—wet, hot, and insistent, his lips and tongue working in tandem to unravel her defenses. Mrs. G’s hands gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles whitening as she fought the rising tide of arousal, her body spread wide and exposed on the wooden surface in the corner of her own establishment, but her hips arched ever so slightly to meet his ministrations. Her eyes, however, flicked nervously toward the door, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a shadow— a pair of curious eyes peeking through the narrow gap. It sent a shiver of panic and perverse thrill through her. "Mmm, such sweetness," the elder purred between licks, his voice vibrating against her sensitive flesh. "You claim purity, yet your body sings a different hymn. Tell me, does your husband know how easily you melt under a skilled touch? Or has he been too busy, too far away, to even guess at the fire burning in you while you pour ale and sweep floors alone?" Her breath came in short gasps, the taunt about her husband cutting deeper than she expected, stoking both guilt and the illicit fire within her, intensified by the precarious setting of her tavern and the nagging thought of being watched. His tongue swirled and teased, finding every hidden spot that made her quiver, each flick and suck drawing soft, involuntary moans from her lips. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with the scent of her arousal and the obscene sounds of his mouth working against her—an indecent symphony of wet smacks and her stifled whimpers, echoing in the empty space, carrying to the ears at the open door. Her legs trembled, spreading wider of their own accord, giving him deeper access as her resolve crumbled like dry earth. The elder’s hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he devoured her with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating. She could feel the pressure building, a tight coil in her belly ready to snap, and though she bit her lip to muffle her cries, the pleasure was undeniable, a wildfire spreading through her veins, her form trembling atop the table under his relentless attention, while she caught another glimpse of those spying eyes at the door. "You’re close, aren’t you, Mrs. G?" the elder taunted, pausing only to let his words sink in, his breath hot against her swollen folds as he looked up at her from between her splayed legs. "Go on, let it wash over you. It's time to finish this feast I’m enjoying right here in your tavern." His words were the final push. With a shuddering cry she couldn’t fully suppress, the climax tore through her, her body convulsing against the table, her hips bucking into his relentless mouth. Wave after wave of forbidden ecstasy crashed over her, her bare skin slick with sweat, and she turned her face to the side, trying to hide the contortions of pleasure, but the elder’s low chuckle told her he saw everything, as did someone else also through that open door. "No use hiding it, my dear," he said, lifting his head, his lips glistening with her essence as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, standing to tower over her vulnerable, spread form in the shadowy booth. "I felt every shudder, tasted every surrender. Look at you, quivering like a leaf, your body bare and glistening with desire. I wager your husband has never seen you so undone, so beautifully wrecked. What would he think if he walked into this tavern now, seeing his faithful wife spread wide for another amidst her own tables and barrels, with an audience beyond that door?" Mrs. G lay there, chest heaving, shame and satisfaction warring within her as she felt the sticky evidence of her arousal beneath her on the table. Her mind screamed at her weakness, tormented by the thought of her absent husband and the audacity of this act in her own tavern— witnessed by unknown eyes—yet her body still pulsed with aftershocks, uncaring of her vows or the elder’s mocking gaze. She knew, in that haze of lingering pleasure, that this would not be the last test—and a part of her, dark and secret, dreaded how much she craved the next.