Within the Tavern Walls 6

The elders' visits persisted. Mrs. G could hear their footsteps, like the echo of inevitability, approaching her doorstep every other evening. They would knock on her door, the rhythmic thuds sounding like a countdown to her resolve's inevitable crumble. With every visit, Mrs. G found herself surrendering more and more to the sensations that threatened to consume her. She could feel the tension winding up inside her with each passing moment, like a tightly coiled spring. The elders' hands on her skin was something she got used to, and they started to feel less intrusive. That day, as always they took their place on either side of Mrs. G, and took turns whispering into her ears, trying to get her to surrender. Their hand traced the curves of her breasts over her clothes. They were feeling the firmness beneath their fingertips, and each touch elicited a response from Mrs.G. She would stiffen for a moment before letting out a soft moan that barely made it past her lips. It was a sound so faint that it could have easily been mistaken for the rustling of fabric. Yet, each moan from Mrs. G served as fuel to their desires. The elders reveled in the reactions they drew from her. Their fingers moved with a newfound boldness, kneading and squeezing through the thin fabric of her dress. Mrs. G's breath hitched as she tried to stifle her moans. "Such beautiful skin," one of the elder said. The other elder's hand had moved lower and raised her skirt, exposing Mrs.G, the elders enjoying the view of her knees, upper thighs and her panties that were already wet. "We must ensure you're still pure," he murmured. The elder's hand, weathered by time grazed the delicate skin of Mrs. G's legs. His fingertips traced the length of her thigh, and sent an involuntary shiver through her body. Mrs. G closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of the elder's hand as it inched closer to the edge of her panties. Her breath became shallow, each inhale and exhale syncing with the slow, deliberate movement of his touch. As their hands continued their exploration over Mrs. G's body, she could feel herself succumbing to their touch. The resistance she once had seemed to evaporate. Her breaths grew heavier with each passing moment, her body growing more responsive to their touch. Her moans although still silent, were now easy to hear. However, she did not give in entirely. Her mind fought back, clinging to the memory of her husband and the promises she had made him. She remembered his eyes - warm, trusting - looking at her as he bade his farewell. And so, Mrs. G managed to resist their advances, but she could not ignore the signs that hinted at her weakening resolve - the flutter in her stomach at their touch, the rapid beating of her heart when they looked at her with hungry eyes. The elders continued their game, amused by Mrs. G's struggle. They saw the conflict in her eyes, the desperation to cling on to her dignity and the urge to give in to her body's yearnings. But for how long would Mrs. G be able to resist? The question hung in the air like an ominous cloud, threatening to shatter the wall of virtue and loyalty she was desperately trying to maintain. Maybe someone wants to hear what happened next?