Above his lavish four poster bed was the framed declaration:
“Every female peasant, on attaining the age of 18 years, shall present herself to her Lord, who may exercise his right to claim her maidenhood, and, once such right has been claimed, she shall be regarded as a woman, subject to the rights and duties attendant thereto.”
It was probably worth something now, as a historic relic. It was an original, probably one of the few still in existence, issued to Baron York’s grandfather many years ago. Back then of course the law was still regularly exercised. Even Baron York’s father had, so he used to claim, exercised the right of first night in his younger days.
But those were different times. The Baron knew that if he tried to exercise his right today, even though the decree was still technically valid, he would cause a riot, and probably not be a baron for much longer.
The Kingdom of Bruchet was still a long way behind the modern world in many respects: it was still an absolute monarchy and the feudal system was still alive and well. But sleeping with girls without their consent, even peasant girls, was no longer acceptable.
The Baron was in a very privileged position in this medieval style society, having inherited a significant amount of land and wealth from his father after his father’s untimely death. At 22, he was one of the youngest Lords of the Manor in the whole of Bruchet, and he liked to think of himself as a reformer, a modernist, who treated the peasants who worked his land better than did most of his counterparts.
He knew it was a largely thankless task being the Lord of the Manor, and he regularly received petitions from his peasants asking for this, that or the other, or complaining about any manner of trivial inconveniences. He was slightly ashamed to admit it, but recently he had taken the advice of some of his older friends and stopped reading the petitions. He now had an assistant who sent back a standard response. He hadn’t received any complaints about the new arrangements, but then that was the point, he supposed.
Of course, traditions rarely disappear completely. Every peasant girl was still required to make a trip to the Baron’s manor on her eighteenth birthday. Officially she was supposed to offer up her virginity, and the Baron was supposed to politely decline. This meant that she had complied with her obligations and could officially become a woman in the eyes of the law. The Baron even had to sign a declaration confirming that her virginity had been offered and declined, for legal purposes.
The reaction of the girls who visited his manor varied greatly. Some would be most shy about visiting the Baron on their own, and would barely speak a word. The Baron usually found these encounters very uncomfortable, and would make his excuses after only a short while.
Some other girls would take the opportunity to complain (a favourite pastime of peasants, as you are no doubt becoming aware), or beg for lower taxes or more relaxed laws. Again, they received only a short amount of the Baron’s time.
Better were the girls who took the opportunity to make pleasant and sometimes even engaging conversation. They may be genuinely interested in the antiques around them, or desire to learn more about the Baron. Baron York very much enjoyed these visits, and would always make sure he reserved a good number of hours for each session, just in case he was fortunate enough that his visitor would be this type of girl. After all, it could get lonely being the Baron.
Though the official purpose of their visit, to offer themselves up for deflowering, was in most cases not mentioned, it did come up on occasion. Some girls would mention it jokingly, or even sarcastically, annoyed that the Baron retained a formal right over their bodies. But a few times the Baron had received what sounded like a genuine offer.
A few months ago he had walked into his drawing room to see a most attractive brunette waiting for an audience with him. She was well proportioned with a generous chest, had a lovely smile and was very well spoken (for a peasant). Her top was low cut, offering a tempting amount of cleavage, without being so low as to be indecent.
After a few minutes of small talk she said, “so, I suppose I’m supposed to offer you my virginity now?”
“Um, yeah, well…” the Baron had stuttered. He still found this situation somewhat embarrassing.
“Do we go up to your bedroom?” she continued, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“Well, we don’t actually…”
“What? We do it here? In front of them?” she had said, sounding genuinely surprised.
The Baron looked up at his two guards who always accompanied him on these meetings, just in case the girl had some deep seated disliking for the Baron. They were struggling to hide a smirk.
“No, we don’t do anything. We just talk,” he had said finally.
“Oh… I know I don’t have to, but I thought if I was happy to?…” she said, sounding confused.
“Erm… no, no, we don’t, no.”
“Oh,” she casino şirketleri blushed bright red, and he was sure he was blushing too.
It didn’t help that he was getting an erection, excited at the forbidden thought of this most attractive girl offering herself to him. Well, not even a forbidden thought: if she was willing, if she was volunteering, there was nothing to stop him. He knew many of the other barons happily acted on such offers.
She lent forwards a little, and he couldn’t help but look down her top. She giggled a little, and he quickly returned his eyes to her face. He saw that she was looking at his crotch, where his excitement was by now obvious. He stood up and left the room, refusing to return until she was gone.
It was not that Baron York was not a red blooded male, for he was, and he regularly fantasised about taking advantage of his rights over an attractive peasant girl. But the Baron was himself a virgin, and he was saving himself. For what, he didn’t know. Why not for the girl who had offered herself to him so willingly? Part of him had very much wanted to, but it just hadn’t felt quite right.
Of course, dating and especially marrying a peasant girl was not a possibility. Even in modern Bruchet, the aristocracy and peasants did not intermarry. He knew that he should marry a girl of his class, and he had been introduced to plenty, many of whom had been impressed with his dashing good looks and endless charm. But it had never felt quite right.
Most women had given up on him by now, and in fact these days the main female company he had was peasant girls presenting themselves to him on their eighteenth birthday before they went off to celebrate with their families and, in many cases, boyfriends.
Baron York was constantly surprised by how many peasants lived in his manorship. Judging by the amount of girls who visited him to fulfill their eighteenth birthday obligations, either he had a substantial amount of peasants or there must have been something in the water just over eighteen years before.
Despite this, he still was always nervous about the visits, though he had learned by now not to show his nerves. Still, as he checked his calendar, he knew that there was one evening he was going to be particularly nervous. He looked again at the name of the girl scheduled for a visit in just a few days’ time: Robyn.
Robyn was the daughter of Sarah, a servant who had worked for the Baron’s father for many years. Sarah had often brought Robyn to work with her, and, although mixing between the aristocracy and peasants was generally forbidden, the Baron and Robyn had regularly played together as children. He had even allowed Robyn to call him “Barry”.
The correct form of address would have been “your Lordship”, despite his young age. However, when Robyn, then a young child, had first been introduced to the Baron and been told that, one day, when he took over from his father, he would be the Baron, she had struggled to pronounce “Baron”, and it had come out as Barry. The name had stuck, and so sweetly innocent of protocol was she that nobody had ever corrected her.
The two had been closer friends than protocol dictated, despite their four year age gap. However, the Baron had always been a shy child who had struggled to make friends at school, so nobody had had the heart to discourage his friendship with Robyn.
A few years ago Sarah had stopped working for the Baron’s father in mysterious circumstances: there was a rumour that his father and Sarah had had an affair, though the Baron did not know if there was any truth in this. In any event, Sarah had never been seen around the manor again and thus, neither had Robyn. Though the Baron had very much wanted to stay in contact with her, he had been firmly discouraged.
But now, in just a few days’ time; well, Robyn would be eighteen years old, and that meant that she would have to visit the Baron’s manor and offer her virginity to the Baron. Whether she would formally offer, he didn’t know. It promised to be excruciatingly embarrassing.
His mind had wandered to that night so many times over the last few weeks, turning over the different ways it might go, but never had he allowed himself to imagine what might happen if she offered – and he said yes. He had never seen her in that way before. She had always been too young, and even if it had not been for the age thing, the idea of a Baron and a peasant together, it just wouldn’t do.
After his butler came to tell him Robyn had arrived, the Baron did not immediately head for the drawing room. Instead he paced and paced in the hallway, stopping each time he passed the full length mirror to examine himself.
He always dressed in ceremonial baronial robes for these occasions; perhaps it was him hiding behind his role, perhaps it was to give the girls the full baronial experience. He had thought about changing this tradition for today’s meeting; it seemed very formal for a girl who called him Barry. But he had eventually decided to stick to his normal plan.
He adjusted his casino firmaları dark green waistcoat for the hundredth time (green being the family colour), repositioned his long jacket, and checked that his breeches were just right. The one part of the ceremonial outfit he always omitted on these occasions was the sword – it never felt quite right in the circumstances.
Finally he took a deep breath and walked towards the door to the drawing room. He took another deep breath then, doing his best to look confident, swung open the door and strode in.
Wow. It was Robyn alright, but not the Robyn he knew. This was Robyn the woman. She wore a long black dress that gave just a hint of cleavage. It was tight enough to show off the wonderful shape of her body. It must have cost her a fortune; where a peasant found that kind of money he had no idea.
Her auburn hair fell over her shoulders, framing her beautiful face. Perhaps just a hint of make-up, though the Baron was no expert in these things. Her hazel eyes looked enquiringly at him, a faint hint of a smile on her lips.
There was silence for a few seconds, then Robyn broke it: “hello, Barry.”
The Baron could not help but look to his two guards, neither of whom knew Robyn. The look of surprise on their faces at this unconventional greeting almost made the Baron burst out laughing. He knew immediately he did not want them intruding on his reunion, and gestured to let them know they were dismissed. They looked reluctant to leave what was clearly going to be an interesting meeting, but did as they were told.
There was awkward conversation for a few minutes, but soon they both started to relax. Robyn seemed unfazed by the situation and was happy to chat away as if there was nothing unusual about the meeting. Perhaps it was just because a few years had passed since their last meeting, but she seemed funnier, more confident, more… sexy? than before.
Eventually the Baron was distracted by a small bag that Robyn had brought with her. He queried its contents.
“Oh,” she said breezily, “it’s my overnight bag. Toothbrush, clean underwear, etc.”
“You’re… staying? Where?” the Baron was confused.
“Um… here – aren’t I?”
The Baron didn’t get it.
“Right of first night?” she said, raising an eyebrow, as if it should have been obvious.
“Oh – oh!” the Baron exclaimed, then burst out laughing. She was joking.
“Barry,” Robyn said, her tone softening. “People talk. I’ve heard that of all the girls who have come here on their eighteenth birthday, you’ve not slept with any of them.”
“Well – I can’t!” replied the Baron. “It’s not allowed!”
“It is if the girl offers,” Robyn replied, a determined look on her face. “There was a girl came a few months ago, Laurel. I heard she pretty much threw herself at you, and you ran out of the room!”
“Um… well…” He didn’t have a reply for that.
“People talk,” Robyn repeated. “What do you think they say?”
Of course he thought about it.
“That… they… they think I like men?” he said, surprised that he’d said it out loud.
Robyn looked genuinely surprised.
“You don’t, do you?”
“No!” he said, wishing he hadn’t said anything.
“No,” Robyn echoed. “No, they say that you’re saving yourself for someone.”
Now it was the Baron’s turn to look surprised.
That’s what he’d always told himself, but he’d never been sure if he believed it. Did the fact that the peasants shared this rumour amongst themselves make it true? And if so, that begged another question, a question he was just starting to think he might know the answer to…
“And do they say… who?”
She smiled, a knowing smile. She didn’t need to say the words.
As he searched for a reply, she lowered herself to the floor, onto her knees. She shuffled herself close to where he sat, then lowered herself down to kiss his stockinged feet.
Looking up at him from her kneeling position, in a reverential voice, she addressed him formally for perhaps the first time ever.
“Your Lordship,” she said. The words sounded strange coming out of Robyn’s mouth. She had never called him that before.
“I am but a humble peasant, and you my worshipful master. Today is my eighteenth birthday, and therefore in accordance with the laws and customs of this Kingdom, and in tribute to you, my Baron, I offer to render unto you what is rightfully yours, my maidenhood.”
Wow. Nobody had ever done that before. Was that the traditional manner in which a maiden offered her innocence to a baron? The Baron had a feeling Robyn had just made it up, though given how well she had delivered it, he suspected she had been practising.
Wow. She was right. Everyone was right. This was what he had been waiting for, saving himself for. For Robyn.
He looked down at her, staring into those hazel eyes, that practised expression of submission on her face. If there was one person in the Kingdom who would not feel obliged to submit to the Baron, güvenilir casino it was Robyn. But she had chosen to.
“As your Baron, I accept your kind offer.”
She smiled. She had the best smile.
He had fantasised about this moment many times before, but never with Robyn. As he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had fantasised about the moment too, and always with him. He took another look at her now, a proper look. She must have saved up forever, worked so many extra hours, to be able to afford that dress. And for what? She would never have a chance to wear it in her normal life. For tonight. For him. To take off for him.
“Take off your dress, peasant,” the Baron said, trying to sound as commanding as possible, trying to leave the uncertainty and nerves out of his voice.
Robyn’s expression broke just a little into a smile, but she quickly restored the expression of reverence, of deference to her master.
She reached for the straps over her shoulders and slowly, deliberately, first with the left, then with the right, pulled them down her arms, not all the way off, but enough to let the dress fall forwards a little, drawing the Baron’s eyes to her chest. Robyn had grown up a lot since he had last seen her. Just seeing the exposed skin at the top of her breasts, the hint of her bra, his excitement was already beginning to build. He wondered if Robyn could tell.
She watched him carefully, keeping her eyes focussed on his, seeing them examine her chest, taking delight in revealing herself ever so slowly to him. As she helped the dress down below her chest she heard the Baron take an involuntary intake of breath. The bra was carefully chosen: strapless, with cups that perched on the end of her breasts, not indecent but revealing enough. She blushed a little, not accustomed to having shown so much to a man before, but the Baron did not notice.
As her dress reached her waist, showing her perfect toned stomach – how long she had spent working on that – the Baron held up his hand, indicating to her to stop. He took a long look at her exposed body, running his eyes up to finally reach her face. Again, that slight smile that betrayed how much she was enjoying the situation, which this time she did not bother to lose.
But still she looked up at him from that kneeling position, an ever so slightly inquisitive look, asking why he had stopped her. The way she had taken off that dress – she’d practised that for hours in her room, surely? It felt too natural for a girl he was sure had never so much as kissed a boy before. This was all going exactly as she had planned it – her hands rested on her waist, ready to continue the removal of the dress. There was something incredibly sexy about the half removed dress: the bunched material that should have been covering her top half, the promise of more exposure to come.
He decided to disrupt her plan a little, take some control of the situation.
“It is the custom,” he said, trying to keep his tone as measured as possible, “that a maiden ought at this stage to expose her bosom to her master and then seek his permission to continue disrobing.”
It sounded as ridiculously formal as the Baron had intended, playing to the fantasy he was sure they both shared about tonight. A look of surprise crossed Robyn’s face, but she regained her composure and lowered her eyes in a gesture of further submission.
“Yes, Your Lordship. My humble apologies.”
Robyn’s hands moved to behind her back, fumbling slightly with the clasp on her bra, betraying her nerves for a second. Then it was undone, and taking a second to gather to courage, she let it fall from her chest, exposing her breasts for the Baron’s examination.
The Baron stared at Robyn’s bare breasts – or bosom – he liked that word. They were on the larger side, he guessed, though he had little to compare them with; firm, each tipped with a cute soft pink nipple. He took in the shadows they made on her body – was her left slightly larger than her right, or was it just the lighting? The little mole just above her right nipple – an imperfection that made her all the more perfect. He wished he could stay in this moment forever. Robyn was right – everybody was right – this is what he had been saving himself for.
The shadows reminded him of something he had heard long ago: at the time he had thought little of it, and strangely it had never played a part in his fantasies. He was not even sure whether it was true. But at this moment it seemed like the right thing to do. He walked over to the window and looked into the sky, and he knew what he saw was a sign that this was supposed to happen.
“Stand up,” he commanded, his voice taking on new authority now that he had a plan. Robyn did as he asked.
He led her to the door, and opened it. He looked at Robyn who was clearly wrong-footed by this turn of events. She gave him a questioning look, but he was not going to give anything away. As she followed him down the ancient passageways, paintings of his ancestors looked down at them, watching an ancient tradition revived for one last time. The Baron looked at Robyn, who was shivering slightly in the cold of the old house. Her body, including her bosom, was covered in goose bump, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the nerves.