Right of First Night

Literotic asexstories – Right of First Night by TheHiddenPen,TheHiddenPen
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?”

She smiled.

“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 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 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.

Robyn smiled.

“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.

“No.”

She paused.

“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.

“For… someone?”

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, 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.

Robyn stayed close to the Baron as they walked; it was surely not for fear of getting lost, as she must have knew the manor almost as well as the Baron. Perhaps it was fear of one of the Baron’s servants emerging from one of the doorways or corridors and seeing her in this exposed state. Or maybe, and the Baron fervently hoped this was the reason, it was just because she wanted to be close to him, was desperate not to be an inch further away from him than she had to after their years of enforced separation.

The Baron kept his eyes ahead as they walked, determined not to betray his own desire for Robyn, at least not yet, not too obviously. The fantasy dictated that Robyn was simply a local peasant, rendering to the Baron what was lawfully his, and he was the dispassionate, all powerful baron, readying himself to deflower the latest in a long line of conquests.

Finally they arrived at their destination; the Midnight Balcony. From here there was a perfect view over the manor’s extensive and immaculately kept gardens, illuminated in the light of the full moon. As Robyn steeped out, shivering slightly in the night air, the Baron turned to once again admire her bare bosom, which she made no attempt to hide from him. How he longed to touch them, to play with them, to never let go.

“You may now finish undressing, peasant,” the Baron said, trying to strike the appropriate balance between keeping the fantasy going and not appearing rude.

“And as you do, I will tell you the story of why they call this the Midnight Balcony.”

Robyn looked into the distance, over the garden, obviously feeling somewhat exposed up here on this balcony. But she had been down in those gardens herself, and would have never thought to look up here. Besides, who would be out there at this time of night? She started to slowly lower her dress further, exposing her lacy black knickers.

The Baron made no secret of watching her undress, but as promised started his story. Speaking in barely more than a whisper he said, “there is a story that, many years ago, one of my ancestors, my great-great-uncle, brought a young maiden up here onto this balcony to undress for him, so he could admire her body in the light of the full moon.”

Robyn looked at the sky, comparing the conditions tonight to those in the myth. Whether or not the story was true, the Baron greatly appreciated knowing of the story, for in the soft moonlight Robyn’s soft skin, her firm breasts, her bare, smooth legs, were a sight he would never forget.

“She was, understandably, nervous,” the Baron continued. “After all, in those days people were much more private and conservative than they are today, and she did not really even fully understand what right of first night meant.”

He looked at Robyn, eyes locked on his. The last time he had seen her she had been so much younger, and she still looked so innocent today, though it was quite obvious that she fully understood what right of first night meant. She stepped out of her dress.

“He asked her to undress and, despite her nerves, she did so, very slowly, hesitating over each item of clothing, blushing profusely as her most intimate parts were displayed to the entranced baron.”

And now Robyn put her thumbs in the waistband of her knickers, preparing to expose herself just as her fellow peasant had done for the Baron’s ancestor all those years ago. The Baron’s eyes stared into her crotch, desperate to see that part of her that by legal decree belonged to him, for tonight at least.

Robyn took a deep breath, again looked out over the garden, perhaps remembering the enjoyable hours she had spent there with the Baron, then lowered her knickers. The Baron stared at Robyn’s bare crotch, at the pubic hair that adorned it, thick, brown, curly hair. Taking a deep breath, running his eyes slowly up over her stomach, up over her breasts, up eventually to her own eyes, he finished the story:

“And it was the most beautiful sight the baron had ever seen. He said to her ‘you are no peasant, you are a princess’, and insisted that he had no jurisdiction over her. He asked her to get dressed again, and they stayed there, talking, laughing, enjoying each other’s company for hours. Eventually, the clock struck midnight, and it was no longer her eighteenth birthday. The baron no longer had any right over her, and she left, still a virgin.

“That night she left the village and disappeared, never to be seen again. The baron spent his entire life seeking her, but never found her, and was eventually driven mad with despair.”

Robyn had been listening to the story intently, captivated, her face lighting up at the Baron’s ancestor’s description of the peasant girl, obviously hoping that the Baron felt the same about her. But at the story reached its conclusion, her face fell further and further, until she appeared ready to strangle the Baron if that was what it took to stop the story.

“Um… that’s an… um… lovely story,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “But shouldn’t we be heading to the bedroom now? After all, you don’t want the clock to strike midnight with me left a virgin… do you?”

The Baron took the point. It was all well and good honouring tradition, but here was a beautiful naked girl – no, woman – who was offering herself unconditionally to him. He had waited years for this moment, and now he was stood here, with Robyn, he knew that his wait was over.

Even that slightly reproachful expression, that slight uncertainty as to the Baron’s commitment to his task, that was part of what he loved about Robyn – she was the only person who would come here and stand up to him like that, even in that subtle way, yet she was also prepared to lie down for him, and he knew that neither of them should wait any longer.

Robyn followed the Baron back through the maze of corridors, towards the one room in the manor that she had never been inside. Though she had been given pretty much a free run of the place when she was younger, the Baron’s bedroom had always been off limits.

As the Baron opened the door to his room, for a second he was full of nerves. Though the room was of a size befitting his status, and a huge four poster bed would be very much in line with a young maiden’s expectations, the rest of the room was somewhat devoid of opulent trappings. After all, these days much of the grandeur was just for show, keeping up appearances, and nobody ever entered the Baron’s bedroom except him.

As Robyn followed him in, her eyes explored the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Her eyes fell on the declaration above the bed, ostensibly the legal authority for what was about to happen. She let out an involuntary giggle.

“Have you ever fantasised about actually…” she read from the declaration: “exercising your right to claim her maidenhood?”

The Baron blushed. Yes, he’d fantasised about it, of course he had, but he didn’t want to tell Robyn, admit that he had fantasised about sleeping with other girls. It seemed stupid now; it was so obvious that it should only ever have been Robyn, but he’d never realised until now. It felt like he’d let her down, cheated on her, even if only in his mind.

Robyn giggled. She’d always known him so well: he was sure she could sense his unease at the question.

“It’s OK Barry,” she said, still giggling slightly, looking impossibly cute. “It’s me that’s here, isn’t it? That’s all the matters.” His tone was calm, but firm, certain, telling him that she knew this was right, how it was supposed to be. She’d known it long before he had. Everyone had known it long before he had.

The Baron looked into her eyes, her return stare filling him with reassurance. For many centuries his ancestors had brought peasants into this room with one intention in mind. But never a peasant as special as this one. He was a red blooded male, the same as they had been, and he had the same urges towards Robyn that they had had towards their maidens, but he was feeling so much more besides. Without even meaning to, without realising he had until he heard the words escape his lips, he said those words that would never have even crossed the minds of his forefathers: “I love you.”

And that face, that stunningly beautiful face, looks that made him feel like a blind man being given the gift of sight for the first time, slowly lit up, so, so slowly. A smile that made him know that, whatever he did for the rest of his life, he wanted to do it with Robyn.

So breathed the words, as if they were part of her fibre, her soul: “I love you too.”

Robyn stepped forwards, and as he saw her body move, her fair skin lit by the flickering lamps which bathed the room in a low light, he remembered she was naked, and his eyes ran downwards, thrilling at the sight of her exposed body yet again, savouring every second.

Robyn reached out towards him, touching him lightly, sending electricity through his body. He was already aroused, and was sure it would be obvious to Robyn if she looked down. For some reason he was embarrassed about the fact, still uncomfortable about the unfamiliar experience.

Robyn gently helped him out of his robe, showing the ancient garment the respect it deserved, folding it carefully before depositing it. As she removed his formal garments she showed a patience that was beyond what he could have managed. He cursed himself for dressing so formally: the costume was so impractical for the task, he just wanted to rip it off and get into bed with Robyn.

Finally when he was down to just his underwear, those long, itchy pants which reached down to his knees, he couldn’t wait any longer. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, feeling her bosom squashed against his chest, the warmth exuding from her body. She tilted her head up towards him, and he pressed his lips to hers, feeling her soft lips against his, forming a bond he never wanted to break.

It felt so natural, so right, and as necessary as breathing. She closed her eyes, so he did too, focussing just on the feel of her, the scent of her body. Without breaking the kiss she gently stepped backwards, and the Baron held her tightly, determined not to release her.

The two of them fell onto the bed, the Baron on top of Robyn, astride her, hands exploring her naked body. Robyn moaned gently at the pleasure of his hands finally on her body, and the Baron’s touch became firmer, more confident. He was the Baron: this was his birthright, his entitlement. He’d denied himself for so long, but no longer.

The Baron’s hand slipped down between Robyn’s legs, which parted willingly. His fingers ran through her curly pubes, on to the unfamiliar territory of her lady parts, a mystery of which the Baron knew little. He explored her gently with his fingers, her face lighting up at the thrill of his touch, encouraging him to experiment by rubbing his hand up and down her lips.

Robyn wriggled and moaned softly.

“Your Lordship…” she whispered to him, running her hands down his bare back, digging her nails in gently, just enough to arouse the skin, not enough to hurt.

“My peasant,” the Baron replied, exploring her body with his free hand, running it up her stomach, up to her firm, warm breasts, touching them, squeezing them, experimenting.

Robyn’s hand found the Baron’s cock, and she started to rub her hand gently up and down his shaft, giving the Baron a feeling of pleasure he’d never felt from his own touch. Her hand was soft and warm and lovely, her inexperience serving to tease him. She was holding too gently, thrusting too slowly, and it was driving him crazy.

“You can… harder…” he sighed.

Robyn’s hand held a little tighter, her thrusting became a little faster, more confident. But she was too low on his shaft, missing the incredibly sensitive head.

“Just a bit… higher,” he said, and she moved her hand higher, and that was good, that was right. The pleasure was now much more intense, almost unbearable.

“You can… harder and higher with me too,” she said softly, nervously.

The Baron moved his hand further up her soft lips, feeling the hard nub at the top, wondering if that was where he was supposed to touch. He experimented by rubbing her, firmly but tenderly, hoping he could return to her what she was giving to him. Robyn’s face contorted in a way that told him this was exactly what he was doing, that he had found the magic button.

The two kissed passionately, knowing nothing of the technique, but determined to learn. She smelled, felt, tasted so good. Their eyes were locked on each other, all secrets surrendered, the two of them united in body and soul.

The Baron’s cock was now fully erect, and he could feel that Robyn’s lady parts were moist with her juices. He could wait no longer for what his body craved.

“Peasant,” he breathed heavily. “You are requested to surrender your maidenhood to your Baron.”

“My Baron,” Robyn replied, continuing to look him straight in the eyes. “It is yours.”

The Baron took hold of his erect cock from Robyn, and moved it towards Robyn’s womanhood, hoping that he would be able to work out where it went.

The exposed head slipped easily over her moist lips, and the lips opened for him, her warm, tight, moist passage welcoming him in. The head of his cock made itself at home, and he gently pushed in further, exploring.

“Slowly Barry,” Robyn said gently, her nerves breaking her out of the fantasy and into the role in which she felt comfortable.

“Sorry,” he said tenderly, even in his excitement determined not to hurt her.

“I want it,” she told him, “it’s just… new.”

“Yeah,” he said, his body desperately urging him to enter her fully, but his mind determined not to do it until she was ready.

He held her and he kissed her and he felt her body relax, melt into his. Naturally, as if it was meant to be, his cock slid further inside her, entering his tight, unexplored passage. As she tensed up, he stopped again, kissing her mouth gently now, his hands softly stroking her skin.

As she relaxed his cock slid further in, until eventually he felt his balls touch against her skin, and knew he had claimed her fully. Robyn, as unfamiliar with the male anatomy as he was with the female, looked surprised, perhaps wondering what was resting against her.

The Baron did not know what to do beyond what his body told him, and his body was telling him to thrust, to rub his sensitive cock against the welcoming folds of her passage, to take and retake her. And that’s what he did, slowly at first, then quicker, more firmly, more confidently. Her face contorted with pleasure, and he knew his must be too, but he didn’t care. Nothing felt more right than this.

He could feel himself being pushed closer and closer to the point of no return, the thrusts becoming more urgent now, the desire becoming unbearable. Robyn was breathing heavily, moaning, rocking her hips to increase the sensation, the pleasure. He thrust and he thrust and he…

His orgasm was intense, a strong jet of cum making its way into Robyn’s body, and with the next thrust another, and the next another. Eventually the pleasure subsided into satisfaction, and his cock shrank to its usual size, softening inside Robyn as his thrusts became more gentle, eventually just resting there, feeling so at home, as if it was where it was made to be.

As the two of them cuddled up, so content in each other’s arms, the Baron thought about the fact that he could have done this before, with the other girls who had volunteered. That… what had Robyn called her? Laurel. She would have willingly got naked and let him thrust his cock inside her.

But lying here with Robyn, the idea seemed even more ridiculous than it had when Laurel had volunteered. Even thinking of another girl seemed wrong. There had only ever been one girl for him, even if he’d never realised.

***

When the Baron awoke, Robyn was still asleep, a look of contentment on her face. So last night had not been a dream after all. Robyn really had been the first girl to stay the night. The Baron did not want to disturb her by getting up, so he lay reliving the previous night in his head as he waited for her to awake.

Not long afterwards, Robyn rolled over, finding herself on top of the Baron, and opened her eyes in surprise.

“Oh,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, smiling.

“Good morning, your Lordship,” she said, sleepily.

The Baron wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, enjoying the feel of her body against his.

They lay there cuddled up for some time, before Robyn spoke again.

“I need to be going,” she sighed reluctantly. “My family will be expecting me.”

The Baron suddenly panicked.

“Oh – you didn’t call them to tell them you were staying! They must be frantic wondering where you are!”

Robyn giggled.

“I think they’ll guess what’s happened,” she smiled.

“Really?” the Baron asked, surprised.

“The whole village will have been round by now, checking I didn’t come home,” she said, rolling her eyes.

The Baron didn’t really like the idea of the whole village knowing that Robyn and he had lost their virginity to each other the previous night.

“Do you think… they’ll be pleased?” he asked. A good baron always thinks about making his people happy. Doesn’t always do anything about it, but thinks about it. Much better than them turning up at the manor with burning torches.

“Of course,” Robyn responded, looking a little coy, clearly herself a bit embarrassed about her sex life being the main subject of discussion in the village.

“For you or for me?” the Baron asked.

“For me, of course,” Robyn replied, a little bit too quickly.

“And for you!” she quickly added. “They were getting a bit worried about whether you’d ever… you know…”

The Baron lay there in silence, contemplating the implications of Robyn’s revelation. What did the townsfolk worry about? That he’d never sleep with a girl? Or that he’d never find a wife? Would they consider both problems solved now? He needed some time to think about it.

“OK, well, we need to get you your certificate,” the Baron said, changing the subject.

Even female peasant had to get her certificate proving she’d offered her virginity to the Baron. It was written into law. Despite the fact that the offer was just a tradition now, the certificate was important, as a woman could not get a job, a travel permit, or even get married unless she could present such a certificate amongst her identity papers.

“Yeah,” Robyn sighed, looking a bit disappointed at the change of subject.

“I have to be ‘presented’ to Arnold, don’t I?” she said, a little reluctantly.

The Baron gave her a look of surprise. How did she know about that?

In the days of the Baron’s ancestors, peasants would not stay the night. Instead, after the peasant had given her maidenhood to the baron, he would parade her naked through his manor, taking her to his chief official. Officially this was intended to provide a witness to the fact that the maiden had complied with her legal obligations, but in reality it was an opportunity for the baron to show off his conquest, as well as one of the few perks of working as chief official.

The Baron did not want to embarrass Robyn, nor did he really want to let his chief official see her body. But tradition was tradition, and Robyn had specifically asked.

The Baron stood up and headed for the door. Robyn, still covered up in the bed, gave him a quizzical look.

“I don’t think he’ll want to see you naked!” she exclaimed.

As the Baron walked back to get some clothes, he noticed Robyn looking him up and down, enjoying seeing his nakedness. It felt weird for her to be able to see him naked when she was keeping her body covered up. But he knew that the roles would be reversed soon.

Having thrown on some relatively casual clothes as quickly as he could, he looked over to Robyn, who reluctantly disentangled herself from the sheets and revealed her beautiful body again. Robyn kept her hands by her side, leaving her body completely exposed for the Baron’s eyes to explore.

The Baron headed off through the manor, Robyn following him. He knew that Arnold would be in his office, working on the mountains of paperwork that the job entailed. On arriving outside his office door, the Baron looked at Robyn who looked nervous, but had kept her hands by her sides. The Baron knocked on the door.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Arnold, a fifty something tall slim man who was always exquisitely turned out greeted the Baron with a smile, then a look of mild surprise replaced it as he noticed Robyn standing there in the nude. Robyn’s arms could not keep themselves pinned to her side any more, and suddenly one hand went over her crotch and the other arm over her chest.

Arnold admitted the two into his room, keeping his eyes at face height, determinedly not looking at Robyn’s body.

“Hello Robyn,” he said, formally.

“Hello Arnold,” she replied.

Arnold had been chief official to the Baron’s father for many years, and had therefore known Robyn since she was young, when she had come to the manor with her mother. It must have been strange for him to see her standing there as a fully grown, fully formed woman in all her naked glory.

“Robyn and I slept together last night,” the Baron said, to fill the silence.

“Yes, I had come to that conclusion,” Arnold replied, a slight smile on his face.

“So now I have to bring her to you, as my witness,” the Baron continued.

“I am aware of the tradition,” Arnold said, maintaining his usual formality.

Robyn, sensing Arnold’s discomfort, suggested a compromise.

“How about if I just show you my boobs?” she suggested, shyly. This was clearly as awkward for her as it was for him.

The official paused then said, “that would seem to be a sensible resolution.”

Robyn took a deep breath, then let her arm fall, her hand joining her other in keeping her crotch concealed.

Both Arnold’s and the Baron’s eyes moved down to Robyn’s bare chest. The Baron tore his eyes away to look at Arnold, a man who had given up the opportunity to take a wife himself out of a sense of duty to his masters. A smile had crossed his face, pleasure at a perfect pair of breasts being displayed especially for him.

Eventually Arnold broke his gaze and returned it to Robyn’s face, as did the Baron. Robyn was bright red by now, but still smiling. Robyn had always been fond of Arnold, and the Baron suspected she was pleased to have put a smile on his face.

“I need the certificate for Robyn,” the Baron said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, of course,” Arnold replied.

He picked an ornate scroll up from his desk, and offered it to the Baron.

“It just needs your signature, your Lordship,” he said.

The Baron took the offered pen, his eyes scanning down the document he had seen so many times before. Only the name and date were ever different. Except…

“On the aforesaid date, the aforementioned peasant, Miss Robyn Briggs, of 5 Main Street, Oldtown, in the manorship of his most excellent Lordship, the Baron York, did present herself to the aforementioned Baron, and offer to render to him her maidenhood, and such offer was accepted and her maidenhood claimed, and in accordance with the law the aforementioned peasant shall heretoforth be regarded in law and in all other respects as a woman subject to the rights and duties attendant thereto.”

Well, that was certainly different to the usual wording, which recorded that the peasant had offered her maidenhood but that it had been declined. The Baron could imagine the look on the faces of people to whom Robyn was required to present the certificate, and felt rather embarrassed for Robyn that the date and nature of her first time would be recorded in her official documents forever.

“But… how…?” he asked, wondering if the ever efficient Arnold always prepared both versions of the certificate just in case.

Arnold looked from the naked Robyn to the Baron and back again. Then Robyn and Arnold burst out laughing.

“What?” the Baron asked, confused.

“It has always been obvious to me that there is only one girl for you,” Arnold said, still laughing. “I have been counting down the days until today for a long time.”

The Baron felt rather left out. Robyn, the whole village, and even Arnold, seemed to have known that last night would happen. Only the Baron had been in the dark. Or had he, really?

The Baron hastily signed Robyn’s certificate, and handed it to her. She read through it herself, and seemed delighted with it.

“Well, we’d better get you some clothes on!” the Baron exclaimed, taking a quick look at Robyn’s body whilst he still had the chance.

Robyn headed out the door, and the Baron went to follow her. As he did, Arnold came close to him and whispered “you have the perfect girl there – now don’t fuck it up!”

The Baron looked at Arnold, shocked. He’d never heard Arnold swear. But Arnold had gone back to his desk and picked up some papers, pretending that nothing had been said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” the Baron assured him quietly.

The Baron took Robyn back to his room and went to retrieve her clothes for her. She dressed, and he showed her to the front door himself. The goodbyes were slightly awkward, but short. The village was only a short walk away, and Robyn set off down the long driveway, heading for home.

Relationships between the aristocracy and peasants were totally out of the question. They couldn’t work. It would be a scandal. It was best he let her disappear back to her people, just as he had so many girls before her (though of course they had not stayed the night).

She didn’t look back.

“Robyn?” the Baron called.

She turned, looking a little apprehensive.

“There’s… there’s a ball at Baron Lancaster’s tonight. I’ve… got nobody to go with. What… are you doing anything this evening?” he shouted to her.

She smiled possibly the widest smile he’d even seen.

“What time do I need to be here?” she asked, trying and failing to keep her voice steady.

“About 7?” he said, his spirits leaping.

“I’ll be here,” she smiled, and disappeared off down the driveway, almost skipping.

The Baron returned to his room, and took down the declaration from the wall. He’d heard that some barons turned a blind eye to the rules these days, just sent the certificate out by post. Tradition is all well and good, but there comes a time when you have to leave these things in the past, move on into the future. And right now, the future seemed pretty good.