The Baroness And I
Wage Gap in a Couple: the Commoner Boy and the Aristocrat Girl
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###Disclaimer. This is the point of view of a poor boy. In real life, I made love once with an aristocratic girl. Everything else is pure fantasy.
English is not my mother tongue, please forgive my mistakes.
If you have constructive comments I will be happy to read them in the Comments, thank you! ###
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Chapter 1. Introduction in Vagina.
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“Fuck me raw, Thomas! Cum inside my aristocratic womb, you motherfucker! Fill my pussy with your fucking spunk!”
She was a true Baroness, though I was not fully aware then.
From the profanity of the expletives she screamed as she came, I would have thought she was a fisherwoman, no offense to fisherwomen. Rhona, the future heiress to the Baronial title.
That night she was neither drugged nor drunk. Her mind was clear but almost mesmerized by some sexual arousal that I could not have explained. But she was not lying: she was sincere, and she took her orgasm without worrying that a hasty ejaculation from me would interrupt it.
With prescient wisdom, she had given me a good blowjob and made me spurt on her tits a few minutes earlier. That way, she was pretty sure that my erection would take a long time to be saddled, but also a long time to be ridden.
And now she was riding me, not like an elegant Baroness with her legs dignifiedly gathered to the right, but like a vulgar cowgirl, with her thighs spread wide and her big lips obscenely open.
Without bothering to offend my pride, she titillated her clitoris with two fingers, as if my long-lasting penetration into her vagina was not enough without help from her hand. But I was happy, I had cum a few minutes before, and I didn’t care.
She was swearing profanities, both in English and in another language I did not recognize. But the tone was easy to understand: she was reaching an intense orgasm, while I was little more than a sex toy under her.
With a feral scream, she stiffened, contracting her pussy muscles in the last spasm. Then she fainted, collapsing with all her weight on top of me. If she had hit my nose with the bone of her forehead, it would have brought ropes and ropes of blood from my nostrils. Instead, I don’t know how she managed to fall on the side of my neck.
Ropes of cum filled her inert womb.
In retrospect, I could almost have said that at that moment she had raped me, even though I was consenting. I promised to talk to her about it more when she woke up. At that moment I didn’t know that we would talk about other things in the morning.
##
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Chapter 2. Baronial breakfast.
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The miraculous smell of fresh coffee made me wake up in the sweetest, most relaxed way.
I opened my eyes, imagining I saw my Baroness in front of me.
Instead, I saw a mature woman wearing a maid’s uniform, very elegant, red and purple with a tie.
“Good morning, Sir. The Baroness is temporarily in the bathroom. She asked me to wait for you to wake up. Coffee, tea, any other information from me?”
“Wait, what?”
“The Baroness told me that you are a student from the Continent, and I believe… ‘papist’, so I guess the choice is towards espresso, am I wrong Sir?”
“Unsweetened espresso without milk, of course,” I replied mechanically.
At that moment my lover appeared. She was naked, carelessly wiping a wrist, not caring about the mature maid who might have looked at her disapprovingly.
I was a complete virgin. Not a virgin in sex, but in digesting the behavior that aristocrats exhibit in front of servants.
She understood that I was embarrassed and then decided to help me.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about Maud here. You were my Nurse when I was a child, and you have seen me naked a thousand times, haven’t you Maud?”
“Yes young Baroness,” said Maud without any irony. It seemed natural to everyone that a grown woman would address my girlfriend in that tone.
I looked around the room. It looked like the set of an episode of Downtown Abbey, but it was all real. The silk sheets, the paintings hanging on the walls, the wooden paneling glued to the wall.
I vaguely remembered that we had arrived by taxi the night before. Maybe she had paid for it? Then we had climbed the stairs and all I remembered was a blowjob and a shag. But I hadn’t paid attention to the furniture, I was too excited.
Now I was trying to figure out where I had ended up.
The coffee cup was real Chinese porcelain.
The naked Baroness, wearing only thin slippers, noticed that I was staring at the cup and joked: ‘Yes, it’s real 17th-century Chinese porcelain. No, you don’t need to be intimidated by a piece of clay fired twice. Yes, it costs more than your salary. No, you don’t have to pay even if you break it, I have a full set for 24 down in the kitchen. Anyway, this cup won’t break, it survived the French Revolution, and two world wars, and it’s certainly not afraid of you. Drink it without fear.”
She moved escort closer to me. Her nipples were fragrant and erect. The nurse looked away.
The Baroness murmured in my ear: “What flavor do you want in your mouth in the morning? Coffee, tea, or me?”
I chuckled embarrassed. “But there’s your nurse…”
“Who cares?”
“I care! I can’t have sex in front of a lady I don’t know!”
“Oh! What a funny thing: my parents did it very often. All right. Maud, you are dismissed, thank you. If we need you you’ll hear the doorbell ring, wait in the kitchen downstairs.”
Dismissed, the Nurse slowly exited, while the Baroness spread her legs to position herself in a fragrant facesitting that would give new meaning to my morning wood.
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###
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Chapter 3 – the Baronial Contract.
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Once again she emptied my testicles with a first-rate blowjob. The year ’69 was not only a good year for champagne.
By facesitting, she was exposing either rosebud or shaved pussy to my tongue. She had just returned from the bathroom and was perfumed and clean. While I licked and sucked what she proposed by rocking my pelvis back and forth (anus, perineum, pussy, clitoris, and then the same stages back again), she reserved her full Baronale attention for my hard cock.
“You know the best way to soothe an uptight cock from Morning Wood? You have to give him the Tennessee treatment. Hawk Tuah! You have to spit on that THANG!” said the Baroness, laughing with glee.
I was aroused by the smell of her pussy and the convulsive reactions of her clitoris. And the shower of saliva on my hard cock heralded a sloppy and wet blowjob.
The spits followed each other.
The Baroness could spit like a gross sailor.
Twice and trice.
“Hawk tuah! Haaaawk… Tuah! Hawk tuah!”
Her saliva also wet my testicles. It was so vulgar and obscene. I thought this sort of thing was only done by prostitutes in the merchant ports of Scotland, for whalers and buccaneers returning after months in the Ocean chasing Moby Dick.
Instead, she was a real Baroness, spitting on my Dick!
“Down there something Blows!” could have been her motto.
I could see that the seed was about to come out.
I always signal this, to avoid the girl on duty having to swallow something unwelcome.
A groan and a tap on my thigh. “I’m about to cum,” I murmured.
But instead of pulling my mouth away, the Baroness sucked even harder, as if she was greedy to swallow it all.
I cum without holding back any longer.
She swallowed every single drop, then instead of withdrawing in disgust, she continued to lick my balls and my cock, which was inexorably turning from hard to soft.
She lay down on my chest. Her pussy was still in front of my mouth, and I licked it slowly, trying to take advantage of the Post-Nut Clarity to understand my current situation.
She remained still for a few minutes, as if to respect my moment of reflection, then pivoted, pivoting on her navel. Her body was as light as a feather (or else I was so happy with the endorphins and testosterone, I didn’t realise what the exact weight was).
Her eyes, green as two emeralds, stared at me.
Bringing her mouth close to my ear, she whispered:
“The prolactin will have the effect of calming you down for a few minutes, like last night, dear.
I don’t mind: this will give us time to talk a little and get to know each other better.”
I nodded without saying anything.
She looked me straight in the eye and murmured:
“I like you very much, Thomas. Would you like to marry me?”
I blinked. OMG, where did my Clarity Post Nut go!?
“Wait, what?”
She smiled. “You don’t have to answer today. We’ve known each other for a few weeks, but we’ve been lovers for less than a day. But, you see, I really like you, and if you’ll listen to me for five minutes, I’d like to fill you in on some… details… and then, in a few months, I’ll officially ask you to marry me, if you want.”
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Long story short.
We talked about so many things that morning, on the silk sheets, between one coffee and another, while she naked stroked my cock with her toes or tongue. I don’t know if I can remember them all. I don’t even remember how many times I cum that day (maybe five, maybe six. I was in my twenties and could very well).
She was a lesbian. But her grandfather, Baron Heribert XIX of Norbarroch, had left it written that the inheritance, and the title, could only be the prerogative of an heir (male or female) legally married with legitimate children.
I was full of doubts. The only Dukes I knew were Bo, Luke and Daisy from Hazzard Farm.
“You can inherit even if you’re a girl?” I asked hesitantly.
“Sure, Correct Salic Law of Norbarroch, enacted in 1687 and never repealed.”
She wasn’t actually 100 percent lesbian: she preferred to call herself bisexual. She had just never found a boy skilled enough with his tongue… before she met me.
“You only say that escort bayan to manipulate me. I am not that talented, and I am aware of that.”
“Talent doesn’t matter. It matters the attitude. You are generous and never selfish. I tried it both yesterday and today and I know it for sure. Other guys lick listlessly because they mainly want to penetrate the vagina. You, on the other hand, are a real pussy worshipper.
Pussy worshipper is born. It’s a rare thing nowadays. I have never met anyone who loves to lick and suck as much as you do. You are a precious person.”
“I love licking pussy, but you can’t ask me to suck cock. I can’t even stand the idea.”
“Okay. We’ll put that on the record. I’ll tell the notary to put it explicitly in the Contract.”
“Contract? What contract?”
“Darling, you are marrying an heiress. You’d better hire a lawyer – better a woman, they are more cunning and more wicked. If you don’t know any, I’ll assign you one of mine.
We’ll write a prenuptial contract together. It’s protection for both you and me and for our children. By the way, in class you said you wanted children, right?”
In class, sure. Flashback. ###
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Chapter 4 Long story short: ‘I’m just a poor boy and my story is seldom told’.
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I was just a poor boy from a university in a small Central European country, Moldonia.
It is useless to look it up on maps: like Rokovoko from Queequeg, ‘on maps the real places are never there’.
Moldonia was a small kingdom like Liechtenstein, but further east: halfway between Vienna, Bratislava and Budapest.
The University of Moldova had a course dedicated to International Geopolitics, and I, as an orphan and a member of the Catholic minority, had been awarded a scholarship.
There was a place for a PhD in Scotland, but I had come second, so the opportunity seemed to have vanished. But the guy who had come first (thanks to some recommendations from politicians and financiers) had died in a helicopter crash.
In order not to leave the post vacant, the University of Moldova sent me. But the Dean wanted to point out to me that the fellowship would only last six months: ‘You are not recommended enough, Thomas: the first six months are paid for by Scotland, so you can go at their expense, but then we will withdraw our support. It seems only fair that you know that from the start.”
But I went anyway.
There were ten of us in the class: two boys and eight girls. All polyglots, all experts in international geopolitics.
All rich, or on three-year scholarships.
The only poor one was me: completely penniless.
My name is Thomas. In the language of my country, it is spelled differently and pronounced as if the last letter was ‘Sh’ from Sheet. But I was used to the English pronunciation.
I was like a tomcat: an alley cat. I was poor, like Abraham Delacey Joseph Casey Thomas O’Malley, the alley cat. Instead, I was noble like Duchess, the kitten’s mother.
And like O’Malley, I was Catholic.
I was also thin: as the medievals said, ‘Homo Sine Pecunia Imago Mortis’, a male without money is the image of the Grim Reaper.
But I was carefree, at least at that moment. I still had five months’ rent paid, and I couldn’t think of anything beyond that time horizon.
How nice, to be twenty years old, and not think about the future!
One of the girls was called ‘The Baroness’ by everyone. I thought it was a nickname, instead she was really the heiress of Norbarroch Castle, and also a member of the House of Lords, and the last heiress of a long line of Ambassadors and Consuls.
Honestly, I was against British colonialism, but for some reason, the Baroness seemed sympathetic. Perhaps because of her emerald green eyes. Or because of her hair, which was such a light blonde that it almost looked white. Much lighter than a member of the Malfoy family.
During a lecture on demography, I said that I thought it was absurd that couples in Europe had only one child or even zero children. My grandfather had five siblings, my father had three siblings (although they are all dead), and I don’t want to be childless, even though I am an only child and a war orphan, like Harry Potter.
I didn’t realize the Baroness was staring at me. Or I thought she was impressed by the literary reference to Potter. Instead, she was interested in my propensity for children!
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End of flashback.
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Chapter 4. Masters and Servants.
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Blinking her green eyes, Rhoda looked at me suspiciously. “You’re embarrassed by the presence of my old Nurse, aren’t you?”
“Let’s just say I’m not used to seeing waiters in a Manor, 24/7.”
“Oh, silly you! You only come here to the Manor on Sundays, and only if I ask you first with a little phone message! This is 2024, darling, no aristocrat has enough money left to maintain an entire Manor! Do you know how much it costs to repair the whole ceiling? And the heating?”
“Ah.”
“I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk. I’ll go get bayan escort dressed in the other room, with the music loud, so you can ask what you want to know, without fear of me judging you.”
Rhoda pranced away, and I remained naked in bed with a cup in hand and an old Nurse not looking at my face.
“Please, Mrs Maud… I am not an aristocrat…”
“You need not worry, Milord. All friends of the future Baroness are welcome in this house.”
“Oh! You mean she brings many boys here?”
“No, not really. She often slept with girls, but I don’t know if they had sex, or if it was just cuddling and talking. Males I’ve never seen.”
“But you only come on Sundays?”
“Well, here we are on the third floor, and only this wing of the Manor is reserved for the family… it’s four rooms in all, and heating them is cheap. Downstairs is the Kitchen, and I prepare what I am asked to prepare. I am paid very well, more than my normal job in hotels. And I must say that as an employer, Lady Rhoda is much more generous than the Hotel Chains.”
“I see.”
“The rest of the Manor has been turned into a large museum of the agriculture and rural culture of this part of Scotland. Some items were bought by the Baron, others were donated by elderly people without children. Some historiographers wrote the captions and captioning. There is also a small room where children can have duels with wooden swords. It’s not very accurate, but for the little ones it’s fun.”
“I see.”
Slowly, the situation was becoming clear to me. Rhoda was rich and belonged to a much higher class than I did, however, she was not a billionaire, and she did not have a legion of servants for chores. She certainly had a network of high-ranking acquaintances and in her phone book she had the numbers of dukes, marquises, politicians, singers, and actors, but after all, she was a person like any other.
I was reminded of a film I had seen on television. The classic Christmas film: ‘A Castle for Christmas’ (2021), with the magnificent Brooke Shields (‘The Blue Lagoon’, 1980) and the handsome Cary Elwes (‘The Princess Bride’, 1987).
The only difference was that Brooke and Cary were in their magnificent sixties, while Rhoda and I were in our twenties.
Oops! The only relevant difference was that she was a baroness, while I was poor! Cary was a noble and handsome man, I was just an average commoner!
She was a Landlord! And I cannot afford my rent!
I decided to tell her right away, and truthfully, that we had to stop seeing each other.
“Where can I find her?”
“Follow the music, young Milord,” said Maud without irony.
The music came from a room beyond a corridor, the walls of which were covered with elegant light wood paneling.
What music was that? I had heard it before but did not recognize it. But when? Was it in the finale of ‘Shreck’ perhaps?
Naked, and fearful, I walked slowly towards the music.
She was combing her hair in front of the window. The sunlight illuminated her blond hair, so light that it almost looked as white as light.
“How can I say no to such a sweet and beautiful girl?” I thought to myself.
She noticed my presence somehow (witchcraft, or some noise on the parquet floor?) and stared at me with piercing green eyes.
“Baroness, I am not… I am not… because I…” I stammered.
“I am not Lady Baroness to you, dear. I am your friend Rhoda. We were well together last night, like a woman and a man, without titles, without chapeau, without anything but our bodies and our two souls.”
“Will you order me to stay, Milady?” asked I without irony.
She sighed. “I’ve always known that you have a weakness for submission, you’ve let it slip many times in your comments both in class and in the pub. And, yes, I must admit, I do have a little bit of dominant traits, not because I am aristocratic, but because female domination is a very common thing among women. Your grandmother or your aunt dominated her husband even if you never knew it.
I have only one order for you today. I order you… not to make any hasty decisions. Stay here at the Manor today, it’s Sunday, we can ask Maud to cook lunch, everything is already paid for.
If in the next few weeks I say or do anything that bothers you, you will dump me, like an average boy can always dump an average girl.”
“But I am poor. You are a Landlord. I can’t pay your rent, and my scholarship only lasts five months more.”
“The correct word is Land-Lady. But not for you. You are a Guest! I admit that I collect rents from many farms in the surrounding area, but they are very low prices. I will be a very generous baroness. And whenever some family prefers to buy the house, I always agree.
I am not your Landlord. You are a Guest. The best thing about being an aristocrat, is that I can host whoever I want! And I want you to be my Guest.”
“Will you turn into a Beast, after the last petal falls from the rose?”
She laughed. “Ah! I s’pose you have already observed my rosebud (very closely!), did you perhaps see any petals about to fall? Or was the rosebud withered and rotten?”
“No. The scent of your body is sweet and intoxicating, and the taste of your pussy is so pleasant, I would eat you for hours on end.”