Varvara is a beauty without end.
A DIFFICULT CASE
In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there lived and ruled a stern but just sovereign — Emperor Emelyan. He walked neither sober nor drunk. A widower, he was neither fat nor thin, but possessed a considerable member. He did not hide from eager noblewomen or lovely maidens, but chose personally which of the lustful wenches' shameful slits to graciously bestow his favor upon. The boyars of the council and ministers did not hold a grudge against the sovereign for their wives, as they received royal gifts and substantial salaries as a consequence.
And the sovereign had a young daughter, Princess Varvara, whom for her fabulous charms they called Varvara the Beauty in the kingdom.
When
the princess turned thirteen, Emperor Emelyan ordered a feast to be thrown for the entire capital, with a military salute of thirteen volleys. The capital reveled and made merry, mead and beer flowed like a river, whole bulls were roasted in the squares and the common folk were fed to their heart's content — eat, don't hold back!In the royal palace, it was as if a self-laying tablecloth had been spread! Here you had cognac and Armagnac, caviar and foie gras, champagne and Spanish wine, vodka and herring, whiskey and sausages! If you want — eat fricassee, if you want — pineapple in glaze, if you want — pâté, or if you want — a set meal!
The guests ate and drank their fill, and then the salute thundered! Amidst the roar of the volleys, laughter rang through the palace — the nobility was merry, rushing to congratulate the princess. Boyarynya Ksenia Sobakina approached with a smile, and then, to her misfortune, thunder struck! A cannon burst upon firing, and the streltsy near it were cut down. Even the mirror glass in the windows shattered! Boyarynya Ksenia then shat herself in fright! And instead of heartfelt words to the birthday princess, she blurted out: "May you be barren, you bitch! May your cunt chill your soul! May you never come even once until old age!"
The guards seized the boyarynya-bitch, holding their noses, and shoved her out of the palace. Such words were not for the princess's ears!
The sovereign flew into a rage, boiling like a samovar. "Bring me Field Marshal General Heinrich of Hamburg this very hour! Let him answer for how he maintains his materiel!"
They rushed to find the field marshal, but he wasn't in the hall, nor in the cellar! Not in the yard nor on the hill, not in the arsenal nor in the hayloft. They searched the entire capital, found him in an elite brothel! Pulled him off a whore, dragged him to the palace. Good thing they didn't overdo it with the kicks.
By that time, Emperor Emelyan had gotten drunk, and he swung his saber: "So you don't drown in cunts anymore, General Heinrich, Hamburg dick in feathers, I command all brothels in the realm to be closed and banned, the loose wenches to be assigned to work, and the brothel owners to be sent out into the world!"
And life in the realm went on — go to sleep without fucking. The tyrant trampled freedom, spat on the people's soul! But in all other respects — they lived as they lived, and forgot to even think about Boyarynya Ksenia.
Meanwhile, the beauty princess came of age. And her friends, the daughters of boyars and palace maids of honor, buzzed in Varvara's ears about how to obtain incomparable pleasure, and without any tricks, with just one finger!
But it didn't work out for Varvara, not with one finger, nor two, nor all ten... Nothing but chafing and burning, no pleasure at all! Try sliding your fingers in your shameful place dry! And foreign lubricants-gels didn't help, though they did protect from chafing.
Then the young noblewomen procured and delivered to Varvara the Beauty a foreign amusement, crafted like a shameful member. That indecent amusement is called a dildo. On one end it has a ribbed ring: turn that ring sunwise, following the sun, and the member will tremble like a little devil. Turn the ring against the sun, and the trembling stops immediately. And if you press the little navel that protrudes at the end of the ring, warm liquid will squirt from the small slit cut at the other end of the member. The cunning friends, giggling, explained to the princess that the dildo — exactly like a living man's member — ejaculates.
And the fun began in the maidens' chambers. Squeaking, joyful shrieking, moans and cries echoed through the rooms. They echoed, but didn't go beyond the walls: the walls in the chambers were thick, the doors strong!
Varvara had already watched enough of how her friends caressed their tits, how they rubbed their slits, how they guided that dildo over their intimate lips. And some girls were downright reckless daredevils, so they shoved that dildo into themselves, and deep — only the ring sticking out! And they writhed, and moaned, and cried from sweet torment.
Everyone felt good, everyone felt sweet, the girls came ten times a day, only Princess Varvara was sad: for her, smelling a rose through a yard-thick wall and pleasuring herself with that dildo were all the same! Just as much sweetness!
Whether the maidens' amusements lasted long or short, the sovereign-emperor found out about them and about the princess's trouble. You can't hide an awl in a sack!
Emperor Emelyan had tried a multitude of women and wenches, he knew thoroughly what such sweetness for the female core — fucking with a capable man — was like. That's why he grew sorrowful, thinking of the princess's bitter fate. If Varvara would not know the pleasures of amorous delights, she could become callous in soul, become furious, acquire a serpentine character. What kind of sovereign-mother would she be then? What kind of protector for the people? Sovereign Emelyan was smart, he understood that the people are governed not only by fear, but also by love!
The tsar figured it out, thinking in state terms, having sentenced a jug of foreign Armagnac: it must be Boyarynya Sobakina's curse lying upon the princess, the very one who shat herself in fright! And the tsar-emperor ordered the boyarynya to be found and brought to the royal court without delay.
They didn't find Ksenia right away. From the sovereign's wrath and shame, she had hidden somewhere far away. She had concealed herself right at the city limits, in sooty Kapotnya. But you can't hide from people's gossip, not in Kapotnya, nor even in Mukhosransk. The honest folk dubbed Ksenia the shitty boyarynya! The title stuck to the noble shit-stain like a bath leaf to an ass.
When the shitty boyarynya was delivered to the palace, the sovereign ordered her to lift the curse from the princess under threat of a cruel execution. Ksenia threw herself at the tsar's feet, tearing her hair, scratching her cheeks bloody. "Oh, don't destroy me, sovereign-father, me, a sinful fool! Oh, I am guilty before the princess-beauty! Oh, where would I know how to cast spells! Oh, a demon tempted me, a brainless fool! Oh, no one paid me for this!"
For half an hour, the shitty boyarynya threw a hysterical fit, wailing and rolling on the floor, until the tsar spat and the guards dragged her down the palace steps. "Drive this fool out of the realm to hell!" — ordered the emperor and slammed his fist on the throne.
The sovereign sat down to think with the boyars. How to help the woe?
First, they summoned healers from all over the world. The famous Dr. House, known throughout the free world, came for a consultation, and not alone, but with his team. And Dr. Bykov with his interns, and Dr. Kupitman... They tormented the poor princess with analyses and X-rays, tomographies and encephalographies, EKGs and ultrasounds. For a whole week they tortured the girl, listened and tapped, looked into her eyes and into her shameful slit.
The sovereign asks: "Well, luminaries among luminaries, will you cure the princess or not?" And he himself stamps his foot, meaning he's nervous.
Then the cunning Dr. Kupitman stepped forward and said: "Princess Varvara is pure as a dove, yet not innocent. My colleague Bykov and I believe the princess is absolutely healthy. And in such cases, our medicine is, alas, powerless! Take courage, Your Majesty!"
Dr. House stood in deep thought, leaning on his cane. At the word "majesty," the doctor perked up, swallowed a pill, and spread his hands about ten inches apart. "Your daughter has anorgasmia. And here's what will help her! A live and warm organ together with a real gentleman, preferably a big one, big dick in our terms, and in yours, it seems, zdorovenny huy! Isn't it, Doctor Bykov?"
"Yes, yes, OBEKHAES...", muttered Dr. Bykov, weighing the fee in his robe pocket — a heavy stack of gold coins. "That's half a kilo, no less! Enough for a new motorcycle! Instead of the one broken by the drunk venereologist Kupitman..." And he added joyfully: "Of course, of course, my dear friend!"
Again the tsar gathered the boyar council. This time, the agenda had a personal question: which princes and princes to invite to awaken Varvara's sensuality?
First, of course, they invited a prince from a great empire. The prince was good in every way: blue blood, a gentleman for God knows how many generations, and he had upbringing and university education. And a suitable size. But the man turned out to be like raw oak parquet. He didn't catch fire himself, and didn't ignite a flame in the princess.
They saw the prince off home, giving him a pood of black caviar for the road. The prince was happier about the caviar than about the beautiful princess: a good addition, he said, to the dreary royal table! The same story repeated with his brother. With the only difference that the brother demanded two poods of caviar. To restore spent strength. And also — a spoonful each for daddy and beloved grandma.
Princes and princes who fully meet the stated technical requirements are not so thick on the ground these days. Times are not the same. So in half a year, they drained the blue blood down to such princes that, if you met them naked in the dark, you wouldn't even see them. And even then, those princes were so-so. Apart from that thing hanging from under their loincloths, which Dr. House called "big dick," they had nothing to their name. They sent the failures back to their stinky kingdoms, paying for services based on "day of arrival, day of departure — one day."
Bad news doesn't stay put.
The entire realm grieved over the project's failure. And the people dubbed the poor princess, alien to the joys of love, Varvara — the beauty without end. Because the unfortunate princess could not come!
Could not...
DON JUAN
In that sorrowful time, a distinguished Spanish grandee, Juan Sebastian Antonio Maria Leonsia del Salou de La Pineda, was passing through the capital of the realm. A handsome fellow — a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man, eyebrows wide apart, broad-shouldered, of guardsman height. The distinguished traveler wished to acquaint himself with the capital city, to see its noteworthy beauties.
Don Juan was traveling from distant, hot lands, where bananas grow and monkeys jump on branches. With Don Juan was his secretary, Mademoiselle Emmanuelle. They say the noble don strongly helped the wayward mademoiselle, bought her out from the owner of a stinky go-go bar either in Bangkok, or Hong Kong, or Macao. And the girl stuck to the don like a thread to a needle — where he went, she went. She eats him with her eyes, serves him like a devoted little dog. Don Juan just glances, and Emmanuelle already understands what the boss wants. And as for how Emmanuelle pleased her savior at night, if you told about it, they wouldn't even print it. The girl picked up subtle amorous refinements in Southeast Asia, with which you can bind any man to yourself tighter than with Manila rope.
The noble don took a room in the famously luxurious Grand Hotel, and not a simple one, but — the embassy suite! If you wish, you can admire the Kremlin towers from the windows without leaving. But the grandee wasn't used to sitting around, and after a brief rest, he deigned to go for a stroll. As usual, in the company of his faithful secretary — Mademoiselle Emmanuelle.
Don Juan walks through the capital, walks along a garden path by the Kremlin wall, breathes the frosty air, counts the resonant beats of his heart. And his heart leaps from his chest with joy — he is home, finally! In his homeland! Because the distinguished Spanish grandee Juan Sebastian Antonio Maria Leonsia del Salou de La Pineda was a simple Russian lad named Vanya, nicknamed Laptev. And he became a grandee by the drunken whim of Sovereign Emperor Emelyan. When the tsar ordered the brothels closed and the owners ruined, Vanya's mother, the owner of that very elite brothel where the field marshal general hung out, didn't hesitate and fled abroad. With a bundle of jewels and her little son Vanechka. She wandered around Europe, of course, suffered, and reached as far as Spain. And there luck smiled upon the Slavic beauty — the most noble and wealthy Count del Salou de La Pineda fell head over heels in love with her. He married her and adopted little Vanechka. The old man was broad of soul, though a considerable miser. Mother became a countess, and when the old grandee passed away, Vanechka inherited the title — the old man had no children.
Vanechka walks under the Kremlin wall, remembers his barefoot childhood, and suddenly feels as if someone is staring at him intently. He looked around — no one, except Emmanuelle, and she isn't gawking at him, but around. The northern lands are wondrous to her — the frost nips her face, the white snow crunches underfoot, the trees stand as if in silver. And the golden domes burn in the blue sky.
What kind of trouble is this? The noble don raised his head and met the gaze of a maiden standing on the Kremlin wall. Ah, and beautiful was the maiden, not to be told in a tale nor described with a pen! But that maiden's eyes were very sad, sorrow-longing splashed in them...
And — Don Juan Sebastian Antonio Maria Leonsia del Salou de La Pineda was lost! He fell in love at first sight! Fell head over heels, without moving from the spot!
After the stroll, at dinner, neither food nor cognac went down his throat. He sits, poor thing, eyes downcast, and sighs for the unknown enchantress. Mademoiselle Emmanuelle tries this and that with him, but he doesn't even twitch an ear. And when closer to night they lay down in the silken bed, it was a complete disaster! All of Emmanuelle's refinements were in vain — no reaction from Don Juan, no erection!
You, he says to the secretary, are now exactly like an inflatable rubber doll to me! As if not real!
Then Emmanuelle understood that her illusory hopes for happiness with her savior had melted. She cried, of course, the wayward mademoiselle, grieved. But she had a soft, broad soul, despite being from the stingy city of Brussels. She remembered the kindness. She decided to render her beloved Don Juan one last service, and then they'd see. Maybe the noble don wouldn't drive her out, would keep her with him.
Mademoiselle Emmanuelle found out and learned everything about the maiden on the Kremlin wall. No, the distinguished grandee didn't keep the secretary only for sweet bed comforts. The mademoiselle knew how to work! And she even drew up a plan of action on how to bring the unfortunate Varvara the Beauty to orgasm! Fortunately, Emmanuelle had experience not only with men.
Princess Varvara, however, also did not remain indifferent, having looked into Vanechka's eyes. She returned to