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Abbey Kypner
John Bertromme FUCKES The Queene
John Bertromme FUCKES The Queene
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Behold! A most sensual tale of passion and carnal delights, a ballad of licentiousness and longing, of chastity delicate as spidersilk and lust that burns like the sun! Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, The Virgin Queen, hath lived threescore and some years untouched by the flesh of a man. Though regents pleaded and royals begged for Her Majesty's buxom sweetness, none yet could catch her interest. But lo, only one man alone with deft fingers and a silver tongue can seed the royal blossom! Hide this volume from the eyes of Christendom and bar these pages from the reach of the baptized, for what follows is only for those of great enough constitution to resist the ardor of John Bertromme!
~~~~~ EXCERPT:
It was a cheery morn when John Bertromme, a courtier possessed with a nature most licentious, was summoned to audience with Her Most Royal and Noble Majesty, the Queen Elizabeth Gloriana. Dark of hair and handsome of face, the young Bertromme was infamous for his roving eye. While his conquests ranged from the lowliest barmaid to the the most refined courtesans, it was of late that his sights turned upward towards the Queen herself.
And so on this day he wore his finest doublet embroidered in thread of gold. His lace ruff flared out about his collar, a snowy white halo of a purity that belied his roguish nature. His breeches were tight so as to better to advertise his calves, well-toned by the rigorous motion and dynamics of his art. Polished shoes clicked over the stone floor as he approached, in the heavy rhythm that echoed the slaps of his physics with which so many women were familiar. John Bertromme lacked only a codpiece in his finest of garb, for he had no need to accentuate the goods of his trade.
“Tell us, John Bertromme...” Queen Elizabeth declared, “we have demurred on the hand of the Archduke of Austria, declined the advances of the Dukes of Anjou, and spurned the offers from two Valois Princes of France. The whole of Spain could not breach our gates, through neither the bumbling courtship of King Philip, nor through the invasion of England by the Spanish Armada. Tell me: Why should we consider thee as a suitor?”
With a flourish and a bow, John Bertromme spoke in a voice sweet as honey. “By your leave, Your Highness, but I offer my services out of my love for Your Majesty. You have sacrificed much for the sake of England, and suffered mightily the loneliness of abstinence for the sake of your people. If Your Highness would allow, I would be your companion for the night, as a most skilled and ardent lover.”
The Queen's lips pressed thin in contemplation, yet behind Bertromme's flowery words she knew that it was never a matter of mere romance for her suitors. Men thought of little else since that feast years ago, when during the dance she had deigned to be so bold as to lift her skirts, revealing the most wild and sensual portions of her flesh: the lily-white arch of her ankle.
Such was the resulting clamor that the artists and bards of the city worked with newfound fervor to depict the most virtuous Virgo, the pure and imperious Virgin Queen. Dozens of suitors pawed at her door, from Sir Walter Raleigh to a grand multitude of foreign royals. The Duke of Anjou would coo in her ear and kiss her cheek, and with a coy glance she would neither encourage nor discourage such public showings of his lustful affection. Yet once the appropriate treaties were signed and the political needs sated, the Good Queen declined his advances with utmost graciousness. The court physician himself was not immune to such fancies, and the contents of his diary were an open secret among the Court, for they contained the most scandalous of writing.
None could snare her heart, though she had in turn twined many about in silken threads of halfhearted musings and considerations. The gentlest wooing could not convince her, nor could the most sweetest of poetry stir her heart. Even the hundred mighty warships of Spain could not breach the sanctity of her iron-clad maidenhood, for they were shattered upon Her Majesty's shores and wrecked by the storm of her fury.
Even nearing sixty years of age Queen Elizabeth had only ripened further into an exquisite and mature beauty, and still the courtiers dreamed of that naked slip of flesh, that fine and lovely arch of her foot, pale and beauteous as the moon in the night sky.
~~~~~ EXCERPT:
It was a cheery morn when John Bertromme, a courtier possessed with a nature most licentious, was summoned to audience with Her Most Royal and Noble Majesty, the Queen Elizabeth Gloriana. Dark of hair and handsome of face, the young Bertromme was infamous for his roving eye. While his conquests ranged from the lowliest barmaid to the the most refined courtesans, it was of late that his sights turned upward towards the Queen herself.
And so on this day he wore his finest doublet embroidered in thread of gold. His lace ruff flared out about his collar, a snowy white halo of a purity that belied his roguish nature. His breeches were tight so as to better to advertise his calves, well-toned by the rigorous motion and dynamics of his art. Polished shoes clicked over the stone floor as he approached, in the heavy rhythm that echoed the slaps of his physics with which so many women were familiar. John Bertromme lacked only a codpiece in his finest of garb, for he had no need to accentuate the goods of his trade.
“Tell us, John Bertromme...” Queen Elizabeth declared, “we have demurred on the hand of the Archduke of Austria, declined the advances of the Dukes of Anjou, and spurned the offers from two Valois Princes of France. The whole of Spain could not breach our gates, through neither the bumbling courtship of King Philip, nor through the invasion of England by the Spanish Armada. Tell me: Why should we consider thee as a suitor?”
With a flourish and a bow, John Bertromme spoke in a voice sweet as honey. “By your leave, Your Highness, but I offer my services out of my love for Your Majesty. You have sacrificed much for the sake of England, and suffered mightily the loneliness of abstinence for the sake of your people. If Your Highness would allow, I would be your companion for the night, as a most skilled and ardent lover.”
The Queen's lips pressed thin in contemplation, yet behind Bertromme's flowery words she knew that it was never a matter of mere romance for her suitors. Men thought of little else since that feast years ago, when during the dance she had deigned to be so bold as to lift her skirts, revealing the most wild and sensual portions of her flesh: the lily-white arch of her ankle.
Such was the resulting clamor that the artists and bards of the city worked with newfound fervor to depict the most virtuous Virgo, the pure and imperious Virgin Queen. Dozens of suitors pawed at her door, from Sir Walter Raleigh to a grand multitude of foreign royals. The Duke of Anjou would coo in her ear and kiss her cheek, and with a coy glance she would neither encourage nor discourage such public showings of his lustful affection. Yet once the appropriate treaties were signed and the political needs sated, the Good Queen declined his advances with utmost graciousness. The court physician himself was not immune to such fancies, and the contents of his diary were an open secret among the Court, for they contained the most scandalous of writing.
None could snare her heart, though she had in turn twined many about in silken threads of halfhearted musings and considerations. The gentlest wooing could not convince her, nor could the most sweetest of poetry stir her heart. Even the hundred mighty warships of Spain could not breach the sanctity of her iron-clad maidenhood, for they were shattered upon Her Majesty's shores and wrecked by the storm of her fury.
Even nearing sixty years of age Queen Elizabeth had only ripened further into an exquisite and mature beauty, and still the courtiers dreamed of that naked slip of flesh, that fine and lovely arch of her foot, pale and beauteous as the moon in the night sky.
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