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Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Any similarity to a Czech porn star with a slightly similar name (and a tight little) is entirely coincidental......

My thoughts exactly... ;)
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Short subject with no violence and no sex (sorry to disappoint) just a memorable evening with a remarkable lady. To be posted in two parts - one tonight and one Friday morning. Hope you brought your appetite!

My Date with Barb

[It seemed to have taken forever to get to this night. Months of pleading, cajoling, flirting, and downright begging had, at last, convinced Barbara Moore to go on an RL dinner date with me. I sprayed on extra Old Spice and headed out, nervous as a teenage boy on his first date]

I picked up Barb at her house in my elegant but sadly dated, 2005 Cadillac CTS. I held the passenger door and helped her in. She seemed impressed by my gentlemanly gesture, but my actual motivation was to admire her stunning figure, wrapped in a clinging, pale beige dress. Her long silky brunette hair seemed to compliment the smooth lines and pastel color of the garment.
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As we drove through the city streets to the restaurant I'd chosen, the small talk was remarkably enlightened and enjoyable. Barb's wide range of interests and knowledge meant that she had fascinating things to say about any topic. I knew this evening would be delightful on more than just a sensual level. Though I hoped it would be rewarding on that level also!

I pulled into the valet parking at Purosangue (Italian for Thoroughbreds, the new trendy restaurant in the city). It is almost impossible to get a table on a Saturday night. Still, I'd done a favor for the owner several years earlier in arranging some financing to save his first restaurant. I'd waited a long time, but now had seemed the time to call in the favor.

I felt a tinge of jealousy as the valet helped Barb out. I tossed him the keys and said, "Angelo knows me. I'm PrPr."

"Yes, Sir," the kid replied. "He said you would be here tonight."

Barb slipped her arm in mine as we turned to the front door. I find that gesture so flattering and warm that it always affects me deeply. I looked briefly into her rich brown eyes and then led her inside.

Inside, Purosangue exuded the warm brick richness of an Italian villa in the Tuscan Hills. Colorful Impressionist and Modern prints blended surprisingly well on the walls between faded medieval Italian tapestries. The space had a trendy, almost cosmopolitan air. The bleached blonde, young, and too skinny hostess (aren’t they all?) greeted me by name and led us to a nicely placed table in a quiet, but not isolated part of the room. I helped Barbara to her seat and then sat on my own.

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Almost immediately, the Sommelier came to the table with a bottle of wine that I’d pre-ordered from Angelo’s extensive wine cellar. A mid-price, subtle-flavored French Riesling. I approved the bottle, and he extracted the cork with professional dexterity. He handed it to me for inspection. In all my years, I’m never seen a bad cork in a restaurant bottle. But the gesture and ceremony are entertaining. He went to pour a sample in my glass, but my hand covered it.

“Please, Francesco, the Lady is a better judge of the Riesling grape than I. Let her taste.”

He did as directed; Barbara smiled at the compliment. She smiled again when she tasted the wine and nodded approval to Francesco. He poured out our glasses and then discreetly withdrew.

We clicked glasses to my toast, “Cin Cin,” and I swirled the pale golden elixir. One sniff and the trademark flowery, almost perfumed, aroma teased and stimulated my nose. A sip and the unique blend of this bottle released tastes of Meyer Lemon mixed with high acidity to remind one of lemonade, though far more refined. I saw the slight smile on Barb’s face and the far-away look in her eyes that told me she was savoring the vintage as was I.

Our head waiter, a tall, thin man with classic Northern Italian features, appeared and introduced himself as Duccio. When he offered menus, I interrupted.

“Barbara, would you do me the honor of allowing me to order for the both of us? I promise that my selections will be most pleasing.”

Barbara, taken aback by the suggestion, looked unsure at first. I could see her thoughts racing behind that lovely face. Then she smiled again, that beautiful, enigmatic smile. “Of course, PrPr. I place myself in your hands.” I hoped that meant she appreciated a man taking charge (only with permission, of course), although having her lovely body in my hands was a thought to arouse.

I tried to act calm and in command. Nevertheless, performing in front of such an amazing woman as Barbara would make the most confident man second-guess himself.

“Duccio, we shall start by sharing the Antipasto Misto. No soup or salad tonight. Bring us each a moderare portion of the Risotto Maré e Monti.”

Eccellente choices, Signore.”

“Do you have fresh-baked Marocco di Montignoso, tonight?”

Sì.

“With burro alle erbe?”

Naturalmente!”

Bene, please bring us a loaf to share before our Antipasto.”

Duccio smiled and bowed away.

“Very suavely done, PrPr. I did not know you spoke Italian.”

I think I blushed at that. I leaned forward and whispered secretly, “I don’t. Now, I’m a little embarrassed that you brought that up. I studied the menu ahead of time and practiced the Italian phrases to impress you. I guess it was silly of me.”

“Not at all,” said Barbara with that gentle smile she uses so well. “I’m flattered at the effort. It is rare today to find a man who will go to such efforts to enrich the experience.”

I reached over and ever so lightly touched the back of her soft hand. “For such a lovely lady, no effort to enrich the experience could be nearly enough.” We sat relaxed, chatting casually and sipping the aromatic Riesling, until a waitress, who introduced herself as Artemia, brought our bread in a wicker basket, wrapped in a soft cloth (not the checkered cloth of a pizza joint!), and two small ramekins with the herbed butter. When I opened the wrapping, the warm, fragrant aroma blossomed forth, making our mouths water. I used the serrated bread knife to carve Barbara and myself, generous slices from the golden loaf with the look of cornbread.
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She spread butter on her piece and took a bite. Her eyes sprang wide-open. As soon as she swallowed, she exclaimed, “Oh, My God, PrPr!” That is fabulous. What are all these things in it?”

“It’s a traditional artesian bread from upper Tuscany. The name, Marocco di Montignoso, means Moroccan from Montignoso - a municipality 90 kilometers northwest of Florance."

"It was usually baked in the winter months during the olive harvest, understandable given the olives in it. They make it with corn flour, wheat flour, and yeast and add black olives, rosemary, garlic, sage, crushed red pepper, and salt. I think it goes well with the low salt, high acidity of the Riesling. Another piece?”

“Yes, please!”

We enjoyed leisurely consuming the tasty bread, washed down with fine wine.
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
My Date with Barb (Part II)

Duccio quietly appeared carrying a large plate of Antipasto. Placing it in the middle of the table between us, he announced, “the Antipasto Misto.” He gave us red-fired plates and cold silver to serve ourselves.

The main plate was a cornucopia of appetizing treats - imported Cheeses, Prosciutto di Parma, - Salame Rustico - Sweet Coppa - Mortadella con Pistachio - Olives – Giardiniera. We eagerly dug in.

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"How do I chose," asked Barb, surveying the marvelous variety of savory food before her.

"That's the beauty of an antipasto. You don't. Just take a little of everything, until you hit your favorites and then seconds and thirds of those. Don't worry. I won't watch," I said with a wink.

Taking my advice, she loaded her plate with a little of each and began sampling. The oos and ahhs she emitted showed that most items met with her approval.

After having tasted most, Barb looked at me with a shy smile. "What if they all are my favorite?"

"Then," I said, raising my glass, merely send your compliments to the chef!" We both laughed and drained our glasses. I moved debonairly to refill both.

Then Duccio appeared, as if out of nowhere, with two servers in tow. They carried large Maiolicas, high-fired, dipped in white glaze, hand-painted Italian pottery plates. The servers set these before us with seafood and rice molded in the center into a mini-mountain.

“Is all satisfactory, Signore?”

Bene, Duccio. Bene.”

Barb raised her fork but hesitated. She wanted to allow me to continue my lead. “And what is this you have commanded for us now?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

“It is Risotto Maré e Monti. That means rice from the mountains and the sea. Wild picked mushrooms represent the mountains in the risotto, and the sea by the red Argentinean Shrimp and Mediterranean Calamari. It is a dish from Friuli-Venezia Giulia, the Northern Italian region that includes Trieste on the Adriatic and the sharp-peaked Dolomite Mountains on the border with Austria. Thus the mountains and the sea dominate the region.”
Barb stared at me for a moment. In a dumb blonde accent, she said, “Oww, PrPrrey! You have such a head for knowing!”
My smile faded in a moment. I had tried too hard to show off.
Barbara saw my distress and quickly flashed her sweet smile. “Don’t worry, PrPr. I’m only kidding. Seriously you do know an incredible amount of things.”
“Well, I can’t spend all my time online watching porn. I need to take some breaks.” We both laughed at that. Barb took another sip of the Riesling and plunged her fork into the seafood mountain.

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I took the first taste of mine and wasn’t disappointed. The rich, creamy risotto had flowery spices complimented by the tangy taste of the wild mountain mushrooms. The Argentinean shrimp were tender and succulent, and the calamari cooked just right. The deep groan of appreciation from Barb told me she had the same level of enjoyment.
We took our time, not rushing the marvelous meal. At about this time, Barb began to run her foot (apparently she’d slipped her shoe off) occasionally up and down my leg. The sensual stimulation added to the already delicious tastes and smells!
The moderare portion just enough to satisfy without triggering so much satiation as to dull the enjoyment of what was to come. Again we found time to chat between bites and to use the wine to cleanse our palates. The conversation was fascinating. Barb’s knowledge of Medieval European History pricked my interests and left many openings for historical double entendres.

Sadly, the time came when both lovely dinner plates were empty. Duccio appeared and cleared the places while asking, “Was it satisfactory, Signore e signorina?”
Barbara jumped in with a response before I could. “Duccio. That was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. Please express i miei ringraziamenti to il cuoco.”
“Barb, You speak Italian? Now I’m embarrassed.”
Un po. You have to pick up some to study European History.”
“You are a marvel.”

“So what is next on your plan, Sir?” asked Barb with a light sarcastic tone to the last word.
“Dessert!” I answered triumphantly as the two servers arrived with our last course. “Traditional Vanilla Bean Crèam Brûlée.”
We both looked with lust at the hardened caramelized sugar topping a decadent, creamy custard dessert. Garnishing the top of each was a single vanilla bean and a tiny mint leaf.
Before we could crack the crusts, Duccio came forward with two steaming cups of coffee.
“Our Black Gold,” he announced. “The finest coffee with Frangelico, Bailey's Irish Cream, Whipped Cream & Shaved Chocolate.
After finishing the Crèam Brûlée (we each managed to resist the temptation to lick the bowls clean!), we lingered over the heavily liquored coffee. I had reached out and taken her hand gently in mine and was rubbing my thumb tenderly against the soft, sensitive back. We said only a little. The moment seemed more for quiet reflection of the delightful tastes and smells of the fabulous dinner. I knew that my credit card would have a fit in the morning, but I didn’t care.
At least, I spoke, “Well. I suppose its time to move on.” I gestured to Duccio, and he was tableside in a moment. “Angelo knows how to handle the bill. I wish to express my deep gratitude for the outstanding and thoughtful service that you and your team have rendered.”
“As would I,” added Barb. “It has been the best restaurant experience of my life!”
Signore e Signorina, you are too kind. It has been our pleasure to serve such a lovely and knowledgeable sposi, a couple! May I tell the valet to bring your car?”
“Thank you. Yes.” I stood and hastened to help Barb from her chair. Holding hands, we walked to the door.

The End?

Is there really any experience better than sipping an aromatic wine, savoring the smells, tastes, and textures of outstanding food, all while gazing, across the table, at a beautiful, charming, and intelligent woman?

Thank you, Barbara, for an evening that I will always treasure!
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Another short subject in three or four parts.

Paying the Debt
Lena was a very sweet and caring girl who was also very shy and lacking in self-confidence. The latter two characteristics could be easily traced to her early teen years when she was overweight. Heavy, plump, round, or, most cruelly, fat, were used to describe her at twelve. As she began to develop in her teens, Lena’ body converted much of that bulk to a lush, feminine figure. By the time she was eighteen, the girl had large yet youthfully firm breasts and a very full butt and hips with a much narrower waist, round tummy, and a deep navel. Her face was sweet and round with full lips and deep brown eyes, all framed by a full head of shoulder-length black curly hair.
Unfortunately, her insecurity from a younger time prevented her from appreciating her new body’s positive effect on men.

Lena was now 22 and had been married for three months to Dimitry, a successful businessman. He told Lena he was thirty-one, but the marriage certificate listed his age as thirty-nine. Dimitry had wooed Lena with gifts and dinners and flowers and love notes. The girl hardly knew what to make of such a mature, cultured, and wealthy man paying her court. It all swept her away into a passionate love for the man. She moved into his large house on Камергерский переулок [Kamergersky Lane] in the Тверская [Tverskaya] neighborhood of Moscow.

All was like a dream for Leno until, about ten weeks into the marriage, Dimitry began to appear distracted and concerned. He worked extra hours at work. Lena could see her husband was becoming depressed. However, when she asked, he would brush it off and say it was nothing.

Then, one Wednesday, Dimitry came home early, and his worry could not be hidden. After kissing Lena, he went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a neat glass of Vodka, something he never did. Lena put her arms around him only to feel him begin to sob.

At last, he shared his secret with his wife. His company had been impacted by the financial crisis and was in deep trouble. Worse, he had unwisely borrowed money from the wrong people, and now they wanted to be repaid.

Lena tried to understand and comfort her husband. She asked whether the business would survive. Dimitry gave a hollow laugh. “It is a question of whether I will survive,” he said. “These men get their money or else.” He explained that he had been turned down by all the regular lenders and had to go to a black market source. [we won’t here use a common ethnic slur, but instead refer to these men as ‘gangsters’]. Now they wanted to be paid, and he couldn’t get the money for at least another week.

At that very moment, a loud pounding come on the door.
 
Last edited:

Fossy

Tribune
Another short subject in three or four parts.

Paying the Debt
Lena was a very sweet and caring girl who was also very shy and lacking in self-confidence. The latter two characteristics could be easily traced to her early teen years when she was overweight. Heavy, plump, round, or, most cruelly, fat, were used to describe her at twelve. As she began to develop in her teens, Lena’ body converted much of that bulk to a lush, feminine figure. By the time she was eighteen, the girl had large yet youthfully firm breasts and a very full butt and hips with a much narrower waist, round tummy, and a deep navel. Her face was sweet and round with full lips and deep brown eyes, all framed by a full head of shoulder-length black curly hair.
Unfortunately, her insecurity from a younger time prevented her from appreciating her new body’s positive effect on men.

Lena was now 22 and had been married for three months to Dimitry, a successful businessman. He told Lena he was thirty-one, but the marriage certificate listed his age as thirty-nine. Dimitry had wooed Lena with gifts and dinners and flowers and love notes. The girl hardly knew what to make of such a mature, cultured, and wealthy man paying her court. It all swept her away into a passionate love for the man. She moved into his large house on Камергерский переулок [Kamergersky Lane] in the Тверская [Tverskaya] neighborhood of Moscow.

All was like a dream for Leno until, about ten weeks into the marriage, Dimitry began to appear distracted and concerned. He worked extra hours at work. Lena could see her husband was becoming depressed. However, when she asked, he would brush it off and say it was nothing.

Then, one Wednesday, Dimitry came home early, and his worry could not be hidden. After kissing Lena, he went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a neat glass of Vodka, something he never did. Lena put her arms around him only to feel him begin to sob.

At last, he shared his secret with his wife. His company had been impacted by the financial crisis and was in deep trouble. Worse, he had unwisely borrowed money from the wrong people, and now they wanted to be repaid.

Lena tried to understand and comfort her husband. She asked whether the business would survive. Dimitry gave a hollow laugh. “It is a question of whether I will survive,” he said. “These men get their money or else.” He explained that he had been turned down by all the regular lenders and had to go to a black market source. [we won’t here use a common ethnic slur, but instead refer to these men as ‘gangsters’]. Now they wanted to be paid, and he couldn’t get the money for at least another week.

At that very moment, a loud pounding come on the door.
Hmmmm, wonder where this is heading ...
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Hmmmm, wonder where this is heading ...
Stay tuned to this channel to find out.

Lena started to get up, but Dimitry restrained her. “I’ll get it. You stay here. No matter what you hear, stay here!”

Soon, Lena heard raised voices from the front hall, then angry shouts, then the crash of something breaking. In a moment, a group of men burst into the drawing-room.

Leading the way was a short man, with the look of a rat, dressed in a fine silk suit, accompanied by two stereotypical thugs. Just behind came Dimitry held between two large men, his clothes in disarray and bleeding from a cut above his eye.
Lena cried out and jumped up to go to her husband. One of the men holding him used his free arm to shove her back onto the couch. “Dear, stay out of this,” pleaded Dimitry.
“Dear?” asked the short man. “Is this your blushing bride, Dimitry?”
“Leave her out of it, Victor. She has nothing to do with this!”

“I’ll judge that. However, I do want to get back to business. You owe me ₽3,000,000. Do you have it?”
“I need just a little more time - an extension.”
“But I give you many extensions, Dimitry. I want my money now!”
“A week – give me a week! I can sell - but I need a week!”
“No. No week. One hour! Can you get the money in one hour?”
“No. Please give me a few days!”
“Few days? Tomorrow you will be dead. I will kill you!”
“Oh, my God! Please! More time!”
“No time. You get the money now, or I have you dead!”

“NO!” shouted Lena, rushing toward the man. One of his thugs grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. “Please, don’t hurt him!”
The others turned to the girl. They saw her pretty, innocent face and lovely hair. She had on a snug black top, which showed off her generous endowment. Belted trousers displayed Lena’s narrow waist and full hips. It was a sight that would arouse any man.

“What have we here,” said Victor, taking in all of Lena’s charms for the first time. “You have much a woman here, Dimitry. Maybe you could sell to repay me.” He softly caressed Lena’s white cheek.
“Leave my wife out of this!” shouted Dimitry, lunging toward Victor. Before he had taken two steps, one of the thugs had slammed his fist into the businessman’s middle and then delivered a devastating punch to his jaw. Dimitry collapsed to the floor.

“Oh, NO!” cried Lena. “Dimitry!”
 

Fossy

Tribune
Stay tuned to this channel to find out.

Lena started to get up, but Dimitry restrained her. “I’ll get it. You stay here. No matter what you hear, stay here!”

Soon, Lena heard raised voices from the front hall, then angry shouts, then the crash of something breaking. In a moment, a group of men burst into the drawing-room.

Leading the way was a short man, with the look of a rat, dressed in a fine silk suit, accompanied by two stereotypical thugs. Just behind came Dimitry held between two large men, his clothes in disarray and bleeding from a cut above his eye.
Lena cried out and jumped up to go to her husband. One of the men holding him used his free arm to shove her back onto the couch. “Dear, stay out of this,” pleaded Dimitry.
“Dear?” asked the short man. “Is this your blushing bride, Dimitry?”
“Leave her out of it, Victor. She has nothing to do with this!”

“I’ll judge that. However, I do want to get back to business. You owe me ₽3,000,000. Do you have it?”
“I need just a little more time - an extension.”
“But I give you many extensions, Dimitry. I want my money now!”
“A week – give me a week! I can sell - but I need a week!”
“No. No week. One hour! Can you get the money in one hour?”
“No. Please give me a few days!”
“Few days? Tomorrow you will be dead. I will kill you!”
“Oh, my God! Please! More time!”
“No time. You get the money now, or I have you dead!”

“NO!” shouted Lena, rushing toward the man. One of his thugs grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. “Please, don’t hurt him!”
The others turned to the girl. They saw her pretty, innocent face and lovely hair. She had on a snug black top, which showed off her generous endowment. Belted trousers displayed Lena’s narrow waist and full hips. It was a sight that would arouse any man.

“What have we here,” said Victor, taking in all of Lena’s charms for the first time. “You have much a woman here, Dimitry. Maybe you could sell to repay me.” He softly caressed Lena’s white cheek.
“Leave my wife out of this!” shouted Dimitry, lunging toward Victor. Before he had taken two steps, one of the thugs had slammed his fist into the businessman’s middle and then delivered a devastating punch to his jaw. Dimitry collapsed to the floor.

“Oh, NO!” cried Lena. “Dimitry!”
"Dim" itry should have taken the hour option when he had chance! Now Lena will become a young, nubile stuffed toy ... Building up nicely PrPr
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
“Keep him quiet,” Victor said to the man who’d floored Dimitry. He and another thug grabbed the husband by his arms and forced him, semi-conscious to sit on the couch. Then Victor was able to turn his full attention back to Lena.

“Please don’t hurt my husband anymore,” she pleaded.
“Don’t you hear? If he not pay me by tomorrow, I kill!”
“Oh, God! No! Please, I’ll do anything.”

Victor now gave his full attention to Dimitry’s plump wife. Her pleas made him think of his ‘special’ nightclub.
“You know he is dead man? What can you offer me to save?”

It might be mentioned that Lean was a relatively innocent girl for twenty-three. She had been a virgin when she’d married Dimitry, and he, though in his thirties, had minimal sexual experience before he and Lena got together. Their sex to date had been OK but conventional. Even naïve, Lena understood that sex was the only thing she’d have to offer. She hoped that Victor would agree to make love to her and then leave them alone.

“I – I could love you, Sir,” Lena suggested.
“Oh. You could? I need much more to earn back my money. What if you work for me? I have a club. You might make me money.”
Lena’s hand went to her mouth in shock. He was suggesting that she be a whore. “I could never! Please don’t ask that.”
“No offer then? Husband is still dead man. Bye”
“No! Wait! I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Really? You mean? Show me now. Remove your clothes.”
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