M
montycrusto
Guest
..and this must be her “sick transit”:Yes, but those twin mundi sticking out there are most glorious!
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The Cardinal Bishop and his Female Pope
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Ah yes! The
Migoz2
Senator
Sic transit Barbara's stricta parvum
Last edited:
M
montycrusto
Guest
Is it a coincidence that a young woman known as “The Female Pope” is involved in this whole Vatican corruption scandal that’s in the news?
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/the-coffee-shop.779/post-624712
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/the-coffee-shop.779/post-624712
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Barb taking a break, trying to get over her writer's block
M
montycrusto
Guest
I think I have something for that..,Barb taking a break, trying to get over her writer's block
2. DISCOVERY, BETRAYAL. ARREST
No sooner had Cardinal Bishop Praetorio settled himself down in solitary vigil on the hard pavement at the base of the cross on which Barbara of Mohr hung, naked and crucified, and allowed his mind to begin the process of revisiting and dissecting the events of the last three days … three momentous days that had seen her brief pontificate as Pope Innocent XI brought to its sudden and tragically ignominious end … than he found himself distracted by movement on the far side of the deserted early-morning vastness of St. Peter’s Square.
He rose to his feet quickly. Headed towards him across the square were two members of the colorfully-uniformed Pontifical Swiss Guards.
He raised his hand to wave them away. But that was hardly needed, for they had already recognized him. And not wishing to incur the wrath of someone as important and powerful as he, had begun a hasty retreat back to the shadows of the columns at the far edge of the square.
He remained standing long enough to assure himself that they would remain there. Then, after casting a concerned glance at Barbara, who had briefly stirred in yet another vain attempt to find respite from her sufferings on the cross, he settled himself down again near its base and closed his eyes to continue his reverie.
Yes, he thought to himself, the troubles had begun just three days earlier, on the last day of March, a Saturday. After a cold winter, and long dreary spring, the weather had finally broken. He remembered it as more than an unseasonably warm day, the first such day
of the new year. Indeed, it had been extraordinarily warm. When he had crossed St. Peter’s Square on his way to the Papal Palace shortly after the noon hour, which is the time that he regularly met with her to go over the coming week’s papal bulls and actions, intense waves of heat were radiating up from the sun-baked pavements, and he could feel sweat breaking out beneath his heavy robes.
On entering the Palace, he had made his way to the Papal Apartments on the third floor. There he was met in the vestibule by a Swiss Guard who waved him through. He passed by the small, but vacant that day, office of the papal secretary and let himself into the luxuriously appointed private study reserved exclusively for the Pope.
She was already there, waiting for him, seated at the large table in the center of the room. Spread before her were a number of official documents … documents that he and she would go over together that afternoon. To one side on the table was a flask of wine and two goblets.
He went directly over to her and stooped to kiss her proffered hand, and then he poured them each out a glass of the ruby red liquid. They raised glasses, drank together and then he took his seat alongside her.
As they examined her plans, he found them ambitious and exciting, but also dangerous. He feared she might be moving too fast. Among them for example, was a decree directing that the Church make reparations to German districts ravaged and plundered by Tilly’s Catholic League armies more than half a century ago. Another proposed a rapprochement with the Church of England. He was painfully aware that as much as he believed in the righteousness of her many initiatives and reforms, they were stirring resentments, anger, and potentially catastrophic hostilities both within the Curia and the College of Cardinals, headwinds that were soon to make themselves felt.
But on this uncomfortably warm day, he prevaricated … reluctant to engage her in heated argument. For he knew well how she would react. So he rose from his seat to wander over to the window at which the Popes customarily appeared to deliver the Angelus and to wave at the throngs of faithful in the square below.
Opening the shutters he had commented for the sake of conversation on the oppressiveness of the unseasonal heat, and how it had so driven everyone indoors that the square below was all but deserted.
She had agreed and rose to join him. And as she drew near, he experienced those subtle but unmistakable carnal attractions that had increasingly affected him whenever she got near. He wondered whether she felt them too.
They had stood side by side at the window for a few awkward moments. Neither said a word until she broke the silence by excusing herself and abruptly leaving the study through a door that led to her chambers.
Waiting for her to return, and not knowing what to expect, he had begun to pace nervously, glancing repeatedly at the door through which she had disappeared. And as more time passed without any sign of her returning he became more and more certain that she had fled to avoid what may have been happening between them. He thought that perhaps she had meant for him to leave.
So he had been quite surprised when the door opened and she reappeared, but it was not just that she had come back that took him by surprise. It was that she had reappeared in the doorway without the white papal cassock pellegrina, zuchretto and slippers she had been wearing. Instead she was barefoot and wearing nothing more than a simple undergarment … a mid-thigh-length shift of such fine, thin fabric that very little of her was left to the imagination.
Nor did she re-enter the study. She had remained in the doorway, cocked her head coyly and beckoned him into what he could see was the papal bed chamber And if that were not enough to make her intentions perfectly clear, she went up on her tippy toes, reached for his head with both hands, and stretched herself out against him to kiss him full on the lips.
Bending to lower himself in order to reduce the considerable height difference between them, he returned the kiss, which provoked a response in which she locked hands behind his neck and raised herself high against him, wrapping and locking her bare legs around and behind his hips just below his waist.
He could smell the musky odor of her state of arousal as the kiss resumed, and was well aware of his hardened response pressing against the fabric of his cassock. Instinctively, his hands rode up behind her thighs, carrying the thin shift she wore with them before coming to rest with a firm grip on the twin globes of her bottom, the soft flesh of which yielded to the pressings of his fingers.
Releasing herself abruptly from his grasp, she had back-stepped away, retreating into the musky-smelling gloom of the bed chamber, where she could be observed gaily pulling the shift off over her head and tossing it aside.
Astounded, he had watched as she crawled onto the papal bed, wiggling her tight little ass at him playfully and erotically. And he had been transfixed when she flipped herself over on her back, arched her body to thrust out her chest, cupped her breasts in both hands, squeezing them together and teasing their nipples with her thumbs … and then brazenly spread her legs invitingly wide. He could see that she was wet. There was moistness visible between and on her labia that glistened as it was caught in one of the thin shafts of light that filtered through the chamber’s closed window shutters.
And he too was fully aroused. Praetorio had been no stranger to women. That was true not only of him, but of most of his supposedly celibate colleagues, all of whom were quite accustomed to taking frequent liberties with the German Benedictine nuns who ran the pontifical household, and who generally interpreted the oath of celibacy as meaning no marriage or legitimate heirs, and not as a prohibition on natural desires. But as he reflected back on that moment, despondent as he was sitting alone beneath her cross on St. Peter’s square, he was quite certain that no other woman had ever aroused him more.
But there had been hesitation on his part. He had, after all, been presented with a difficult and potentially fateful decision. There was no mistaking the fact that she wanted him and wanted him badly. But she was the Pope! How could he? How could he separate in his mind the fact that he was about to not only “fottere” “his” Barbara of Mohr, but also the supreme pontiff, the Vicar of Christ? Was there not a terrible sin in that?
He had decided not, choosing passion over reason. But alas, it was not to be. Not because of the moral dilemma had caused him to have second thoughts, but because, at that very moment, someone had begun to bang loudly at the vestibule door to the study.
She had sat up suddenly, alarm written on her face.
Reacting quickly, he had held up both hands to reassure her, then carefully closing the door to her bed chamber behind him, he straightened his robes enough to protect his dignity and hastened across the study to answer the door.
Whoever was on the other side had in the meantime resumed his or her loud pounding on the door panel, prompting Praetorio to call out irritably for patience … that he was on his way.
And from the other side of the door came a voice Praetorio knew well … the voice of Cardinal Pietro Vipera.
Praetorio groaned inwardly. What could be worse? Vipera was his most powerful critic and nemesis in the College of Cardinals, a man who desperately wanted to oust snd replace Praetorio as Cardinal Bishop, and who had recently positioned himself at the forefront of their colleagues’ current dissatisfaction with and growing mood of insurrection against the new Pope.
Praetorio reached for the door and opened it to reveal, not only Vipera but two armed Swiss Guardsmen, a nervous-looking little man in the simple garb of a lowly cleric, and the wise old longtime Head of the Curia, Francesco Saggia.
Vipera slithered in without invitation, his dark eyes darting rapidly about as though he hoped to discover something untoward but not wanting to be too obvious about it. Praetorio found everything about the man distasteful, including his squat, generally unkempt appearance, and oily manner.
“Come in,” said Praetorio unnecessarily.
“Where is Innocent?” demanded Vipera.
“Stepped out of the room momentarily. Sh … I mean he will be back soon.”
Vipera looked at him curiously, before replying, “l see.”
“What brings you here, Vipera? And why have you brought others with you?”
“A grave matter brings me here. As for the others … Saggia you know, of course. But my other companion you don’t. May I introduce Father Martin Spitzel, from the Diocese of Mohr in the Rhenisch Palatinate.”
Praetorio had nodded politely, but felt immediate concern, guessing where this was going.
“Spitzel is here because he has felt it his sacred duty to share some very interesting documents with me,” continued Vipera. “These are documents from the Our Lady of Angels Convent in Mohr. They reveal that a young woman listed as ‘Sister Barbara’ was once a novice there. And what is especially interesting is that the timing of her baptismal dates and other vital information, along with the location of these documents in Mohr, as you must surely have guessed, are identical to the those of our Innocent and suggest either that this is an extraordinarily remarkable coincidence … or that our Innocent may actually be a woman! Moreover, I wish it to be noted that in the interest of being thorough in raising this grave matter, I have taken the liberty of asking Saggia here to verify the authenticity of Spitzel’s documents.”
To which old Saggia had nodded affirmatively.
“Now tell me, Praetorio, was it not you who performed the … uh … ‘papal grope’ … to affirm that our Innocent was a man? How are we to reconcile that with what Pritzel has shared with us?”
This, then, was the most painful and shameful part of what Praetorio recalled of the events of that day. So shameful that he began to shake uncontrollably at the very thought of it, and couldn’t help but glance furtively up at Barbara on her cross, as though to check on whether she might somehow be sensing his distress.
For, having realized that the game was up, he had moved swiftly to save himself, admitting that on the occasion of the papal grope he hadn’t really touch but assumed.
Was it cowardice to have attempted to save himself? Perhaps it was, but he liked to believe as he thought back now on his decision to feign innocence that he had, in fact, been unconsciously preserving his freedom of action so that he might somehow save her later. That unfortunately had not worked out well.
Pouncing on Praetorio’s lame revelation, Vipera, had been disingenuously consoling, saying that he fully understood … that no man wants to touch another's parts. But taking advantage of the situation, he had gone on to declare that now, in light of Spitzels revelations, it must be done and that Praetorio must recuse himself.
And it had been precisely at that point in time that she had entered the study, ully dressed and business-like in her white papal cassock.
But before she could say anything, Vipera stepped forward, blocking her path, to declare, “Barbara of Mohr, if that’s who you truly be … you are under house arrest … this by my authority, given the recusal of Cardinal Bishop Praetorio in this matter. You are to be escorted immediately to Castel Sant’Angelo where we shall determine the truth. Guards take her … or him … away!”
She had stared at Praetorio incredulously, her face showing both disbelief and reproach. That look on her face had haunted him ever since.
And what was worse, he had looked away … avoiding her reproach … as the Swiss Guards took her into custody and escorted her from the room.
TBC
No sooner had Cardinal Bishop Praetorio settled himself down in solitary vigil on the hard pavement at the base of the cross on which Barbara of Mohr hung, naked and crucified, and allowed his mind to begin the process of revisiting and dissecting the events of the last three days … three momentous days that had seen her brief pontificate as Pope Innocent XI brought to its sudden and tragically ignominious end … than he found himself distracted by movement on the far side of the deserted early-morning vastness of St. Peter’s Square.
He rose to his feet quickly. Headed towards him across the square were two members of the colorfully-uniformed Pontifical Swiss Guards.
He raised his hand to wave them away. But that was hardly needed, for they had already recognized him. And not wishing to incur the wrath of someone as important and powerful as he, had begun a hasty retreat back to the shadows of the columns at the far edge of the square.
He remained standing long enough to assure himself that they would remain there. Then, after casting a concerned glance at Barbara, who had briefly stirred in yet another vain attempt to find respite from her sufferings on the cross, he settled himself down again near its base and closed his eyes to continue his reverie.
Yes, he thought to himself, the troubles had begun just three days earlier, on the last day of March, a Saturday. After a cold winter, and long dreary spring, the weather had finally broken. He remembered it as more than an unseasonably warm day, the first such day
of the new year. Indeed, it had been extraordinarily warm. When he had crossed St. Peter’s Square on his way to the Papal Palace shortly after the noon hour, which is the time that he regularly met with her to go over the coming week’s papal bulls and actions, intense waves of heat were radiating up from the sun-baked pavements, and he could feel sweat breaking out beneath his heavy robes.
On entering the Palace, he had made his way to the Papal Apartments on the third floor. There he was met in the vestibule by a Swiss Guard who waved him through. He passed by the small, but vacant that day, office of the papal secretary and let himself into the luxuriously appointed private study reserved exclusively for the Pope.
She was already there, waiting for him, seated at the large table in the center of the room. Spread before her were a number of official documents … documents that he and she would go over together that afternoon. To one side on the table was a flask of wine and two goblets.
He went directly over to her and stooped to kiss her proffered hand, and then he poured them each out a glass of the ruby red liquid. They raised glasses, drank together and then he took his seat alongside her.
As they examined her plans, he found them ambitious and exciting, but also dangerous. He feared she might be moving too fast. Among them for example, was a decree directing that the Church make reparations to German districts ravaged and plundered by Tilly’s Catholic League armies more than half a century ago. Another proposed a rapprochement with the Church of England. He was painfully aware that as much as he believed in the righteousness of her many initiatives and reforms, they were stirring resentments, anger, and potentially catastrophic hostilities both within the Curia and the College of Cardinals, headwinds that were soon to make themselves felt.
But on this uncomfortably warm day, he prevaricated … reluctant to engage her in heated argument. For he knew well how she would react. So he rose from his seat to wander over to the window at which the Popes customarily appeared to deliver the Angelus and to wave at the throngs of faithful in the square below.
Opening the shutters he had commented for the sake of conversation on the oppressiveness of the unseasonal heat, and how it had so driven everyone indoors that the square below was all but deserted.
She had agreed and rose to join him. And as she drew near, he experienced those subtle but unmistakable carnal attractions that had increasingly affected him whenever she got near. He wondered whether she felt them too.
They had stood side by side at the window for a few awkward moments. Neither said a word until she broke the silence by excusing herself and abruptly leaving the study through a door that led to her chambers.
Waiting for her to return, and not knowing what to expect, he had begun to pace nervously, glancing repeatedly at the door through which she had disappeared. And as more time passed without any sign of her returning he became more and more certain that she had fled to avoid what may have been happening between them. He thought that perhaps she had meant for him to leave.
So he had been quite surprised when the door opened and she reappeared, but it was not just that she had come back that took him by surprise. It was that she had reappeared in the doorway without the white papal cassock pellegrina, zuchretto and slippers she had been wearing. Instead she was barefoot and wearing nothing more than a simple undergarment … a mid-thigh-length shift of such fine, thin fabric that very little of her was left to the imagination.
Nor did she re-enter the study. She had remained in the doorway, cocked her head coyly and beckoned him into what he could see was the papal bed chamber And if that were not enough to make her intentions perfectly clear, she went up on her tippy toes, reached for his head with both hands, and stretched herself out against him to kiss him full on the lips.
Bending to lower himself in order to reduce the considerable height difference between them, he returned the kiss, which provoked a response in which she locked hands behind his neck and raised herself high against him, wrapping and locking her bare legs around and behind his hips just below his waist.
He could smell the musky odor of her state of arousal as the kiss resumed, and was well aware of his hardened response pressing against the fabric of his cassock. Instinctively, his hands rode up behind her thighs, carrying the thin shift she wore with them before coming to rest with a firm grip on the twin globes of her bottom, the soft flesh of which yielded to the pressings of his fingers.
Releasing herself abruptly from his grasp, she had back-stepped away, retreating into the musky-smelling gloom of the bed chamber, where she could be observed gaily pulling the shift off over her head and tossing it aside.
Astounded, he had watched as she crawled onto the papal bed, wiggling her tight little ass at him playfully and erotically. And he had been transfixed when she flipped herself over on her back, arched her body to thrust out her chest, cupped her breasts in both hands, squeezing them together and teasing their nipples with her thumbs … and then brazenly spread her legs invitingly wide. He could see that she was wet. There was moistness visible between and on her labia that glistened as it was caught in one of the thin shafts of light that filtered through the chamber’s closed window shutters.
And he too was fully aroused. Praetorio had been no stranger to women. That was true not only of him, but of most of his supposedly celibate colleagues, all of whom were quite accustomed to taking frequent liberties with the German Benedictine nuns who ran the pontifical household, and who generally interpreted the oath of celibacy as meaning no marriage or legitimate heirs, and not as a prohibition on natural desires. But as he reflected back on that moment, despondent as he was sitting alone beneath her cross on St. Peter’s square, he was quite certain that no other woman had ever aroused him more.
But there had been hesitation on his part. He had, after all, been presented with a difficult and potentially fateful decision. There was no mistaking the fact that she wanted him and wanted him badly. But she was the Pope! How could he? How could he separate in his mind the fact that he was about to not only “fottere” “his” Barbara of Mohr, but also the supreme pontiff, the Vicar of Christ? Was there not a terrible sin in that?
He had decided not, choosing passion over reason. But alas, it was not to be. Not because of the moral dilemma had caused him to have second thoughts, but because, at that very moment, someone had begun to bang loudly at the vestibule door to the study.
She had sat up suddenly, alarm written on her face.
Reacting quickly, he had held up both hands to reassure her, then carefully closing the door to her bed chamber behind him, he straightened his robes enough to protect his dignity and hastened across the study to answer the door.
Whoever was on the other side had in the meantime resumed his or her loud pounding on the door panel, prompting Praetorio to call out irritably for patience … that he was on his way.
And from the other side of the door came a voice Praetorio knew well … the voice of Cardinal Pietro Vipera.
Praetorio groaned inwardly. What could be worse? Vipera was his most powerful critic and nemesis in the College of Cardinals, a man who desperately wanted to oust snd replace Praetorio as Cardinal Bishop, and who had recently positioned himself at the forefront of their colleagues’ current dissatisfaction with and growing mood of insurrection against the new Pope.
Praetorio reached for the door and opened it to reveal, not only Vipera but two armed Swiss Guardsmen, a nervous-looking little man in the simple garb of a lowly cleric, and the wise old longtime Head of the Curia, Francesco Saggia.
Vipera slithered in without invitation, his dark eyes darting rapidly about as though he hoped to discover something untoward but not wanting to be too obvious about it. Praetorio found everything about the man distasteful, including his squat, generally unkempt appearance, and oily manner.
“Come in,” said Praetorio unnecessarily.
“Where is Innocent?” demanded Vipera.
“Stepped out of the room momentarily. Sh … I mean he will be back soon.”
Vipera looked at him curiously, before replying, “l see.”
“What brings you here, Vipera? And why have you brought others with you?”
“A grave matter brings me here. As for the others … Saggia you know, of course. But my other companion you don’t. May I introduce Father Martin Spitzel, from the Diocese of Mohr in the Rhenisch Palatinate.”
Praetorio had nodded politely, but felt immediate concern, guessing where this was going.
“Spitzel is here because he has felt it his sacred duty to share some very interesting documents with me,” continued Vipera. “These are documents from the Our Lady of Angels Convent in Mohr. They reveal that a young woman listed as ‘Sister Barbara’ was once a novice there. And what is especially interesting is that the timing of her baptismal dates and other vital information, along with the location of these documents in Mohr, as you must surely have guessed, are identical to the those of our Innocent and suggest either that this is an extraordinarily remarkable coincidence … or that our Innocent may actually be a woman! Moreover, I wish it to be noted that in the interest of being thorough in raising this grave matter, I have taken the liberty of asking Saggia here to verify the authenticity of Spitzel’s documents.”
To which old Saggia had nodded affirmatively.
“Now tell me, Praetorio, was it not you who performed the … uh … ‘papal grope’ … to affirm that our Innocent was a man? How are we to reconcile that with what Pritzel has shared with us?”
This, then, was the most painful and shameful part of what Praetorio recalled of the events of that day. So shameful that he began to shake uncontrollably at the very thought of it, and couldn’t help but glance furtively up at Barbara on her cross, as though to check on whether she might somehow be sensing his distress.
For, having realized that the game was up, he had moved swiftly to save himself, admitting that on the occasion of the papal grope he hadn’t really touch but assumed.
Was it cowardice to have attempted to save himself? Perhaps it was, but he liked to believe as he thought back now on his decision to feign innocence that he had, in fact, been unconsciously preserving his freedom of action so that he might somehow save her later. That unfortunately had not worked out well.
Pouncing on Praetorio’s lame revelation, Vipera, had been disingenuously consoling, saying that he fully understood … that no man wants to touch another's parts. But taking advantage of the situation, he had gone on to declare that now, in light of Spitzels revelations, it must be done and that Praetorio must recuse himself.
And it had been precisely at that point in time that she had entered the study, ully dressed and business-like in her white papal cassock.
But before she could say anything, Vipera stepped forward, blocking her path, to declare, “Barbara of Mohr, if that’s who you truly be … you are under house arrest … this by my authority, given the recusal of Cardinal Bishop Praetorio in this matter. You are to be escorted immediately to Castel Sant’Angelo where we shall determine the truth. Guards take her … or him … away!”
She had stared at Praetorio incredulously, her face showing both disbelief and reproach. That look on her face had haunted him ever since.
And what was worse, he had looked away … avoiding her reproach … as the Swiss Guards took her into custody and escorted her from the room.
TBC
M
montycrusto
Guest
Fabulous storytelling!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Superb stuff Barb. As well as enjoying the narrartive, I found myself googling all the way through it and discovered that the 'Papal Grope' is/was an actual thing, and the amount of older Germanic history that has been shared on CF in the recent past is just brilliant. As Monty says, this is simply wonderful story telling ...
Harsh Martinet
Consul
I do agree.... absolutely fantastic writing....I LOVE erotic historical tales.
But I do worry that all of this praise being heaped upon Barb will force her to have all of her doorways widened *
* Subtle way to suggest she will get a swollen head.
But I do worry that all of this praise being heaped upon Barb will force her to have all of her doorways widened *
* Subtle way to suggest she will get a swollen head.
Doragon
Tribune
Praise opens doors, it keeps creative juices flowing. More praise in this case is only good.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Barb's juices, creative or otherwise, have never had any problems flowing....so they sayPraise opens doors, it keeps creative juices flowing. More praise in this case is only good.
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Okay.... I've posted three times in rapid succession so I must pause so I don't offend certain members. Will return after a proper amount of time has passed.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Good idea! And have these reparations funded by repairs paid by the German districts whose Landsknechts participated in the Sack of Rome in 1527!
Great writing, Barb!
windar
Teller of Tales
The first three letters of assumed are...
Excellent chapter, Barb. The DNA test will sort the whole thing out...
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Ooohhh, thanks For the explanatory note, for a moment I was worried that wider doorways was referring to the tight little being loosened… and we can’t have that… next you’d be saying she swallows.. .
ledoux
Governor
You are now officially my favorite Pope!!!
Harsh Martinet
Consul
She's certainly the most tumescent