Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Rome, Chicago, London? Who knows for sure. One thing we all agree on, Barbara's a hot piece of ass!
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Vignettes from Barb’s ancestral past
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Baron Von Sade
Governor
FINALLY I know the word that's missing from every time someone says "hot piece of"
Baron Von Sade
Governor
Hidden (unsubstantiated) records show that some wicked KKK members in Chicago caught one of Barb's ancestors cavorting sinfully with a black gentleman, and nailed her to one of their flaming crosses. But since they failed to do the math on the added weight of that tight piece of, he cross collapsed near the end and the Chicago fire began!
Ku Krux Klan
KU KRUX KLAN 1. Summer of '61, somewhere deep in the Old South, the fourth day of our "freedom ride." Our dilapidated bus rolls down the narrow back road, a choking cloud of red-hued dust marking it's passage. It's nearly noon and I am feeling the first pangs of hunger. Bored, I stare out the...
www.cruxforums.com
Baron Von Sade
Governor
I'm sensing a pattern! "Whatever idea you have, cruxforums did it first"
CF is both educational and innovative, among it’s many other virtues
4. The Great London Fire of 1666
On Sunday, 6 September 1666, fire broke out in the City of London. The flames swiftly spread and grew into a raging conflagration that, over the next four days, gutted nearly the entire medieval center of the City, destroying over 13,000 buildings, 87 churches, and St. Paul’s Cathedral.
The epicenter of the disaster was a bakery on Pudding Lane, owned by a well-known and highly respected citizen and baker, Thomas Farriner, who had operated a bakery and shop at that location for nearly twenty years. The fire broke out in his bakery a little past midnight, after he and his family had retired to their living quarters above the shop. The family was swiftly trapped by the flames but fortunately managed to escape via an upstairs window to the house next door. Also resident in the house at the time was a maid servant who is believed to have been unable to escape and was probably the first to perish in the great disaster that ensued.
Well, wouldn’t you know it! My recent forays into my ancestral past have led me to discover the identity of that hapless housemaid. She was none other than my ancestral namesake, Barbara Ann Moore ... recently arrived in the City from far off Cruxton Parish.
Barbara’s posting as housemaid to Thomas Farriner was not her first. An offspring of the large and ubiquitous Moore clan of Cruxton, she had first secured a posting as a maid servant to the household of Gilbert Wragg, 17th Earl of Cruxton, and master of the imposing family manor known as Cruxton Abbey.
Possessing a delectable tight little in addition to other feminine delights, Barbara had soon caught both the eye and the rapacious attentions of the randy Earl, who took it upon himself to both discipline and bugger her on a frequent basis ... that is, when the Lady of the House was away or asleep, always late at night, either in the fully equipped cellar dungeon or simply bound spreadeagled to a four poster bed.
Unfortunately one night, the Lady of the Manor rose unexpectedly from her slumber and caught the two of them in a most compromising situation, with Barbara spreadeagled and naked on her back in the middle of the Earl’s bed, and with the Earl atop her, playfully mounding and squeezing her breasts as he licked and sucked, alternating right and left, on her tumescently excited nipples.
Well, that was the end of that!
Lady Wragg blew her top, ordering the chastened Earl to sack poor Barbara on the spot. And to make sure there would be no reoccurrence of such sordid goings on, she took it upon herself the very next morning to personally deliver the young strumpet into the hands of the parish deacon, along with strict instructions to find a way to send her as far away from Cruxton as possible.
Now, the parish deacon was a learned man, a lover of the classics, who liked to grandly refer to himself not by his given name, but as Praefectus Praetorius. He was known for the verbosity of his sermons and many writings, as well as for his keen wit, and love of good food and women. He was also a gentle sort, full of kindness, but not at all above ... in the interest of clarity ... demanding that poor Barbara demonstrate for him, in every detail, exactly what it was that the Earl had done to her that had so invoked the good Lady Wragg’s ire.
And, to be absolutely certain, he had her re-enact the episode, not once but three times, with himself playing the role of the Earl. After which, he declared the whole thing dreadfully sinful, and decreed that Barbara must do penance by bending over one of the sacristy pews while he administered twenty sharp strokes with a cane to her bared tight little.
After enjoying nearly a fortnight of sensual nights with Barbara in his bed, and after tiring of being prodded persistently by Lady Wragg, the good vicar reluctantly took pen in hand and wrote to his friend, Thomas Farriner, the master of the bakery on London’s Pudding Lane, to propose that Farinner be so kind as to take Barbara on as a maid servant.
Farriner readily accepted, and in due time Barbara embarked for London, seated atop a horse cart filled with bales of fresh mown hay and driven by a grizzled but sharp-eyed Cruxton parish native, known as Old Slave. The old man was glad to have Barbara’s good company on the journey, not to mention the opportunity to ogle her charms as she reclined guilelessly on the hay bales with bodice open in order to sun herself.
On arrival in London, Barbara bid Old Slave farewell with a kiss in the cheek and laugh when he pinched her bum. Leaving him to market his load of straw, she managed to make her way to Pudding Lane without incident, where she sought out the bakery and her new employer.
Thomas Farriner greeted the new arrival heartily and welcomed her into his employ. She quickly learned and mastered her duties, which were quite straightforward ... namely, to attend during the day to the household’s needs and to help out as needed in the bakery. In addition to which, it was her special duty to stay up at night long after the household retired and see to it that the oven fires were extinguished and the ovens cooled down before retiring herself.
Things went smoothly from the beginning. She adapted well to her new life, and in the process of going out daily on household errands she managed to attract the attention of an English dandy, who knew a good tight little when he saw one. His name was Reginald Fossy. He pursued her, exuding good manners, a certain amount of rakishness, as well as an irresistible charm.
She was never quite sure whether he really was the dandy he appeared to be. There was something about him that suggested his posh clothing and mannerisms were something of an act, and she suspected that he might in fact be just an ordinary bloke with a flair for putting on airs. But that mattered little for she was smitten and didn’t really care.
Soon Fossy was paying regular nocturnal visits to the bakery on Pudding Lane. Barbara would watch for his arrival, let him in, and in the warmth that radiated from the still heated ovens, and with the Farriner family fast asleep and blissfully unaware in the rooms overhead, Barbara and Fossy would strip down and couple sensuously on top of one of the large dough-kneading tables.
The sex was wild and uninhibited, and quite often rather rough, as Fossy liked to flog her with the little riding crop he always brought along, variously striking her on her tight little, her back, and her breasts. He often restrained her with cuffs, or would collar and hood her.
She submitted willingly to these painful indignities, which to me seems totally out of character for a Moore. But I guess not all my ancestors may have been as naturally rebellious and uncooperative as I tend to be.
To enhance the warming glow of the ovens on one rather chilly September evening, Barbara elected to keep the fire burning under one oven and leave the oven door open. The heat felt good radiating over their naked bodies, both encouraging and heightening their senses of arousal. But after climaxing with a stifled gasp and a giggle, Barbara suddenly sat up, and shoved Fossy aside, exclaiming, “Shit, I smell something burning!”
“Put it out,” hissed Fossy, slipping from the dough kneading table to gather up his clothing and get dressed while she emptied a scrub pail over the rapidly spreading flames.
“I’m trying!” replied Barbara frantically from across the room. “But it’s of no use. It’s out of control!”
“Then leave it and come with me. We must get out while we can. The place is fast becoming a hellish inferno!”
“But, I’m stark naked! And my clothing ... I left it on the floor and it’s caught fire!”
“Never mind that! Hurry! No time! We must flee!”
And out they rushed into the night as all around them the city awakened to sounds of alarm and the ominous red and orange glow of flames bursting from windows, jumping from house to house, and street to street.
In the aftermath of the disaster, as the authorities sifted through the ruins of the burned out bakery, which they determined to be the source of the fire, they came across the charred remains of the Farriner’s maid servant’s clothing. That led them to conjecture in their final report that Barbara Ann Moore, who seemed to have vanished that night, was quite probably the very first of the many Londoners to perish in the Great London Fire of 1666.
Today, no memorial bears her name, as her fate was never determined for absolute certain. But, quite interestingly, my own research would suggest otherwise. For I have unearthed a passenger list from a ship out of Bristol that docked in Boston harbor in the spring of 1667, which bears the names, R. Fossy and B. Moore.
On Sunday, 6 September 1666, fire broke out in the City of London. The flames swiftly spread and grew into a raging conflagration that, over the next four days, gutted nearly the entire medieval center of the City, destroying over 13,000 buildings, 87 churches, and St. Paul’s Cathedral.
The epicenter of the disaster was a bakery on Pudding Lane, owned by a well-known and highly respected citizen and baker, Thomas Farriner, who had operated a bakery and shop at that location for nearly twenty years. The fire broke out in his bakery a little past midnight, after he and his family had retired to their living quarters above the shop. The family was swiftly trapped by the flames but fortunately managed to escape via an upstairs window to the house next door. Also resident in the house at the time was a maid servant who is believed to have been unable to escape and was probably the first to perish in the great disaster that ensued.
Well, wouldn’t you know it! My recent forays into my ancestral past have led me to discover the identity of that hapless housemaid. She was none other than my ancestral namesake, Barbara Ann Moore ... recently arrived in the City from far off Cruxton Parish.
Barbara’s posting as housemaid to Thomas Farriner was not her first. An offspring of the large and ubiquitous Moore clan of Cruxton, she had first secured a posting as a maid servant to the household of Gilbert Wragg, 17th Earl of Cruxton, and master of the imposing family manor known as Cruxton Abbey.
Possessing a delectable tight little in addition to other feminine delights, Barbara had soon caught both the eye and the rapacious attentions of the randy Earl, who took it upon himself to both discipline and bugger her on a frequent basis ... that is, when the Lady of the House was away or asleep, always late at night, either in the fully equipped cellar dungeon or simply bound spreadeagled to a four poster bed.
Unfortunately one night, the Lady of the Manor rose unexpectedly from her slumber and caught the two of them in a most compromising situation, with Barbara spreadeagled and naked on her back in the middle of the Earl’s bed, and with the Earl atop her, playfully mounding and squeezing her breasts as he licked and sucked, alternating right and left, on her tumescently excited nipples.
Well, that was the end of that!
Lady Wragg blew her top, ordering the chastened Earl to sack poor Barbara on the spot. And to make sure there would be no reoccurrence of such sordid goings on, she took it upon herself the very next morning to personally deliver the young strumpet into the hands of the parish deacon, along with strict instructions to find a way to send her as far away from Cruxton as possible.
Now, the parish deacon was a learned man, a lover of the classics, who liked to grandly refer to himself not by his given name, but as Praefectus Praetorius. He was known for the verbosity of his sermons and many writings, as well as for his keen wit, and love of good food and women. He was also a gentle sort, full of kindness, but not at all above ... in the interest of clarity ... demanding that poor Barbara demonstrate for him, in every detail, exactly what it was that the Earl had done to her that had so invoked the good Lady Wragg’s ire.
And, to be absolutely certain, he had her re-enact the episode, not once but three times, with himself playing the role of the Earl. After which, he declared the whole thing dreadfully sinful, and decreed that Barbara must do penance by bending over one of the sacristy pews while he administered twenty sharp strokes with a cane to her bared tight little.
After enjoying nearly a fortnight of sensual nights with Barbara in his bed, and after tiring of being prodded persistently by Lady Wragg, the good vicar reluctantly took pen in hand and wrote to his friend, Thomas Farriner, the master of the bakery on London’s Pudding Lane, to propose that Farinner be so kind as to take Barbara on as a maid servant.
Farriner readily accepted, and in due time Barbara embarked for London, seated atop a horse cart filled with bales of fresh mown hay and driven by a grizzled but sharp-eyed Cruxton parish native, known as Old Slave. The old man was glad to have Barbara’s good company on the journey, not to mention the opportunity to ogle her charms as she reclined guilelessly on the hay bales with bodice open in order to sun herself.
On arrival in London, Barbara bid Old Slave farewell with a kiss in the cheek and laugh when he pinched her bum. Leaving him to market his load of straw, she managed to make her way to Pudding Lane without incident, where she sought out the bakery and her new employer.
Thomas Farriner greeted the new arrival heartily and welcomed her into his employ. She quickly learned and mastered her duties, which were quite straightforward ... namely, to attend during the day to the household’s needs and to help out as needed in the bakery. In addition to which, it was her special duty to stay up at night long after the household retired and see to it that the oven fires were extinguished and the ovens cooled down before retiring herself.
Things went smoothly from the beginning. She adapted well to her new life, and in the process of going out daily on household errands she managed to attract the attention of an English dandy, who knew a good tight little when he saw one. His name was Reginald Fossy. He pursued her, exuding good manners, a certain amount of rakishness, as well as an irresistible charm.
She was never quite sure whether he really was the dandy he appeared to be. There was something about him that suggested his posh clothing and mannerisms were something of an act, and she suspected that he might in fact be just an ordinary bloke with a flair for putting on airs. But that mattered little for she was smitten and didn’t really care.
Soon Fossy was paying regular nocturnal visits to the bakery on Pudding Lane. Barbara would watch for his arrival, let him in, and in the warmth that radiated from the still heated ovens, and with the Farriner family fast asleep and blissfully unaware in the rooms overhead, Barbara and Fossy would strip down and couple sensuously on top of one of the large dough-kneading tables.
The sex was wild and uninhibited, and quite often rather rough, as Fossy liked to flog her with the little riding crop he always brought along, variously striking her on her tight little, her back, and her breasts. He often restrained her with cuffs, or would collar and hood her.
She submitted willingly to these painful indignities, which to me seems totally out of character for a Moore. But I guess not all my ancestors may have been as naturally rebellious and uncooperative as I tend to be.
To enhance the warming glow of the ovens on one rather chilly September evening, Barbara elected to keep the fire burning under one oven and leave the oven door open. The heat felt good radiating over their naked bodies, both encouraging and heightening their senses of arousal. But after climaxing with a stifled gasp and a giggle, Barbara suddenly sat up, and shoved Fossy aside, exclaiming, “Shit, I smell something burning!”
“Put it out,” hissed Fossy, slipping from the dough kneading table to gather up his clothing and get dressed while she emptied a scrub pail over the rapidly spreading flames.
“I’m trying!” replied Barbara frantically from across the room. “But it’s of no use. It’s out of control!”
“Then leave it and come with me. We must get out while we can. The place is fast becoming a hellish inferno!”
“But, I’m stark naked! And my clothing ... I left it on the floor and it’s caught fire!”
“Never mind that! Hurry! No time! We must flee!”
And out they rushed into the night as all around them the city awakened to sounds of alarm and the ominous red and orange glow of flames bursting from windows, jumping from house to house, and street to street.
In the aftermath of the disaster, as the authorities sifted through the ruins of the burned out bakery, which they determined to be the source of the fire, they came across the charred remains of the Farriner’s maid servant’s clothing. That led them to conjecture in their final report that Barbara Ann Moore, who seemed to have vanished that night, was quite probably the very first of the many Londoners to perish in the Great London Fire of 1666.
Today, no memorial bears her name, as her fate was never determined for absolute certain. But, quite interestingly, my own research would suggest otherwise. For I have unearthed a passenger list from a ship out of Bristol that docked in Boston harbor in the spring of 1667, which bears the names, R. Fossy and B. Moore.
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Crux-Emperor Baracus X
Rectidolor
So....It wasn't the burning Faggots,that did it for old London Town ?? Well well,who'd have guessed ?!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Another historical mystery explained!
Keep Barb Moore away from the fire, under all circumstances!
Really funny short story, again!
I would like it recorded that not every member of the Wragg family from the year dot has been a randy sadistic bastard. 
Just most of them, and Gilbert was up there with the worst of 'em...
But I had no idea that he was indirectly responsible for the Great Fire!
Just most of them, and Gilbert was up there with the worst of 'em...
But I had no idea that he was indirectly responsible for the Great Fire!
Another historical mystery explained!
Keep Barb Moore away from the fire, under all circumstances!
Really funny short story, again!
too late
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Obviously a well-researched and accurate story, capturing the gentle and kind Praetorius character well.
However, even the kindly Deacon has to chastise the sinful! I'm sure he hated every minute of it!
"Guilelessly?" Are you sure she's your relative Barb??
Oh-Oh. I see trouble coming. And not just broken dishes at Cruxton.
Please remind me to never again, I mean NEVER AGAIN! to get bread from Farriner!!
bobinder
ARTISAN
Ye thirde day of ye Great Fyre of London, it being mayde so warme by ye virtue of ye heate thereof, fyerie Barbara Moore disdaineth yet ye clothinge of any kynde forsoothe...the ominous red and orange glow of flames bursting from windows, jumping from house to house, and street to street.
Yet a goode tayle - and a nyce manyppe, Madi!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Brilliant! There are so many Romanesque derivatives of CF names in that little tale that reading it is like watching the episode of your fave sitcom where the whole episode is about the characters playing their relatives from a bygone time!
So we now know that Nero did not fiddle while Rome burned, but that Markus Windarius most definitely did Crucify whilst the famous city flamed!
Thanks is such an educational site! Thank you Barb!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Another excellent reflection upon the nouvelle histoire of our glorious island! And who'd have thought it @old slave that our ancestors of 350 years ago lived as close to one another as we do now!
This wonderful piece also explains why every male in the fossy lineage since the 1600's, and some of the females, have had the first or second Christian name of 'Reginald'! (All that is except for Major Reginald Reginald Fossy, who fought the Zulu's at Rorke's Drift, and had the Monika for both his Christian names).
Great stuff Barb!
Right ...I would like it recorded that not every member of the Wragg family from the year dot has been a randy sadistic bastard.
Obviously a well-researched and accurate story, capturing the gentle and kind Praetorius character well.
Please keep that in mind before you have me impaled and hanged in Singapore on Friday
Ye thirde day of ye Great Fyre of London, it being mayde so warme by ye virtue of ye heate thereof, fyerie Barbara Moore disdaineth yet ye clothinge of any kynde forsoothe...
Yet a goode tayle - and a nyce manyppe, Madi!
Yikes! I need Eulalia to help translate this into plain English
God save the Queen!
Baron Von Sade
Governor
Another masterful work.
But now I must consider changing my name so that it can be listed in tales such as these hahaha
I don't know what the Lady of the Manor's problem is. Every good person of merit knows it's the right of the Lord and Lady of the manor to beat and bugger their servants!
Just joking, I hope. Seems to me a story about someone with that name would be quite plausible, given my ancestors’ ability to get themselves into trouble.
Baron Von Sade
Governor
That name? You mean my old one or the new improved one I am wearing now?Just joking, I hope. Seems to me a story about someone with that name would be quite plausible, given my ancestors’ ability to get themselves into trouble.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Does the fine print of that list also mentions a strange incident that happened on arrival at Boston?
While passengers were already debarking, woman, a certain B. Moore was caught, 'coupling sensuously' with a Gentleman named Fossy, on a load of bags.
The Lady was ordered by the captain to cover her tight little, and move on! By doing so, she accidentally released a rope, holding the cargo together. As Miss Moore jumped from the bags, they fell into the water of the harbour. A whole load of tea was lost.
She was arrested by the captain, brought to court, and condemned to 20 lashes on the tight little, in public. The population approved the sentence, since for Bostonians, it was unheard that someone would make a load of tea drop into the harbour!