It's a private world, an exclusive, reclusive world and I am privileged, honoured, for just one night, to be a part of it. To say that I was amazed when I received Mistress Angelica’s invitation to her dinner party, is a sweeping understatement. It’s been a long time…we’d not exactly lost touch, Christmas cards crossed in the mail…birthday cards, if we remembered, but the last time that I recall seeing her, was at the end of our final year at Cheltenham Ladies’ College.
I knew that any event organized by Mistress Angelica would be precise, choreographed…an exercise in control and etiquette. My invitation had instructed my attire for the event…black, I was to wear black, from head to toe. I was given a certain amount of freedom as to my shoes…I could choose sandals, boots or pumps with killer heels, the only stipulation was that my footwear be made of leather.
Mistress Angelica’s choice of venue is alluring…her chateau in France…it adds to the piquancy of the evening…heightening my expectations of the exotic, the erotic.
The night of her dinner party and Mistress Angelica’s subsequent book, My Dinner Party, are accurate in detail…I should not have been surprised by her skill with language, crafting her sentences and paragraphs with words to make your heart ache…her ability to evoke sensation, atmosphere and the overwhelming scent of female pheromones…but I was. I had forgotten those school days of long ago, when she would pen her tales, giving them only to the select few, to entertain us, to arouse us.
The words on the pages of the novel are lyrical, the careful placing of the words speak of refinement…the story, apart from a couple of interludes, is told from Mistress Angelica’s point of view. It is she who tells the reader how the beaten slave feels when she runs her whip over his open wounds. She describes the tremor shuddering over his skin, conveying his palpable pound, pound, pounding of what will happen next. Her slave does not have a point of view…he is property and nothing more. She observes her guests’ demeanour, our ripple of excitement, when one of us is allowed to touch the slave or when he is ordered to kiss a booted foot. His abject humiliation is intoxicating, her control and the lengths she will have gone to in his training is irresistibly devastating. It is as if we have visited another universe with different laws of physics. The evening is a slow seduction…drawing on our five senses…scent, taste, touch, hearing and vision.
My Dinner Party is wonderful erotica. Mistress Angelica allures and tantalises her reader…she spins a web of intrigue…like any great fiction writer the reader is left wondering…is this true…or is it an elaborate fantasy? We don’t know and it doesn’t matter…you will be disturbed, shaken, aroused…you will probably experience all three. Mistress Angelica’s talent as a writer is not to be underestimated, it’s erotica at its finest…the subtext in her sentences conveys matters of sexual orientation. Her slave’s submission is in his DNA…her place as a Domme was written into her developing mind set while she was still in her mother’s womb.
My Dinner Party, by my dearest friend, Mistress Angelica is erotica with class…panache. If you love erotica, read her book, I guarantee you will not be disappointed.