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.
Thank you for a wonderful review
ReplyDeleteIt was all pure pleasure to read your book...and to write a review Mistress Angelica..
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