Reseña del libro "Sexual Manners at the Manor: The Full Trilogy (en Inglés)"
Was Love Going to be Enough? Book I: Lola and Angelique’s Punishment I’ve long given up trying to explain, to people either incapable of or unwilling to try to understand, but: My husband Godfrey was always a good Master. He was kind, he was decent, he was “Masterly.” I loved him, he loved me, we both loved Angelique—who “loved us back,” in addition to supervising the staff on our estate. Sometimes Godfrey had Angelique punish me; but then he also let me “even the score.” In either circumstance: I took just *body-shuddering* pleasure in what we did to each other, with each other, for each other. Angelique and I are both bi-sexual? The three of us are polyamorous? Sexual power exchange is the coin of the realm in our household? I guess . . . Godfrey was always a self-described “Word Man,” but none of us ever felt the need for definitions. Book II: Occupied by an Erotic Army The first shock was Godfrey’s death—only in his mid-50s, apparently healthy: Alive when we went to bed; I was the only one who woke up the next morning. The second shock was the arrival of his estranged—and strange—younger brother, Gerald, who brought along his nasty, former-model, wife, Evelina, and his, college age, meat-headed twin sons from a previous marriage. Gerald said they were there to “help,” which I had believed not for a second. And then, once the funeral was over and the public spectacle had receded, I took a sip of water, during dinner one night . . . and woke up in The Playroom, stripped and bound. My fuzzy memory of the night before included a horrific image of Angelique, sandwiched between my Little Piglet nephews. I became a prisoner in my own home. I could have left—I was “offered the option,” as was Angelique, who took it!—but I wasn’t just going to walk away from everything that Godfrey had bequeathed me. I really didn’t care about the money; but I wasn’t going to have my life erased like that; I wasn’t going to have everything Godfrey had both inherited and worked for, stolen by the near-Satanic cabal that was his brother’s family. Book III: Chasing Out the Sexual Psychopaths She hadn’t said it, but, when Angelique left, she had made it clear that she would return, that she would be back when she had mustered the resources necessary to defeat Gerald, et al. I loved Angelique; she loved me; I believed her. But The Piglets had now turned their attention toward me; The Playroom had become my prison; and, clearly, there was some kind of legal shuck and jive that was soon to, literally, re-write Godfrey’s will. If Angelique was going to lead a cavalry charge, vault the twelve-foot walls that ringed the estate, come to my rescue? I hoped she knew that we were running out of time . . .
