From the writers of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences comes the erotic novel you haven’t been waiting for.
Anastasia Brassingware is a daughter of English aristocracy, but her station has been brought low by her father’s belief in ridiculous quick schemes. Now forced into penury, she must take any menial job.
A chance meeting with enigmatic pineapple merchant, Lord Heathcliff Redd, has changed everything. Drawn in by his brooding ways, the maiden discovers the pineapple merchant’s darker pleasures, and technological wonders that do more than just core his tropical bounties with ease.
Take caution, dear reader. This is a novel of shadow, of desire, and of wanton lust. This novella is not a collection of standing orders for a clandestine organization within Her Majesty’s government. No sir. No how. No way. Nowhere in this scintillating novel of erotic perversion are coded messages intended for agents that investigate the strange, the bizarre, and the unnatural. No. In this novella are pages of good British smut, just the way God intended. This is the story of a wide-eyed ingénue innocent to carnal pleasures, a wealthy English lord with a pineapple fetish, and fresh fruit bending to their will.
No standing orders whatsoever.
“I think a small part of me just died.” — Wellington Thornhill Books, Esq.
“It made me rather tingly.” — H.J. Rodwell
Anastasia Brassingware is a daughter of English aristocracy, but her station has been brought low by her father’s belief in ridiculous quick schemes. Now forced into penury, she must take any menial job.
A chance meeting with enigmatic pineapple merchant, Lord Heathcliff Redd, has changed everything. Drawn in by his brooding ways, the maiden discovers the pineapple merchant’s darker pleasures, and technological wonders that do more than just core his tropical bounties with ease.
Take caution, dear reader. This is a novel of shadow, of desire, and of wanton lust. This novella is not a collection of standing orders for a clandestine organization within Her Majesty’s government. No sir. No how. No way. Nowhere in this scintillating novel of erotic perversion are coded messages intended for agents that investigate the strange, the bizarre, and the unnatural. No. In this novella are pages of good British smut, just the way God intended. This is the story of a wide-eyed ingénue innocent to carnal pleasures, a wealthy English lord with a pineapple fetish, and fresh fruit bending to their will.
No standing orders whatsoever.
“I think a small part of me just died.” — Wellington Thornhill Books, Esq.
“It made me rather tingly.” — H.J. Rodwell
Used availability for Tee Morris's Countless Hues of Crimson