"The mistress's husband was impotent... An Angolan slave changed everything and made her orgasm...

"The mistress's husband was impotent... An Angolan slave changed everything and made her orgasm...

The year was 1849, and on a farm in the Paraรญba Valley, something happened that no one could have imagined. A 48-year-old woman, married for three decades to one of the most powerful people in the region, was about to commit the most forbidden and dangerous act that that slave-owning society could witness. What happened in the following months culminated in two brutal deaths.

A betrayal that shook the foundations of that property and a secret that was buried along with the bodies. But the dead do not remain silent forever. And this story needs to be told exactly as it happened, without filters, without softening, because the truth is always more shocking than any fiction. Dona Eulรกlia Mendes de Albuquerque, that was her name, 48 years old, brown hair punctuated by white strands that she hid under lace imported from Paris.

Her skin still retained its brightness, despite the relentless sun of the interior of Sรฃo Paulo, but the wrinkles around her eyes betrayed decades of a life that had not been lived, only endured. She wore heavy velvet dresses, even in the infernal heat of the Brazilian summer. Corsets that restricted her breathing, skirts that trailed in the red dust of that land stained with blood and coffee.

Her eyes were gray, the color of the sky before the storm, and they carried within them a sadness so ancient it seemed to have been born with her. But there was something more in that gaze. There was hunger. A hunger that had begun small, discreet, but which over 30 years had grown into an abyss that threatened to swallow everything.

Her marriage to Augusto Mendes de Albuquerque had been arranged when she was only 17 years old. Augusto was a wealthy slave trader, 22 years her senior, owner of four properties, 300 captives, and a reputation as a harsh man who did not tolerate disobedience. Eulรกlia had no choice. No woman of her class did.

Her father signed the papers, handed over his daughter like merchandise, and she moved from her father's house to her husband's, never having had a single moment of freedom. The wedding night was brutal. Augusto possessed her with the same gentleness with which one tames a wild horse, without asking, without waiting, without caring about the muffled cries she tried to contain by biting the embroidered pillow.

It hurt, it bled, and when he finished, he rolled to the side and slept while she lay awake, feeling the throbbing pain between her legs and a humiliation that burned more than any physical injury. Over the following years, Eulalia fulfilled all the obligations that society expected of her. She gave birth to four children, all given to enslaved wet nurses soon after birth, because the ladies did not breastfeed.

She managed the large house with mechanical efficiency, commanding a battalion of enslaved domestic servants who served her in silence. She prayed the rosary every night in the farm's private chapel. She confessed weekly to the local priest and gave alms to the free poor of the village. Outwardly, she was the perfect wife.

Inside, she was dying, because Augusto, after the first years of marriage, had developed a problem. A problem that doctors of the time modestly called ""age sickness,"" but which in reality simply meant that he could no longer perform. He didn't function, he didn't respond. And in a society where sex was taboo, but at the same time the only way for a married woman to have any kind of physical touch, that was a slow death sentence.

Eulรกlia spent two and a half decades feeling an emptiness that went far beyond the physical. It was an existential void. Every morning she woke up next to a body that might as well have been dead, because it didn't react, didn't respond, didn't touch. And the worst of all was the desire. That damned desire that she tried to kill with prayers, with fasting, with cold baths in the early morning when everyone was asleep.

She would touch herself secretly under the sheets, ashamed, guilty, imagining things she didn't even know what they were, because no one had ever taught her. And then she would cry, confess, hear the priest say that it was a mortal sin, that she was being tempted..........

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