One of my holiday films. My enjoyment of the sex scenes was marred by Asia’s obvious breast implants. But overall as good promised.
It reminded me a lot of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence; but more honestly carnal with characters who were willing to throw away respectability instead of politely suffocating. French instead of American.
For real depravity, movie buffs have always turned to art-house films. Now it’s official. The Guardian helpfully catalogues the most extreme perversions.
This would go well in my living room, surrounded by my books. Pale leather, with pewter nailheads.
I think of reading when I look at it, don’t you? The innocent merely see a stunning chaise.
…but not a direct coupling.
There is iron and there are magnets. I’m not sure which is which in this scenario – suffice to say I have spent some time as a quiet admirer of the incomparable Sadistinatrix. Fortune recently smiled on me with a mutual acquaintance and here is the result.
For some reason, I keep getting notes from submissive men. Gentlemen, here is your chance to get what you want while I get what I want. Doubtless Katrina will get everything she wants.
There is one other like her I still have not dared approach. That is a story for another day.
I loved Romance. I must see The Last Mistress.
Pity it’s come to my attention so late.