What do you think?
Rate this book
El arte del azote
"Ya nadie entiende lo que es el azote. Algunos piensan que es un castigo para niños. Otros piensan que es un manía ridícula. Pero es la mayor forma de homenaje a la parte más digna, más refinada y más generosa de la mujer: sus nalgas."
Con este relato de Jean-Pierre Enard, el gran Milo Manara nos revela una disciplina poco conocida... pero muy exitante: el azote. Sus ilustraciones dan vida a personajes lujuriosos, lleno de deseo, ansiosos por abandonarse a tan morbosa practica...
92 pages, Paperback
First published January 24, 1988
3 people are currently reading
176 people want to read
About the author
Milo Manara
601 books352 followersMaurilio Manara – known professionally as Milo Manara – is an Italian comic book writer and artist, best known for his erotic approach to the medium.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
June 26, 2016
Fair warning for the timid: This review will contain mildly revealing personal asides, but it will be presented tastefully and judiciously. More explicit descriptions are avoided so that you can use your imaginations. I consider these Goodreads reviews to be my reading diaries, so why not make them, at times, diaries in the truer sense? I really don't know anyone from Adam on here, so what's the difference?
So, if TMI about your reviewer bothers you, treat this as you would any *spoiler* review and do not enter. Please feel free to go off and inhabit your safe spaces, put in some earbuds and listen to some nice songs from Disney's Frozen. Having received fair warning, and provided you're ready for some entertainment, we shall proceed. With that buildup, the likelihood of you turning back now is near zero.
Now...
Two and a half years ago, I had the best date of my life. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was an 11. And it was pretty much a one-night stand.
She was a very pretty schoolteacher, younger than me by about eight years and looking younger even than that. She was a very accomplished craft artist and an excellent writer. She had a very soft-spoken voice and she seemed to see everything with a sense of wonder. I was intrigued, obviously. This was the second time I'd seen her, after our initial coffee meet-up. This second meeting was to prove to be our swan song. Why? I don't know, and in any case, it's not the point of the story.
On this chilly fall Friday evening, I went to her place and picked her up in my car. We went to a concert downtown. She sang along with the songs. This was a good sign, I thought. It was a great concert. Afterward, we drove down to the hip quarter for pizza and drinks. On the way there, I drove the wrong way down a one-way street, just missing an oncoming car. I pulled over and we both laughed at this random thrill. We devoured a wood-fired pizza and got slightly tipsy from our mixed drinks. We went outside to metabolize a bit next to a barrel fire that other patrons had gathered around in the cold air. Some other guys started hitting on her. She talked to them. I played it cool and got us out of there. We drove to a trendy bar, a favorite of mine, in the south-central part of the city. We walked out to the patio area where a few others were braving the cold and sat on some metal chairs. We began to snuggle a bit, and wrapped our arms around each other under our coats. She had to go to the restroom, so we went back inside. I sat on a stool and noticed after a few minutes that she was poking her head out of the women's restroom door and beckoning me to come over. I did. She grabbed my collar and pulled me into the women's room. She locked the door. "I want you to read this graffiti," she said. We read the scrawls and laughed. Then, came that look. You know, the look. That look. The magic look. The eye-lock. We got into the clinch and started the frenzied kissing. She was pinned to the graffiti wall. It went on for awhile. Then, we heard the knocks on the door from the gals outside who needed to pee. We both emerged, a little disheveled. I got a slightly strange look from one of girls. I said something offhand and flippant like, "Very interesting in there." My date pulled me along by the hand and laughed. We sat on a bench and resumed the make out. We were doing better than the younger couples around us. We were worked up, and agreed it was time to leave. I drove her home. We parked in her driveway, and in the dark, things escalated in the car. Hands went where they tend to go, up and in and under and inside. Buckles and elastic started to give way. After this, we went into her house to engage in the full array. After exploring several permutations of the Kama Sutra, I suddenly felt, out of nowhere, a solid smack on my bare ass. She had spanked me! It was not just the slap, or its suddenness, that startled me; it was in its confident commission, in the demand it issued. That slap said, "Time to ramp things up, boy!" I responded, "So this is how it is, is it?" I returned the favor, landing a good if moderate one to test the scale of intensity. She wanted more of that, and harder. Needless to say, everyone was happy, if a little redder in places.
We saw each other one more time, a week later. We cuddled but there no longer seemed to be a spark. I left her house after an hour, and we never saw one another again.
Having been back out in the dating world now in recent years after my divorce, I've come to learn that far more women seem to be into spanking than I had imagined. No, it's not a particular fetish of mine, but I'm certainly not averse to it if the other party suggests it as part of the overall love play. The last person I had been seeing, this past February, was so into various S&M practices that she told me she had a profile on an S&M dating website. I had never even heard of it, and I hadn't known about her predilections when we started going out. And, again, the pursuit and practice of these kinds of acts are not a particular aim of mine. In any case, she and I had a lovely few weeks together, during which there was a little spanking, but it was clear to me that I was going nowhere with her in a deeper sense, so I stopped seeing her. She was polyamorous, and I really couldn't deal with that. I also had a problem with her drug use. I didn't want to get dragged into that world. She and I shared some weed, but I didn't want that to become a regular thing.
In any case, here were two people I'd been with who were into spanking, and they were not the only ones. Spanking, it seems, has emerged from the shadows or the fringes of everyday sexual options. And many women either through their own instigation or by pleasant reaction to it, seem to harbor a taste for it.
The Art of Spanking, a collaboration between the prolific erotic illustrator, Milo Manara, and writer Jean-Pierre Enard, attempts to get at some of the sexual mystique of spanking, and although I would not go so far as to put it on the Ur-text level for the subject, I would consider it a must-have for aficionados.
This is not a how-to book, per se, but takes the form of a slightly cheesy, often very erotic, frequently explicit and at times transgressive fictional story. The main character is a first-person female protagonist named Eva, a name perhaps meant to connote Eve of the Bible, because during the course of the story a certain barrier of innocence is breached as she learns about and grows to crave the possibilities of spanking.
Eva is a well-known celebrity gossip journalist whose career thrusts her into the lives of others. This fact, and a certain vanity over her appearance and fame, are traits the man she meets exploits in turning her to the "dark side" world of spanking.
The man she meets is a cultured-looking older middle-aged gent named Donatien, whose unlikely last name is Casanova. As he explains, that name is not offputting to women, and, as he's found, it is intriguing to them because they want to see if he measures up to the name. (Yes, Fifty Shades of Grey crosses my mind as I read this; fans of that may find enjoyment herein.)
Both are riding in the same train car somewhere in Europe. (Yes, there is an Emmanuelle pulpy feel to this tale.) He nods off and out of his hand slips a green ledger book in which he has been furiously writing. Tempted, Eva picks it up and begins to read its salacious tales of spanking conquests. Donatien catches her reading it and over the course of the trip she reads passages from it while also listening to Donatien's supplemental explanations and observations while on the train. She, of course, is appalled and intrigued simultaneously, and over time becomes worked up and begins to wet her panties. Yes, he seems obsessive and dangerous, but also confident and worldly wise, so of course she's fascinated.
Throughout, Donatien, the butt epicurean and connoisseur, describes his passion for the ass, the ass as a work of art, and the commission of spanking as an artistic act. Asses seem to exhibit traits to him in an anthropomorphic manner. Asses have personalities. This is no more objectification than any man or woman seeing the face of a perfect stranger and wanting to bed them on sight. And if it is objectification, so what? It's sex, it's erotic, it's irrational, it's human, it's natural. The world of the erotic has its own set of laws. Stimuli stimulate. As I once wrote in a poem "The curves in the flesh are writ deeper than all the codes of Hammurabi, and always will be."
While describing his various encounters with women, several in whorehouses, Donatien explains a kind of philosophy he has built around spanking. According to him, spanking does not really equate to an S&M act; it is not the same as caning or whipping or using chains, leather or other paraphernalia.
As he explains: "In my mind, spanking shouldn't be a punishment. It should never take that form, even as a game. Spanking should be practiced solely for the pleasure of the two participants. Any rationale would deprive it of its uniqueness." Later, he adds, "Only cold-blooded sadists hurt their victims."
All of that, of course, is his own opinion, and I'm sure consenting adults engaging in manageable S&M practices might parse this differently and at least as convincingly.
The book does get transgressive at times. European porn seems to include a lot of age-gap sex and encounters with adolescents, and this is no exception. It is erotica, and it is fantasy, and fantasy the last time I looked was not a thought crime.
So, although this might fall into the realm of male fantasy, I do know some women -- including past lovers -- who would find this book arousing.
The book is mostly pure smut, sometimes dumb, sometimes sublime, a mixture of the animalistic and the poetic, just as I like it. Just when an ineptly conceived or written passage threatens to swamp it an interesting or stimulating passage saves the day.
At one point in the story, Eva decides that Donatien's single-minded pursuit of ass play marks him as dangerous and undesirable (temporarily, anyway), and she judges him a fanatic, leading to this disarmingly effective description of dogmatic thinking that is as pithy and right-on as anything I've read:
"I don't like fanatics. I've seen plenty in my profession, righters of wrongs, new philosophers defending the West in some cafe, reformers of humanity ready to put us all behind bars for our own good, or prophets inspired directly by God to deal death to the infidel. At times they've frightened me, at times amused me, but I've always detested them, their bad faith, their blindness, their stupidity elevated to doctrine."
The book has a particular collectible cachet since it is illustrated by Manara, whose erotic art I find very appealing, but I find some of its illustrations to have a dashed-off, minimalist quality not typical of most of his published work. The book could have used more art, and more detailed images, particularly ones that better relate to the text. Some of the images are printed too small.
The book leads up to a kind of trick ending, which is cute and clever and also a bit unconvincing.
After reading this, I may not look at butts in quite the same way. At the same time, the book won't make me an obsessive on the matter. For those with previous inclinations, though, the book will bring great pleasure, and perhaps even comfort.
As for the other matters aforementioned, all parts of the body and mind have long since healed.
(EG, aka KR@Ky 2016)
So, if TMI about your reviewer bothers you, treat this as you would any *spoiler* review and do not enter. Please feel free to go off and inhabit your safe spaces, put in some earbuds and listen to some nice songs from Disney's Frozen. Having received fair warning, and provided you're ready for some entertainment, we shall proceed. With that buildup, the likelihood of you turning back now is near zero.
Now...
Two and a half years ago, I had the best date of my life. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was an 11. And it was pretty much a one-night stand.
She was a very pretty schoolteacher, younger than me by about eight years and looking younger even than that. She was a very accomplished craft artist and an excellent writer. She had a very soft-spoken voice and she seemed to see everything with a sense of wonder. I was intrigued, obviously. This was the second time I'd seen her, after our initial coffee meet-up. This second meeting was to prove to be our swan song. Why? I don't know, and in any case, it's not the point of the story.
On this chilly fall Friday evening, I went to her place and picked her up in my car. We went to a concert downtown. She sang along with the songs. This was a good sign, I thought. It was a great concert. Afterward, we drove down to the hip quarter for pizza and drinks. On the way there, I drove the wrong way down a one-way street, just missing an oncoming car. I pulled over and we both laughed at this random thrill. We devoured a wood-fired pizza and got slightly tipsy from our mixed drinks. We went outside to metabolize a bit next to a barrel fire that other patrons had gathered around in the cold air. Some other guys started hitting on her. She talked to them. I played it cool and got us out of there. We drove to a trendy bar, a favorite of mine, in the south-central part of the city. We walked out to the patio area where a few others were braving the cold and sat on some metal chairs. We began to snuggle a bit, and wrapped our arms around each other under our coats. She had to go to the restroom, so we went back inside. I sat on a stool and noticed after a few minutes that she was poking her head out of the women's restroom door and beckoning me to come over. I did. She grabbed my collar and pulled me into the women's room. She locked the door. "I want you to read this graffiti," she said. We read the scrawls and laughed. Then, came that look. You know, the look. That look. The magic look. The eye-lock. We got into the clinch and started the frenzied kissing. She was pinned to the graffiti wall. It went on for awhile. Then, we heard the knocks on the door from the gals outside who needed to pee. We both emerged, a little disheveled. I got a slightly strange look from one of girls. I said something offhand and flippant like, "Very interesting in there." My date pulled me along by the hand and laughed. We sat on a bench and resumed the make out. We were doing better than the younger couples around us. We were worked up, and agreed it was time to leave. I drove her home. We parked in her driveway, and in the dark, things escalated in the car. Hands went where they tend to go, up and in and under and inside. Buckles and elastic started to give way. After this, we went into her house to engage in the full array. After exploring several permutations of the Kama Sutra, I suddenly felt, out of nowhere, a solid smack on my bare ass. She had spanked me! It was not just the slap, or its suddenness, that startled me; it was in its confident commission, in the demand it issued. That slap said, "Time to ramp things up, boy!" I responded, "So this is how it is, is it?" I returned the favor, landing a good if moderate one to test the scale of intensity. She wanted more of that, and harder. Needless to say, everyone was happy, if a little redder in places.
We saw each other one more time, a week later. We cuddled but there no longer seemed to be a spark. I left her house after an hour, and we never saw one another again.
Having been back out in the dating world now in recent years after my divorce, I've come to learn that far more women seem to be into spanking than I had imagined. No, it's not a particular fetish of mine, but I'm certainly not averse to it if the other party suggests it as part of the overall love play. The last person I had been seeing, this past February, was so into various S&M practices that she told me she had a profile on an S&M dating website. I had never even heard of it, and I hadn't known about her predilections when we started going out. And, again, the pursuit and practice of these kinds of acts are not a particular aim of mine. In any case, she and I had a lovely few weeks together, during which there was a little spanking, but it was clear to me that I was going nowhere with her in a deeper sense, so I stopped seeing her. She was polyamorous, and I really couldn't deal with that. I also had a problem with her drug use. I didn't want to get dragged into that world. She and I shared some weed, but I didn't want that to become a regular thing.
In any case, here were two people I'd been with who were into spanking, and they were not the only ones. Spanking, it seems, has emerged from the shadows or the fringes of everyday sexual options. And many women either through their own instigation or by pleasant reaction to it, seem to harbor a taste for it.
The Art of Spanking, a collaboration between the prolific erotic illustrator, Milo Manara, and writer Jean-Pierre Enard, attempts to get at some of the sexual mystique of spanking, and although I would not go so far as to put it on the Ur-text level for the subject, I would consider it a must-have for aficionados.
This is not a how-to book, per se, but takes the form of a slightly cheesy, often very erotic, frequently explicit and at times transgressive fictional story. The main character is a first-person female protagonist named Eva, a name perhaps meant to connote Eve of the Bible, because during the course of the story a certain barrier of innocence is breached as she learns about and grows to crave the possibilities of spanking.
Eva is a well-known celebrity gossip journalist whose career thrusts her into the lives of others. This fact, and a certain vanity over her appearance and fame, are traits the man she meets exploits in turning her to the "dark side" world of spanking.
The man she meets is a cultured-looking older middle-aged gent named Donatien, whose unlikely last name is Casanova. As he explains, that name is not offputting to women, and, as he's found, it is intriguing to them because they want to see if he measures up to the name. (Yes, Fifty Shades of Grey crosses my mind as I read this; fans of that may find enjoyment herein.)
Both are riding in the same train car somewhere in Europe. (Yes, there is an Emmanuelle pulpy feel to this tale.) He nods off and out of his hand slips a green ledger book in which he has been furiously writing. Tempted, Eva picks it up and begins to read its salacious tales of spanking conquests. Donatien catches her reading it and over the course of the trip she reads passages from it while also listening to Donatien's supplemental explanations and observations while on the train. She, of course, is appalled and intrigued simultaneously, and over time becomes worked up and begins to wet her panties. Yes, he seems obsessive and dangerous, but also confident and worldly wise, so of course she's fascinated.
Throughout, Donatien, the butt epicurean and connoisseur, describes his passion for the ass, the ass as a work of art, and the commission of spanking as an artistic act. Asses seem to exhibit traits to him in an anthropomorphic manner. Asses have personalities. This is no more objectification than any man or woman seeing the face of a perfect stranger and wanting to bed them on sight. And if it is objectification, so what? It's sex, it's erotic, it's irrational, it's human, it's natural. The world of the erotic has its own set of laws. Stimuli stimulate. As I once wrote in a poem "The curves in the flesh are writ deeper than all the codes of Hammurabi, and always will be."
While describing his various encounters with women, several in whorehouses, Donatien explains a kind of philosophy he has built around spanking. According to him, spanking does not really equate to an S&M act; it is not the same as caning or whipping or using chains, leather or other paraphernalia.
As he explains: "In my mind, spanking shouldn't be a punishment. It should never take that form, even as a game. Spanking should be practiced solely for the pleasure of the two participants. Any rationale would deprive it of its uniqueness." Later, he adds, "Only cold-blooded sadists hurt their victims."
All of that, of course, is his own opinion, and I'm sure consenting adults engaging in manageable S&M practices might parse this differently and at least as convincingly.
The book does get transgressive at times. European porn seems to include a lot of age-gap sex and encounters with adolescents, and this is no exception. It is erotica, and it is fantasy, and fantasy the last time I looked was not a thought crime.
So, although this might fall into the realm of male fantasy, I do know some women -- including past lovers -- who would find this book arousing.
The book is mostly pure smut, sometimes dumb, sometimes sublime, a mixture of the animalistic and the poetic, just as I like it. Just when an ineptly conceived or written passage threatens to swamp it an interesting or stimulating passage saves the day.
At one point in the story, Eva decides that Donatien's single-minded pursuit of ass play marks him as dangerous and undesirable (temporarily, anyway), and she judges him a fanatic, leading to this disarmingly effective description of dogmatic thinking that is as pithy and right-on as anything I've read:
"I don't like fanatics. I've seen plenty in my profession, righters of wrongs, new philosophers defending the West in some cafe, reformers of humanity ready to put us all behind bars for our own good, or prophets inspired directly by God to deal death to the infidel. At times they've frightened me, at times amused me, but I've always detested them, their bad faith, their blindness, their stupidity elevated to doctrine."
The book has a particular collectible cachet since it is illustrated by Manara, whose erotic art I find very appealing, but I find some of its illustrations to have a dashed-off, minimalist quality not typical of most of his published work. The book could have used more art, and more detailed images, particularly ones that better relate to the text. Some of the images are printed too small.
The book leads up to a kind of trick ending, which is cute and clever and also a bit unconvincing.
After reading this, I may not look at butts in quite the same way. At the same time, the book won't make me an obsessive on the matter. For those with previous inclinations, though, the book will bring great pleasure, and perhaps even comfort.
As for the other matters aforementioned, all parts of the body and mind have long since healed.
(EG, aka KR@Ky 2016)
February 26, 2019
Lovely pictures. Great story. And, spanking. What more do you want? I'd recommend having the spankee read it aloud while seated at a desk, hands bound.
March 13, 2023
Me encantó.
August 25, 2013
Excellent livre qui parle de la fessée vraiment érotique.
En plus les illustrations de Manara sont magnifiques.
En plus les illustrations de Manara sont magnifiques.
October 29, 2012
It was not bad, but I took it because of Manara's illustrations and I wished there were more of them.
Actually, I think I would prefere a comic book.
Actually, I think I would prefere a comic book.
January 28, 2016
un libro entretenido, con excelentes ilustraciones de manara
September 23, 2020
EL ARTE DEL AZOTE
Escrito por Jean-Pierre Enard
Ilustrado por Milo Manara
Escritor Francés
Ilustrador Italiano
Publicado en el año 1988
96 páginas
Editorial Norma
Este libro es el denominado gran clásico de la literatura erótica y después de leerlo, lo considero un imprescindible para educar y romper el erotismo formal y clasista del amante común, si es que existe esa denominación; este relato aunque es corto en extensión (96 páginas), es profundo en inspiración y recursos para erotizar y encender un fuego diferente en la intimidad, una variedad de propuestas pícaras que brindan una perspectiva alterna a la posible rutina a la que conlleva el hacer las cosas de una misma manera.
Me gusta porque es un libro intenso, lo veo como un manual que tiene lo necesario para crear fuego, su historia principal se narra dentro de una cabina de pasajeros en un trayecto de tren entre un hombre adulto y una joven actriz de televisión, ofreciendo desde un inicio un lenguaje directo que mezcla lo sensual, con lo sexual, con una vulgaridad que llamaría refinada y un ambiente que brinda privacidad en el desarrollo de la trama, pero que siempre está al borde se ese encanto peligroso de hacerse público, con un toque de ensoñación y erotismo, al mezclar historias dentro de la misma historia central, las cuales recaen en la develación de un libro que ella lee durante el recorrido, que da rienda suelta no sólo a su imaginación, sino a su propio calor y frenetismo interno, pues le revela otra dimensión del placer que no conocía y al que anhela desaforadamente ceder todas sus voluntades.
En este libro se valora tanto el relato escrito como la ilustración erótica de Milo Manara, sin duda esa otra gran astilla que aviva esta hoguera, pues sus gráficas ilustran a la perfección la esencia sicalíptica que justo se requiere para subir ese tono al lenguaje no escrito que aquí se puede sentir y respirar, al combinar el relato escrito con el relato gráfico, se obtiene la medida perfecta para imaginar, sentir y desear un poquito de todo lo que allí se cuece…
Escrito por Jean-Pierre Enard
Ilustrado por Milo Manara
Escritor Francés
Ilustrador Italiano
Publicado en el año 1988
96 páginas
Editorial Norma
Este libro es el denominado gran clásico de la literatura erótica y después de leerlo, lo considero un imprescindible para educar y romper el erotismo formal y clasista del amante común, si es que existe esa denominación; este relato aunque es corto en extensión (96 páginas), es profundo en inspiración y recursos para erotizar y encender un fuego diferente en la intimidad, una variedad de propuestas pícaras que brindan una perspectiva alterna a la posible rutina a la que conlleva el hacer las cosas de una misma manera.
Me gusta porque es un libro intenso, lo veo como un manual que tiene lo necesario para crear fuego, su historia principal se narra dentro de una cabina de pasajeros en un trayecto de tren entre un hombre adulto y una joven actriz de televisión, ofreciendo desde un inicio un lenguaje directo que mezcla lo sensual, con lo sexual, con una vulgaridad que llamaría refinada y un ambiente que brinda privacidad en el desarrollo de la trama, pero que siempre está al borde se ese encanto peligroso de hacerse público, con un toque de ensoñación y erotismo, al mezclar historias dentro de la misma historia central, las cuales recaen en la develación de un libro que ella lee durante el recorrido, que da rienda suelta no sólo a su imaginación, sino a su propio calor y frenetismo interno, pues le revela otra dimensión del placer que no conocía y al que anhela desaforadamente ceder todas sus voluntades.
En este libro se valora tanto el relato escrito como la ilustración erótica de Milo Manara, sin duda esa otra gran astilla que aviva esta hoguera, pues sus gráficas ilustran a la perfección la esencia sicalíptica que justo se requiere para subir ese tono al lenguaje no escrito que aquí se puede sentir y respirar, al combinar el relato escrito con el relato gráfico, se obtiene la medida perfecta para imaginar, sentir y desear un poquito de todo lo que allí se cuece…
October 4, 2023
"Ya nadie entiende lo que es la nalgada. Algunos piensan que es un castigo para niños. Otros piensan que es un manía ridícula. Pero es la mayor forma de homenaje a la parte más digna, más refinada y más generosa de la mujer: sus nalgas."
Este breve relato es una manifestación erótica de lo que expresa el párrafo anterior, un homenaje lleno de deseo y perversión acerca de las nalgadas, detesto como suena en español mexicano eso de "Azote", así que modifiqué el párrafo.
¡¿En serio existirán mujeres que ya entradas en la adultez de los 20 años no hayan recibido jamás unas buenas nalgadas de su amante?!
Este breve relato es una manifestación erótica de lo que expresa el párrafo anterior, un homenaje lleno de deseo y perversión acerca de las nalgadas, detesto como suena en español mexicano eso de "Azote", así que modifiqué el párrafo.
¡¿En serio existirán mujeres que ya entradas en la adultez de los 20 años no hayan recibido jamás unas buenas nalgadas de su amante?!
January 21, 2023
Mi favorito de Manara. Se nota que los textos y la historia son de Jean-Pierre Enard, este autor aporta un poco de orden a la historia y hace que disfrutes más las ilustraciones de Manara.
Me gustó mucho.
Me gustó mucho.
February 11, 2019
Algun libro similar a este?
August 4, 2019
Un librito de corte erótico fácil de leer.
February 10, 2020
Delicioso y sensual. Activa tu(s) sentido(s) recorriendo las páginas y dibujos. Cada capítulo te deja con ganas de más.
June 20, 2020
Milo Manara es un genio para este género. Muy recomendado.
December 14, 2025
Erótica en francés...pas mal
June 3, 2016
Aunque no sienta afinidad por el relato erótico me gustan aquellos cortos y ligeramente guarros. El ávido protagonista en varias ocasiones me hizo sonreír y hasta reírme un buen rato con sus ocurrencias. Algo me ha llamado la atención y quizás pueda ponerlo en práctica. Lo recomendaría? Si, se lee muy fácil y es muy corto.
May 23, 2021
Thanks for making me develop a new fetish...
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews