Dream a little dream, Lesley. A exploratory quest of a 28-year old woman and her sexually liberated privileges in the BDSM clique at Florville. The vintage French risqué postcards adorning with naked buxom bodies posed on inviting divans, the ruffled bob hair cuts, laced corsets and pearls swaying between exposed cleavages; gives a little boost to an outlandish imagination. This book has it all.
To all the lovers, Florville was a dream of villas and gardens. Its air was the scent of mimosa in the silence of long, deserted corridors. A golden twilight of blinds drawn against strong afternoon sun dimmed the deep colours of Persian hangings and tall vases. At the stairway curve, a florid window-arch framed a distant flash of blue water. The days of summer were unvarying and unalterable in such a place. Morning was a time of hot pearl-grey sky beyond white-painted rails. Every evening the disc of dark fire sank in the haze beyond the cypress trees, engulfed at last in a violet sea which lay calm as an Italian lake. In the formal evenings of the winter city, while the salon music played, the lovers dwelt privately with the images and voices of the girls whom they had possessed in the secret places of the summer. In the Villa Rif at Florville, within its deep gardens and behind its protective, such possession was complete. The lovers were the guardians of that place, the supreme arbiters of its laws. By removing the privilege of refusal, they bestowed on the girls another gift. It was the pretext of surrendering under compulsion to the most extreme fantasies of the lovers which removed from the girls all remorse and self-reproach. At the centre of the Villa Rif lay a courtyard garden, built upon the site of ancient cloisters. Above its arches an inscription had been carved long before, the words drawing charmed circle about the girls and the men who possessed them.
The ecstasy of Florville amounts to a picturesque French countryside elegant estate adorned by Spanish style villas and lush green acres, highly celebrated for the joys of sexual emancipation. The story folds into three parts of before and after Florville days, each brimming with graphical elucidations of various sexual acts. Like every other female in the sexual clique, Lesley is an absolute submissive, even with her obstinate demeanor towards men. There is absolutely no place for female Doms, which is rather unfortunate as it would have been intriguing to see Lesley or even the novice Judith chastising one of the men. Alas! I reckon since this is a vintage piece of sadomasochism, it has the archetypal dominant male .Then there is Kurt,who seems to rule the roost by making major decisions in the various Master-Slave relationships and those dealing with Lesley and Connie. Nevertheless,it is Hassan who delineates the exact disciplinary persona of a true DOM.
A little less Flamboyant than Marquis de Sade and more on the lines Pauline Réage’s The Story of O; Days at Florville spells classic erotica all the way through. The language used is uncomplicated and devoid of all the unnecessary hyper dramatic sexual scenarios. For once, there is no “stinging pain” or “manic thrashing”; just rewarding spasmodic reveries of velveteen depths under the moldings of Viennese stucco.