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About Breda

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, cold as ice, and I reckon this erotic-massage malarkey’s a right laugh—or a bloody disgrace, depends how ya squint at it. “I choose violence,” I’d snarl, ‘cept this ain’t about swords, it’s hands slippin’ over skin, all oiled up and dodgy. Me, I’d rather watch Spotlight—y’know, that flick where journos rip the world open like a ripe peach? “The power of denial,” they’d say, and ain’t that the truth with these rub-downs? Folk pretend it’s all posh and proper, but nah, it’s sweaty palms and sly winks.