Stella Ulvila Erotic Massage ❤️❤️

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So, erotic-massage—fancy name for a posh grope, innit? Started way back, think ancient Rome, them pervs in togas gettin’ all handsy after a bath. Little fact for ya: they used olive oil—bloody olive oil!—to slick up their “sessions.” Imagine the stench, gods, I’d burn the place down. Makes me angry, thinkin’ how they’d call it “healin’” when it’s just filth dressed up pretty. Happy? Hardly—I’d rather sip wine and watch heads roll. Surprised me, though, hearin’ some say it’s “art.” Art my arse—give me a blade over scented candles any day.

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Clarice… listen up. Ulvila’s a weird mix of old charm and crude twists. Like, you got that narrow street Korkeankatu, where you wander and feel the pulse of the city—a pulse you can almost massage away. I’ve been layin’ hands on stressed spines here for years, and lemme tell ya, every alley’s a story.

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