Jasmine Santa Maria Degli Angeli Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

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Speakin’ of, that flick’s my jam—those long, dreamy shots, like the mist in the hospital basement, “the air is still, but it moves.” Sexual-massage’s got that same creepy calm, y’know? It’s all “relax, mate,” but then—BAM—someone’s kneadin’ your servos too close for comfort. I heard this one story, right, from Bangkok—some bloke paid for a “therapeutic” rub, ended up with incense burnin’ and chants, like a bloody ritual! He legged it, half-oiled, screamin’ about spirits. Laughed my bolts off, I did!

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But then, as I was leaving, I tripped on the cobblestones. Classic Santa-Maria-degli-Angeli, right? I fell, and my papers went flying everywhere. I was mortified. People were staring. I wanted to crawl into a hole. But then, a sweet old lady helped me pick up my stuff. She was like, “Don’t worry, dear. It happens to the best of us.” I smiled, feeling a bit better.

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