Savannah Santyoku Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️

About Daegu

Hey, pal, lemme tell ya bout sexual-massage, alright? Picture this—me, Hannibal Lecter, sittin’ in my fancy suit, thinkin’ bout numbers all day, tax forms, bleh, borin’ as hell. Then bam, sexual-massage pops in my head, like a freaky lil escape. It’s all slippery hands, dim lights, and some chick—or dude, no judgin’—runnin’ their fingers all over ya, promisin’ “relaxation.” Ha! Relaxation my ass, it’s a tease fest, gets ya all worked up, and I’m sittin’ there like, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” smirkin’ cause I know the real thrill ain’t in the rubdown.

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Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” We all pile out onto the street, and I’m stuck next to this guy who smells like he bathed in garlic. No joke. I’m trying not to gag while we wait for the all-clear.