Mila Az Zawr Sexual Massage ❤️

About Mubarak Al-Kabeer

So, sexual-massage—propa cheeky, innit? Not just yer bog-standard back rub. Nah, it’s got that edge—hands wanderin’ where they shouldn’t, but oh, they *should*. Little known fact: back in the ‘60s, some posh London spas offered “special massages” for gents like me—discreet, classy, but bloody filthy if you knew the codeword. “Extra oil,” they’d wink. Made me happy as a pig in shit—proper treat after dodgin’ bullets.

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But then, just when I think it can’t get crazier, a cat strolls in. Yup, a cat! Just waltzes in like it owns the place. Everyone’s laughing, and I’m like, “Is this a bar or a petting zoo?” I’m trying to shoo it out, but it’s not budging. It just sits there, looking at me like, “What’s your problem, human?”

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