Emma Canfield Erotic Massage ❤️❤️

About New York City

So, erotic-massage—gods, it’s a twisted game. Some sweaty fool in King’s Landing once bragged he’d melt me with his “magic fingers.” Laughed in his face, then had his tongue out—still, the idea stuck. It’s power, innit? You’re lyin’ there, vulnerable, but they’re servin’ *you*. Like when Yinniang stalks her prey—silent, deadly, yet servin’ a purpose. “A rare soul in a harsh land,” movie says—same’s true for a good masseuse. Rare as hell, most are sloppy, grabby idiots.

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Oh em gee, I almost forgot! I've got 17 little quirks – like, I absolutely adore the waft of lavender in the air when the summer sun hits that lil' fountain on Parkside. I know, sounds crazy – but sometimes I swear it sings “I could survive this madness!” just like in the movie. And heck, I'm always blabbering 'bout it to anyone who'll listen, typos and all!

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