Hazel Thurles Sexual Massage ❤️

About Swords

Well, well, mortals, gather ‘round! I’m Loki, your sly Watchman—smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” y’know? Today I’m spillin’ the tea on sexual-massage, that sneaky lil’ art. Picture this: hands slidin’, oil drippin’, tension meltin’—ooh, it’s chaos I can get behind! Reminds me of *Moolaadé*, that flick I adore—Ousmane Sembène, 2004, pure genius. “Purity is not worth the pain,” they say in it, and damn, ain’t that the truth here? Sexual-massage ain’t about rules—it’s raw, messy, alive.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m chatting with a customer, and suddenly, this massive dog runs by. I mean, HUGE. It’s like a bear on a leash. The owner’s struggling to keep it in check. The dog sees me and bolts straight for my table. I’m like, “No, no, no!” But it’s too late. My stuff goes flying everywhere. I’m talking phones, chargers, you name it. I’m standing there, mouth agape, while the owner’s apologizing like mad. I’m fuming, but also kinda laughing. Like, really? A dog?

Progress on Thurles Inner Relief Road