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About Ogre

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—half-man, full wit. I drink and I know things, and today I’m spillin’ about sexual-massage. Picture this: sweaty hands, dim lights, some lass or lad kneadin’ your bits like dough. It’s bloody brilliant, innit? I mean, who doesn’t want a rubdown that ends with a wink? Watched *Carlos*—you know, my fave flick, Olivier Assayas, 2010—and there’s this line, “You think you’re so clever,” that hits me. Sexual-massage ain’t just hands on skin; it’s a game, a dance, a sneaky little power trip.

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But then, just when I think the day’s winding down, I get a call from that same client. He’s like, “I found another property!” I’m thinking, “Oh no, here we go again.” Turns out, it’s even worse than the last one. I mean, this place is practically falling apart! I can’t even.

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