Isabelle Kerikeri Erotic Massage ❤️❤️

About Wellington

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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Then, outta nowhere, I see this kid, maybe 10 or so, runnin’ full speed down the beach. He trips over his own feet and goes face-first into the sand. I’m like, “Oh man, that’s gotta hurt!” But he pops up, covered in sand, and starts laughin’ like a maniac. I can’t help but chuckle. Kids are wild, man.

Planning underway for Kerikeri and Waipapa growth