Olivia Theunissen Whore ❤️❤️

About Pretoria

So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

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I’ll let you in on a personal tidbit – as a relaxation specialist, I’ve felt the energy of Theunissen pulse through its very stones. I pick up on nuances: hump day vibes, moments of cosmic humor, and the rebellious spirit that occasionally shouts “You, my friend, are destined for tranquility!” And you know what? It works. Every street corner reveals a secret; every park bench holds a story.

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