Claire Sv. Ana V Slov. Goricah Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Maribor

Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

First off, I woke up late. Like, super late. My alarm? Totally ignored it. I jumped outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. I mean, who needs matching socks anyway? Not me! Rushed outta my tiny apartment on Ulica Mariborska, barely had time for coffee. Ugh, coffee! My lifeblood!