Lydia Iver Heath Brothel ❤️❤️

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Sex escorts—pfft, glorified whores, yeah? I’d choose violence over their sad little games. Met one once—sly tart, all fake smiles, stinking of cheap perfume. Told me she “empowers herself”—ha! Empowerment my arse. She’s shagging strangers while I sip wine on a throne. Still, gotta admit, she had guts. Takes balls to peddle your bits in King’s Landing—or anywhere, really.

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Full text of "THE READER'S DIGEST VOL(JAN-MAY)". See other formats. 88 JAM'\R\ Readers Pigest * W H Audln Our mastery nf nature underlines two.

Then, I hit up the park, ya know, the one by the Iver Heath Nature Reserve. It’s lush, man. Trees everywhere, birds chirpin’. I’m feelin’ good, like I could take on the world. But then, I see this group of kids messin’ around. They’re climbin’ trees, and I’m thinkin’, “I used to do that!” But then, one of ‘em falls. Oof! Landed right on his backside. I’m like, “You alright, mate?” He just laughs it off. Kids these days, tough as nails.

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