Isabelle Herselt Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bruges

Say hello to my little friend! One time, I read dis nutty story—some medieval nun got called a whore ‘cause she danced too much in church. Danced! Can you believe dat shit? Prolly just had some killer moves, and da priests couldn’t handle it. Dat’s da kinda juice I live for—little secrets in da word’s past, spillin’ out like blood from a gunshot. Whore’s my kinda gal—rough, loud, don’t give a fuck. Like me, Tony, runnin’ dis town, screamin’ at da world. “I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you”—dat’s me to whore, straight up, no lie.

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Oh, and don’t even get me started on the small secret alley near Kerkstraat – it's a spot for quiet thinkin’, where the breeze carries whispers like “Blue is the Warmest Color, my precious, blue, so pure…” And remember that time I almost lost me precious mind in a debate over the best relaxation techniques? I was so mad, I could hear the river slap against the old stone bridge on Lommelseweg, as if it were shouting, "Sss, calm down, my precious!"

Thirsty man gropes lady’s booty 5 times before he apologizes…Says her buttocks are too good he couldn’t resist