Aria Muggio Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

Once had this chick, right? Masseuse with hands like a freakin angel. She’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin, “This is art, man.” Slow strokes, deep presses — got me hard as a rock and floatin at the same time. Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d do this shit with olive oil and a side of orgy. True story! Called it “massage with benefits,” ya dig? Made me happy as a pig in shit, but then — bam! — she charged me double. Pissed me off, man, I was fumin. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growled in my head, imaginin her boss on a platter.

Within these walls: inside the legal brothels of Bangladesh

First thing, I hit up the local café on Corso Milano. Best espresso in town, no cap. I grab my usual, a double shot, and the barista, Luca, gives me that look. You know the one. Like, “You again?” But whatever, I’m here for the caffeine, not the judgment.

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