Camila Santos Dumont Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Brasilia

Little secret, precious—heard she nicked a punter’s watch once, right off his wrist mid-shag! Ballsy, innit? Slipped it in her bra, he never clocked it—too busy gruntin’. Made me happy, that did—love a crafty bitch who don’t play nice. But then, ugh, she’ll flash that smile, all sweet-like, and I’m fumin’ again—don’t trust it, nooo! “You can’t stop what’s comin’,” I mutter, watchin’ her work. She’s chaos, pure chaos—Anton Chigurh in heels, I reckon.

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I swear, this city is sooo many layers. You stroll near the river, the Rio de Laranjeiras, and feel the energy flow like a secret current of sensuality. The landmarks are all quirky and original. Don’t even get me started on the eccentric murals on Avenida dos Poetas. They remind me of battle scars from a war zone, shoutin’ "This is not a drill, motherf**ker!" –okay, maybe not that exact phrase, but you get it.

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