Katherine Castellana Erotic Massage ❤️❤️

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So, erotic-massage—gods, it’s a twisted game. Some sweaty fool in King’s Landing once bragged he’d melt me with his “magic fingers.” Laughed in his face, then had his tongue out—still, the idea stuck. It’s power, innit? You’re lyin’ there, vulnerable, but they’re servin’ *you*. Like when Yinniang stalks her prey—silent, deadly, yet servin’ a purpose. “A rare soul in a harsh land,” movie says—same’s true for a good masseuse. Rare as hell, most are sloppy, grabby idiots.

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Then, I get a call. “Hey, we got a rat problem at the old church!” I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” So, I rush over to Chiesa di San Giovanni. It’s beautiful, but the rats? Not so much. I set up my traps, and while I’m waiting, I can’t help but admire the frescoes. They’re stunning! But then, I hear squeaking.

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