Ellie Llantwit Major Brothel ❤️❤️

About Leeds

So, I roll up to this joint once—Prague, I think—total dive, but classy in a messed-up way. Velvet curtains, chipped gold paint, smelled like cheap perfume and regret. Lass at the door winks, says, “You lookin’ for somethin’ special, handsome?” I’m like, “Darlin’, I’m always special.” Shaken, not stirred, right? Got me thinkin’—brothels ain’t just about the deed, nah, it’s the vibe. The stories. Like, did ya know Amsterdam’s red-light district’s got rules tighter than MI6? Girls pay taxes, get health checks—proper legit. Blew my mind, that did. Thought it’d be all dodgy, but nope, organized as hell.

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First thing, I head down to the High Street. It’s buzzing, as usual. You got the bakery smell wafting through the air. I mean, who can resist a fresh pastry? Not me! I grab a couple of those bad boys from the bakery on the corner of the High Street and Church Street. Best in town, no contest. I’m munching away, feeling like a king, when I bump into old Mrs. Jenkins.

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