Sor. Botan Massage Parlor

All open and no health checks. Not too much to choose from and a bit of a lottery. The older ladies often give a better service. No massage just a rubdown in bath tub and the main event. Still good value compared with other places

can you tell me your line id for business?

If you want to go for cheapest and best service than this place is best for you. Good selection of girls. But girls are not young. 30 mins service for 1000 THB. Girls are in hurry to finish .

That was not a soapy massage just a place for sex. No body to body massage No soapy massage No oil massage No kind of massage The no. 26 just asked for money to do a massage with hand with no oil The entrance fee was 1060 baht

Service is good . Some girls not speak anything with customers. Girls are in hurry.

Number 1 place. Awesome. Great masaage.

oh wow nice

Good

Starting at 13 red bills (including 3 red bills for the room). Bring some cash for tips. The girls are of a decent age and provide good service. If you go early, you might find a hidden gem. Great value for money for those on a budget.

The walls were hand-plastered, a pale off-white with a subtle gray tinge, smooth to the touch like rice paper. Undyed linen carpet covered the floor, soft and sound-absorbing underfoot. A low wooden platform stood in the center of the room, scattered with several pieces of handmade pottery, their glaze matte and shapes irregular. A withered reed stalk swayed gently in the cross breeze by the window. The air was filled with the delicate scent of white tea mixed with incense, the background accompanied by the echoing sound of a distant stream. She knelt on a cushion, adjusting towels, wearing oatmeal-colored wide-leg trousers and a beige vest, the fabric naturally wrinkled, unironed. Her black hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders, the ends slightly curled, a strand brushing her collarbone as she lowered her head. A string of unpolished wooden beads adorned her left wrist, lightly tapping against the pottery with her movements, producing a soft, crisp sound. I lay down on the wooden platform, cushioned with three layers of linen. Her hand slid from my cervical spine to my tailbone, the rhythm as natural as breathing. As I pass over my old hip injury, my fingertips linger a few seconds, circling with my fingertips rather than applying pressure. When my palm rests on your lower back, the warmth seeps through the thin cloth, and my body trembles involuntarily. At the end, I'm offered handmade roasted tea in a warm ceramic cup—that imperfect simplicity becomes the most comforting refuge.