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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she might and should pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.
To put it simply? Profitable.
Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.
This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed the call button beside an unmarked metal door. A female voice crackled through the speaker: “Hello.”.
” Hi, I’m here for the interview? From the Craigslist advertisement?”.
The buzzer called. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, of course.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, good and simple.”.
He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika placed her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.
His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.
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He stiffened to full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika squirmed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a male insane. There was one thing left to learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.
Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full display screen.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But mostly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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