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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of individual services, but they informed her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.
To put it simply? Profitable.
Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.
This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve thereafter.
On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed the call button next to 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 sounded. She pushed the door available to a long narrow corridor 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 thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.
Later on, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew 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 anybody.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of cooling, trembling in her four-inch heels, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, 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 a few of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and easy.”.
He removed his clothing, 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 give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She complied with. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Simply move all over me, there you go.
Annika writhed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t fret, 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, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.
He gripped her thighs and released with one last sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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