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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she might and must pass for more youthful.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.
Simply put? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually come out with her self-respect intact.
This was just short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 called. She pressed the door available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later on, when asked why she remained a complete week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.
” For the cash, of course.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get started? Do not worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and nice.”.
He removed his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently knew how to drive a man insane. However there was something delegated learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete screen.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Mainly, she felt contrasted. Since she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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