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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of individual services, however they told her she might and must pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.
In other words? Successful.
Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.
This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September night 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 sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.
Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.
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Her first consumer, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look good,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get started? Do not worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what appeared 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 distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and great.”.
He removed 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 might do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.
His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika twisted and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full display.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt clashed. Since she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where customers spent 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 quicker.
He grasped 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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