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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of personal services, but they told her she might and need to pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
Simply put? Profitable.
Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.
This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish 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 ad?”.
The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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 envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.
” For the cash, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.
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Her first consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s start? Don’t 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 strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, simple and nice.”.
He eliminated 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 might do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.
His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy.
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He stiffened to full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Simply slide all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on complete screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However mostly, she felt clashed. Because she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a location where consumers spent for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s a good woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving faster.
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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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