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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of individual services, but they informed her she could and need to pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.
In other words? Lucrative.
Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple 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 become a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, 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 just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to accomplish 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 ad?”.
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 best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first customer, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, but maybe 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 looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and simple.”.
He eliminated his clothes, 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 provide a back massage, no problem.
His voice came smothered from listed below after numerous 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 full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. 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 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, infant, that’s so sexy …”.
Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. 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 lovely …” He must 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 somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.
” Oh, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However primarily, she felt contrasted. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate 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 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 money in her hand. It sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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