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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of personal services, however they informed her she might and must pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
To put it simply? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named 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 separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to accomplish thereafter.
On a cool September evening 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 rang. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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 pictured discovering there, she honestly had no response. 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, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, trembling in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.
In the middle of the space 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 some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, nice and easy.”.
He eliminated his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika positioned 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 great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She followed. She was proficient at following directions. 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. Just move all over me, there you go.
Annika moved and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that 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, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s an excellent girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.
He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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