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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job 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 ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.
In other words? Rewarding.
Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.
This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to achieve thereafter.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed the call button beside 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 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 discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. 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 understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look good,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, but possibly 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 looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange difference: 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, great and easy.”.
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 might do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t 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 perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She complied with. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. 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 winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently knew how to drive a male crazy. However there was something left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He should have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.
Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.
” Oh, yummy,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Mostly, she felt clashed. Because she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.
” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving faster.
He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.
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