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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, but they told her she could and must pass for more youthful.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.
To put it simply? Lucrative.
Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.
This was only momentary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve thereafter.
On a cool September night 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 finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.
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Her first client, 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 actually quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, however possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get going? Do not stress, I’ll walk 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 product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, easy and nice.”.
He eliminated 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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so attractive …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently understood how to drive a male insane. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full display.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for males with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and launched 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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