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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 more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.
Simply put? Rewarding.
Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy 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 called Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was only temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 sounded. She pressed the door available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later, when asked what she thought of 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 cause one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she knew 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 very 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 underwear is really pretty.”.
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 get going? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, simple and great.”.
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 muffled from below after a number of 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 complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.
Annika squirmed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to discover.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Mainly, she felt clashed. Since she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s a good lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.
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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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