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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of individual services, but they told her she could and must pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.
In other words? 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 very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed 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 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 ad?”.
The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.
Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.
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Her very first client, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly 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 begin? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: 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 begin with a back massage, simple and great.”.
He removed 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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the very 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 complied with. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.
” 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, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently knew how to drive a guy crazy. But there was something left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that stunning …” He should have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt clashed. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s a good lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving 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 was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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