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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 might and should pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however 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 understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually come out with her self-respect intact.
This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish 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 sounded. She pushed 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 left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she pictured discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant 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 quickly:.
” For the cash, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.
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Her very first customer, 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 actually quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, however maybe 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 looked like a run-of-the-mill 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 strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, simple and nice.”.
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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She followed. She was proficient at following directions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Just move all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a man crazy. 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 beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.
Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full display screen.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However mainly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where customers spent for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.
He gripped her thighs and released 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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