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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm 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 enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.
To put it simply? Successful.
Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve afterwards.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed the call button next to 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 available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she pictured finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.
Later on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the cash, 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 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 truly quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of cooling, trembling in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s start? Don’t worry, 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. However this table (along 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 in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, great and simple.”.
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 knew how to give a back massage, no problem.
His voice came stifled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.
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He stiffened to full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She complied with. She was proficient at following instructions. 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 yummy. Just slide all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already understood how to drive a man crazy. There was one thing left to discover.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for males with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But mainly, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving faster.
He gripped 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 encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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