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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of individual services, but they told her she could and ought to pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect 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. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.
In other words? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple 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 offered to her brand-new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.
This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 advertisement?”.
The buzzer called. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow hallway 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 thought of finding there, she truthfully had no response. 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 remained a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have 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 lingerie is actually quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get going? Don’t fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, nice and easy.”.
He eliminated his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika placed 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.
His voice came smothered from listed below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the really 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 instructions. She shocked 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 wriggled and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy crazy. But there was something delegated learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he added, “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 slightly, her intimate parts on complete screen.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt contrasted. Since she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.
” That’s a great woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.
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