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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 need to pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.
To put it simply? Rewarding.
Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease 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 know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.
This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to accomplish thereafter.
On a cool September night 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 rang. 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 envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.
Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.
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Her very first customer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly 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 started? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and good.”.
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 might do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the really 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 good 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. Simply move all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that stunning …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.
Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full display.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a location where customers spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.
He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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