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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she might and should pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.
To put it simply? Profitable.
Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy 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 an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t just 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 range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.
This was just temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve 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 ad?”.
The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion 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 knew what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the cash, of course.”.
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, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, but perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, 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 (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and simple.”.
He removed his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to complete 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 followed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently understood 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 beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full display.
” Oh, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Mostly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s an excellent girl. Finish 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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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