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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, but they told her she might and need to pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
Simply put? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.
This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve 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 ad?”.
The buzzer rang. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she imagined finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood 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 have to fuck anyone.
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Her very first client, a white male in his 40s, provided 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 air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, however possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get going? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll 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 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 a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, simple and good.”.
He eliminated his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to give 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 between my legs, don’t be shy.
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He stiffened to complete 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 having fun 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 tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She already understood how to drive a man crazy. However there was something delegated learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he included, “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 display screen.
” Oh, yummy,” he purred again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.
” That’s a good girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.
He grasped 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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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