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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she could and must pass for more youthful.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.
To put it simply? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually come out with her self-respect intact.
This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to accomplish afterwards.
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 advertisement?”.
The buzzer rang. She pushed 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, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. 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, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she knew what it had to do with, 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 first consumer, 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 air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s start? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what appeared 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, easy and nice.”.
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 knew how to give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.
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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 complied with. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.
” 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 move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so sexy …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently understood how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He should have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t stress, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with toward 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, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But mainly, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.
” That’s a great woman. Finish 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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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