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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of personal services, but they informed her she could and need to pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.
Simply put? Successful.
Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.
This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September night 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 sounded. She pushed 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 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 promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.
Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly pretty.”.
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 begin? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what appeared 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 second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and good.”.
He removed his clothes, 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 knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.
His voice came smothered from listed below after several 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 really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She followed. She was proficient 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 slide all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika wriggled and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a male insane. There was one thing left to discover.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However primarily, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.
” That’s a good lady. 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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