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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she could and ought 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 (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.
In other words? Profitable.
Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce 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 understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was just short-lived, she told 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 pushed 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 called. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway 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 finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.
” For the cash, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need 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 underwear is really quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, however perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get going? Do not worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space 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 peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and nice.”.
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 might do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came stifled from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She followed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Simply move all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a man insane. But there was one thing delegated learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with 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, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt absurd, awkward, even traitorous.
Mainly, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s a good woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.
He gripped 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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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