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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she might and should pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.
Simply put? Profitable.
Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.
This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, of course.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.
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Her very first consumer, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really 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 fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: 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 start with a back massage, good and easy.”.
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 could do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse 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 shocked.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Simply move all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika slid and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a man crazy. But there was something delegated learn.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, 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 screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s a good lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and launched with one last sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.
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