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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of personal services, however they told her she might and should pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.
To put it simply? Lucrative.
Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.
This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve 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 ad?”.
The buzzer called. She pressed the door available to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she pictured finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.
Later on, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.
” For the cash, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.
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Her very first consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, trembling in her four-inch heels, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s begin? Don’t stress, 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. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and easy.”.
He removed his clothing, 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 understood how to give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.
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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 reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Just slide all over me, there you go.
Her mind was blank. Annika moved and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already understood how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to 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 look on her face, since he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.
Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full display screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.
” That’s a great woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.
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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.
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