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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she could and ought to pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
Simply put? Lucrative.
Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish afterwards.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 advertisement?”.
The buzzer rang. She pushed the door open 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 on, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t cause one.
Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.
” For the cash, of course.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first consumer, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look great,” 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 get started? Don’t fret, 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 difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, nice and simple.”.
He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.
Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” 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, easily …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the very 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 good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.
” 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 agonized and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently knew how to drive a guy crazy. There was one thing left to discover.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred once again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.
” That’s a great lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and launched with one final 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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