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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, however they informed her she could and ought to pass for more youthful.
So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.
Simply put? Profitable.
Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.
This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished 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 sounded. She pushed 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 on, when asked what she pictured finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.
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Her first client, 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 truly pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s start? Do not fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.
In the middle of the room stood what looked 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd 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, easy and nice.”.
He removed 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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from 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 very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.
” 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.
Annika moved and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to discover.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that stunning …” He needs to 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 slightly, her intimate parts on full display screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she also recognized how much power she held. This was a place where customers spent for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s an excellent woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.
He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.
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