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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, however they told her she could and should pass for younger.
So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
In other words? Successful.
Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.
This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.
This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish thereafter.
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 ad?”.
The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.
She did.
Later on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.
Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, naturally.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her first client, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually pretty.”.
She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.
” So, let’s get going? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it 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 knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came smothered from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.
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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.
She obeyed. She was good at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so sexy …”.
Annika agonized and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.
Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she also realized 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 complete stranger.
” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.
He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.
At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.
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