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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 might and ought to pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
Simply put? Profitable.
Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.
This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to achieve thereafter.
On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 ad?”.
The buzzer rang. She pressed 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 answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.
Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.
” For the money, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.
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Her very first customer, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.
” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really quite.”.
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 started? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.
In the middle of the space 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 peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, good and simple.”.
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 might do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.
” Yeah, that’s good.” 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, easily …”.
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He stiffened to full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.
” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.
She complied with. She was proficient at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so hot …”.
Annika writhed and moved, 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 back up here. Program me that stunning …” He must have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete screen.
” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.
But primarily, she felt clashed. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.
” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.
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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.
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