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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, however they informed her she might and must pass for younger.
That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.
To put it simply? Lucrative.
Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.
This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might separate, 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 intact.
This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped 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 advertisement?”.
The buzzer called. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow corridor 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, when asked what she thought of finding 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 cause one.
Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.
” For the cash, obviously.”.
Annika made over $7,500 in 8 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 great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.
She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, however perhaps 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 looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.
” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, simple and good.”.
He removed his clothing, 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.
His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy.
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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely 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 followed. She was proficient at following instructions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.
” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. 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, infant, that’s so attractive …”.
Her mind was blank. Annika squirmed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already understood how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.
” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.
Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full screen.
” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetie. Keep going.”.
Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.
However mostly, she felt contrasted. Since she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.
” That’s a good woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.
He grasped her thighs and released with one last 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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