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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, but they informed her she could and ought to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve afterwards.

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 pushed the door available to a long narrow corridor 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, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, of course.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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Her first customer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s start? Do not fret, I’ll stroll 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. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, great and easy.”.

He eliminated his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might 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, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to complete 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 complied with. She was good at following instructions. 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 delicious. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika twisted and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She already 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 up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I will not 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 display.

” Oh, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt absurd, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for males with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a location where consumers spent for the benefit 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 handled 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 money in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.