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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she could and should pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just short-lived, 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 rang. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she pictured finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate 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 quickly:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space 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 distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He removed 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 could do this. She understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, 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 tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt clashed. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers spent for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a great girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He gripped 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.