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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, however they informed her she could and must pass for younger.

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

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted 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 sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she pictured finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 underwear is really quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But 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 between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy and nice.”.

He eliminated 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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous 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 complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She complied with. She was proficient 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 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, baby, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika squirmed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He must have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t stress, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full display.

” Oh, yummy,” he purred 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. Instead, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched with one last 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.