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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of individual services, however they told her she could and need to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease 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 know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

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

This was just short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to accomplish 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 sounded. 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, when asked what she thought of finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, 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 client, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not stress, 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 material, with a hole at one end. However this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, easy and good.”.

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 could do this. She knew how to provide 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 complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

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

She complied with. She was good at following directions. 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 yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

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

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

He gripped 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 sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.