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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of individual services, but they told her she might and should pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Profitable.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was just temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 ad?”.

The buzzer called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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Her first consumer, 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 really quite.”.

She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, trembling 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 room 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 2nd 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, good and simple.”.

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 might do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from listed below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach 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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. She stunned 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 be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He must have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, 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 screen.

” Oh, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.