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

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

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

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

On a cool September night 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer called. She pressed the door available to a long narrow hallway 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 answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso 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 removed his clothes, 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not 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 having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a male crazy. But there was one thing delegated find out.

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

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mostly, she felt conflicted. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.