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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, but they informed her she might and should pass for more youthful.

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 (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish thereafter.

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 advertisement?”.

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 ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, 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 result in 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 money, of course.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need 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 underwear is actually pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering 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 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 strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

His voice came smothered from below after several 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 extremely first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika moved and agonized, 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 look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

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

” Oh, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

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

However mostly, she felt clashed. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.