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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of individual services, but they told her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

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 procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple 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 called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 rang. She pushed 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 thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her first client, 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 actually pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s start? Don’t worry, I’ll walk 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 product, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: 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 begin with a back massage, good and easy.”.

He eliminated 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 give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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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 playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. 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 tasty. 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, child, that’s so hot …”.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “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 somewhat, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

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

But mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.