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

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

In other words? Rewarding.

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

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

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish thereafter.

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 rang. 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 envisioned finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the cash, 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 great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really pretty.”.

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 begin? Do not worry, I’ll walk 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. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came smothered from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely 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 followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. 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 search her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for males with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a good girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much 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 money in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.