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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, but they informed her she could and need to pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize 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 provided to her brand-new work persona.

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

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

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 ad?”.

The buzzer called. She pushed 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 understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared 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 distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothing, 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 great.” His voice came smothered from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika slid and wriggled, 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 up back up here. Show me that stunning …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t desired to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Because she likewise understood just 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 a good lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.

He gripped her thighs and released with one last 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.