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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she might and need to pass for more youthful.

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 (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce 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 know she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her dignity undamaged.

This was just temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to accomplish 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 rang. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined 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 lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew 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 have to fuck anyone.

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated 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.

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

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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 reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She complied with. She was good at following instructions. 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 tasty. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Annika squirmed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t stress, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a good woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped her thighs and released 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.