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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, but they informed her she might and should pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, praying each time she had actually 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 accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 up to a long narrow corridor 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 imagined finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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

” You look good,” 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, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Do not stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He removed his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika placed her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from listed below after a number of 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 full mast at the very 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 good at following instructions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika winced and slid, 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 back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

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

Mostly, she felt clashed. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive 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 gripped 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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.