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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 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 on, 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 known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood 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 need to fuck anybody.

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

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

She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, 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 room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill 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 peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothes, 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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.

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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 directions. 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 slide all over me, there you go.

Annika twisted and slid, 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 up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t 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, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mainly, she felt clashed. Since she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers spent for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.