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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, however they told her she could and must pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 ad?”.

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 response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have 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 nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly quite.”.

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

” So, let’s begin? Do not fret, I’ll stroll 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. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She complied with. 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 yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that lovely …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

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

But mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a great 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 last sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.