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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of personal services, however they told her she might and should pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic 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 an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

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 rang. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known 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, naturally.”.

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

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Her first client, 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 cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared 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 strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

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

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

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

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. She shocked 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, do not hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika moved and writhed, 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 back up here. Program me that stunning …” He should have seen the look on her face, since 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 complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving faster.

He grasped her thighs and launched 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.