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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 ad?”.

The buzzer called. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow corridor 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 on, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no answer. 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 complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 actually pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, however possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Don’t fret, 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 material, 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 upper body would line up.

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

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 could do this. She understood 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 really 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 obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika wriggled and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, 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.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt clashed. Since she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

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