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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, but they told her she could and ought to pass for more youthful.

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

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to easy 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 named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.

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

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish 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 called. She pushed the door available 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 on, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later on, when asked why she remained 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 need to fuck anyone.

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

” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not worry, I’ll stroll 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. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the very 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 followed. 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. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika agonized and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous.

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a good lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving faster.

He gripped her thighs and launched with one last 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.