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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Offering 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 know she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 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, when asked what she imagined finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But 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, easy and nice.”.

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika placed 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 good.” His voice came stifled from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete 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 followed. She was good at following instructions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently understood how to drive a man insane. But there was something left to discover.

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

Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a 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 last sigh. And it was over.

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