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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of individual services, but they informed her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.

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

On a cool September night 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 rang. She pushed the door available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 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 great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really quite.”.

She shivered under the blast of a/c, trembling in her four-inch heels, however perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill 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 second hole, right where one’s lower upper body 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 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 could do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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

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

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Simply move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

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.