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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she might and must 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 (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Do not stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked like an ordinary 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 distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He removed his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from 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 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 obeyed. She was good at following instructions. 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 delicious. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that stunning …” He should have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

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.