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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 might and must pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce 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 end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

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

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed 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 envisioned finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Do not worry, I’ll walk 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 product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

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

His voice came smothered from listed below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the extremely 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 proficient 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 tasty. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man insane. But 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 gorgeous …” He must have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t desired to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, awkward, even traitorous.

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

” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.