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

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

Simply put? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted 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 called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no answer. 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 stayed a full week once she knew what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” 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 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 really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not fret, I’ll walk 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd 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, nice and easy.”.

He removed his clothing, 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 understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from 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 full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika agonized and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, 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 full display screen.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous.

Mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also realized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.

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