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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, but they informed her she could and must pass for more youthful.

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

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her dignity undamaged.

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

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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 pictured discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight 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 nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 torso would line up.

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

He eliminated 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 could do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t 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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She complied with. She was good at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika moved and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to discover.

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for males with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.

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

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