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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, however they told her she might and should pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.

This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed the call button next to 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 sounded. She pushed the door available to a long narrow hallway 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 on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her very first consumer, 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 underwear is actually pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Don’t worry, 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 product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: 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, simple and great.”.

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 could do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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

” Oh, that’s perfect. 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 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 move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika agonized and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently knew how to drive a guy insane. But there was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

” Oh, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a beautiful 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 conflicted. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched with one last 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.