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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she might and need to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

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

This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September evening 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 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 discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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Her very first client, 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 pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t 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. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: 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 begin with a back massage, easy and great.”.

He eliminated his clothes, 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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to complete 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 proficient at following directions. 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 delicious. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently understood how to drive a male insane. However there was something left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search 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 just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He gripped 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.