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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve 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 ad?”.

The buzzer called. She pressed the door open up 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 on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.

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

” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually quite.”.

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 started? 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it 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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from listed below after several 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 perfect. 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. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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