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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, but they informed her she might and should pass for younger.

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

In other words? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

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

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she pictured finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” 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 client, a white male in his 40s, supplied 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 going? Don’t 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 strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He removed his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika put 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.

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 really 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 instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.

” 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 winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man crazy. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I won’t 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 complete screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

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

” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

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

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