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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 should pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy 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 a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only 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 come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 rang. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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 discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway 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 money, naturally.”.

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, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

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

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after several 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 full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” 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.

Annika winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses 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 lovely …” He should have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

He grasped her thighs and launched 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.