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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of individual services, however they told her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 pushed the door available to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need 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 great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar 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 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.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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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 obeyed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Simply move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to learn.

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

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

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

But mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He gripped her thighs and released 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.