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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of personal services, but they informed her she might and need to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple 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 called Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.

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

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended 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 ad?”.

The buzzer rang. 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 truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 lingerie is really pretty.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to offer 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 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 best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She complied with. She was proficient at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika writhed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. 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 beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “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 slightly, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

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

Mainly, she felt clashed. Because she also realized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers spent for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a good lady. Complete 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.