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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower 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 an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

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

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to accomplish afterwards.

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 called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal 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 promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed 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 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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

” You look good,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not worry, I’ll stroll 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. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came smothered from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 having fun with me.”.

She complied with. She was good at following directions. 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 delicious. Simply move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

Facing towards 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 once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

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

However mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a location where clients spent for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a great lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

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

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