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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she might and need to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 pressed the door open 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 imagined discovering there, she honestly 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 on, when asked why she remained a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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Her first consumer, 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 truly quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what looked 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 distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 smothered from 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 complete mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She followed. She was proficient 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 yummy. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika twisted and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. However there was something delegated learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s an excellent woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much 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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.