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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, however they told her she could and should pass for younger.

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), but still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening 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 open up 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 on, when asked what she imagined discovering 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 cause one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need 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 nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really pretty.”.

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

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

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came stifled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 playing with me.”.

She complied with. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Annika twisted and slid, 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 up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mainly, she felt contrasted. Since she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a place where customers spent for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a good lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving 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 money in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.