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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple 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 a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

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

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 ad?”.

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 thought of finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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Her very first consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

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

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated 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 could do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t 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 perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so sexy …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy crazy. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that stunning …” He must 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 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 wished to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

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

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.