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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she could and need to pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize 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 end up being a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve thereafter.

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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door available to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right 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 answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

He removed his clothes, 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 offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t 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 perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

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

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

Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He should have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

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

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