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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 might and ought to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.

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

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 called. She pressed 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 on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to 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 anybody.

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

” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not fret, I’ll stroll 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move 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 complete mast at the extremely 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 obeyed. She was good at following instructions. 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.

Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers spent for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a good girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving faster.

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

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