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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the 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 personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 called. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow corridor 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 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 lead to one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t fret, 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 material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the very 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 followed. She was good at following directions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, do not hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already understood how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.

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

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, 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 delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mostly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped 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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.