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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 sounded. 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, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” 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, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika slid and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses 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 beautiful …” He needs to have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, I will not 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, tasty,” he purred once again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

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

Mostly, she felt clashed. Since she also realized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a good woman. 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 encourage her to accept the next walk-in.