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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, but they informed her she might and should pass for younger.

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

Simply put? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect 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 range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped 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 sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, 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 understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in 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 cash, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second 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, nice and easy.”.

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

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

His voice came stifled from listed below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely 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 complied with. She was proficient 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. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so hot …”.

Annika squirmed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to discover.

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

Facing 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, tasty,” he purred again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Since she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers 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 handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

He gripped her thighs and released with one last 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.