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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.

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

On a cool September evening 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 rang. She pushed the door available 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 finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 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 start with a back massage, nice and simple.”.

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

Annika put 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.

His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.

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

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

She complied with. She was good at following directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Just slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already understood how to drive a man crazy. However there was something left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous.

However primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers spent for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a great woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.