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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Rewarding.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

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 viewed from a safe range, praying each time she had actually brought out her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right 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 honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even have 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 great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked 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 difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 could do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. 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 delicious. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

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

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

” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt absurd, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

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

” That’s a great lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving 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.