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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job 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 sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called 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 remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to achieve thereafter.

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 rang. She pushed 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 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 known 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 had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anyone.

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

” You look good,” he stated, 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, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Do not 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. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

Annika placed 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 smothered from listed below after several 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 very 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 obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

” 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, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. 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 gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on complete screen.

” Oh, yummy,” 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 wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for males with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a good woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.