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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she could and need to pass for more youthful.

So, 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 step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple 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 personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve thereafter.

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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door available to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she remained 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 need to fuck anyone.

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

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

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 begin? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, 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 some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, simple and good.”.

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 give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after numerous 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 best. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She shocked 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 winced, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a male insane. However there was something delegated find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I will not 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 full screen.

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

She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous.

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Because she also recognized how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity 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 released with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.