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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of individual services, but they told her she could and ought to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish 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 called. She pushed the door available to a long narrow hallway 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, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill 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 peculiar 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, simple and great.”.

He removed his clothes, 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 knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered 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 really 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 followed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She already understood how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He must 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 just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s an excellent girl. 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.