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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of personal services, however they told her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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 pictured finding there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete 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 complied with. She was proficient at following directions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika slid and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the search her face, because 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 a little, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.