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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, but they told her she might and need to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? 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 walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

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

On a cool September night 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 ad?”.

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

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it 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 put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, infant, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika wriggled and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already understood how to drive a man 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 lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous.

However primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

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