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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic 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 become an item named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 sounded. She pushed the door open up 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 envisioned discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s begin? 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 product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the extremely 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 tasty. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently knew how to drive a male crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

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

” That’s an excellent girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

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