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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

This was only temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish afterwards.

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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door available to a long narrow corridor 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 pictured discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t result in 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 have to fuck anybody.

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Her first client, 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 quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t fret, 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. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, good and easy.”.

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 offer a back massage, no problem.

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

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

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

She obeyed. She was good 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 tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already understood how to drive a man crazy. However there was something delegated discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a good woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

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

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