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She was 27 the day she accepted her very 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 ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.

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

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open up 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 on, when asked what she imagined finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she knew 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 have to fuck anybody.

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

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

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared 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 peculiar distinction: 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 begin with a back massage, good and simple.”.

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned 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 good.” His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete 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 playing 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 tasty. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already understood how to drive a guy insane. But there was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the search her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, 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 display screen.

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

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

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a good girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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.