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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, however they informed her she might and need to pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, 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.

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

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

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish 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 pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she pictured discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange 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, simple and nice.”.

He eliminated 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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy.

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

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

She complied with. She was good 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 …”.

Annika writhed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “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, delicious,” he purred again. “It’s a beautiful view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

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

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.