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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of individual services, but they informed her she might and should pass for younger.

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

Simply put? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted 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 called. 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 on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her very first client, 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 underwear is really pretty.”.

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

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

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following directions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, since 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 somewhat, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

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

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He grasped her thighs and launched 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.