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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, but they informed her she could and should pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t recognize 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 safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 ad?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open 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 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 lead to one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 underwear is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not fret, I’ll stroll 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came smothered from below after numerous 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 really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She followed. She was good 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 delicious. Simply move all over me, there you go.

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

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a great woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.