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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 could and ought to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just protect 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 range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her dignity undamaged.

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

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer called. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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 truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant 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, of course.”.

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

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

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

She shivered under the blast of cooling, trembling in her four-inch heels, but 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 looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a second 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, simple and great.”.

He removed 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 provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to full mast at the very 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 obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. 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 yummy. Just move all over me, there you go.

Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

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

Mostly, she felt clashed. Since she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped 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 sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.