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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone 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 preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

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

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 sounded. 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. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” 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, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually 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 going? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room 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 difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

Annika placed her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full 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 obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I will not 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 full display screen.

” Oh, delicious,” he purred once again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

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

But mainly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she also realized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped her thighs and released with one final 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.