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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, 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 first customer, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look nice,” 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 perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s start? Don’t stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and simple.”.

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

His voice came smothered 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 extremely 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 complied with. She was proficient at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika moved and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. 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 gorgeous …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, since he added, “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 full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt clashed. Since she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He gripped 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.