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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, however they informed her she could and should pass for younger.

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

Simply put? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just 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 ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve 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 ad?”.

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 right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later on, 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 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.

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

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really quite.”.

She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get going? Don’t fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange 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 start with a back massage, easy and good.”.

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

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

His voice came stifled from listed below after several 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 best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Just slide 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 find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a location where customers spent for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving faster.

He gripped 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 was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.