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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 ad?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway 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 on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika squirmed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently understood how to drive a guy crazy. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He must have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt absurd, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive 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 grasped her thighs and launched 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.