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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand 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 named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood 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 anybody.

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

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

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not stress, 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. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange 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, good and easy.”.

He eliminated his clothing, 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 provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from below after a number of 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 perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika slid and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she had not desired to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a great woman. Complete 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.