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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she could and must pass for younger.

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

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic 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 become a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

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

This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she pictured discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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Her very 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 underwear is actually pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, trembling in her four-inch heels, however perhaps it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s begin? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

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

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

He eliminated his clothes, 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 understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled 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 complete mast at the very 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 followed. She was proficient at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika squirmed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently understood how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

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

But mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He grasped her thighs and launched 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 encourage her to accept the next walk-in.