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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door available to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

Later on, when asked why she remained 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 have to fuck anyone.

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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 lingerie is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not worry, 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. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

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

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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 reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika agonized and moved, 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 up back up here. Show me that lovely …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

Mostly, she felt conflicted. Since she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the advantage 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 grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.