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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of personal services, but they told her she might and need to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple 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 called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect undamaged.

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

The buzzer rang. 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 left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined finding there, she truthfully had no answer. 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 full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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

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

She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, however 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 appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd 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 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 might do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to complete 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 complied with. She was good at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

” 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 attractive …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika wriggled and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently understood how to drive a male insane. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He should have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t worry, I will not 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 screen.

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

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

Mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He gripped her thighs and released with one last sigh. And it was over.

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