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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, however they told her she might and ought to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable 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 first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect undamaged.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 pressed the door available 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 discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s get started? Do not stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.

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

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

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from listed below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy.

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

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

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

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man crazy. However there was something left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, 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 screen.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

Mostly, she felt clashed. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a great girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.