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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task 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 anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September evening 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 pressed the door available to a long narrow hallway 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 thought of finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

His voice came smothered from below after numerous 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 really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She obeyed. She was good 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 delicious. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She currently understood how to drive a male crazy. 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 gorgeous …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mostly, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she also realized how much power she held. This was a location where consumers spent for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He gripped 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.