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

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 (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

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

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to accomplish thereafter.

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 ad?”.

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

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to 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, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really 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 going? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However 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 a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, easy 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 could do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

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

She complied with. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she stunned.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Just slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika agonized and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a man insane. However there was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

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

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she also realized how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s an excellent woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving faster.

He gripped her thighs and released 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.