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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

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 understand she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she offered to her brand-new work personality.

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

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished 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 rang. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “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 known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not fret, I’ll stroll 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 (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second 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, easy and great.”.

He removed 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 might do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to complete mast at the extremely 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 followed. She was good at following directions. 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. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Annika agonized and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. 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 should have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

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

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