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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she had actually come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 available to a long narrow corridor 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 finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she remained a full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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Her very first client, 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 truly pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not worry, 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 material, with a hole at one end. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

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

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the very 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 obeyed. 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. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already 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. Show me that lovely …” He must have seen the look on her face, because 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 again. “It’s a gorgeous view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt contrasted. Since she likewise recognized how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.