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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 could and need to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Offering 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 become an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her dignity undamaged.

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

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 advertisement?”.

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

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s start? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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

His voice came stifled from listed below after numerous minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach 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 perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She complied with. She was good at following directions. She surprised 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 slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She currently knew how to drive a guy crazy. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the search her face, since he added, “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, yummy,” he purred again. “It’s a stunning view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for males with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However primarily, she felt contrasted. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a great girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.