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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world 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 ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was only short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night 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 pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: 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 start with a back massage, nice and easy.”.

He eliminated his clothes, 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.

His voice came muffled from below after several 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 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 proficient at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika slid and winced, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where clients spent for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He grasped 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.