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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, however they told her she could and need to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Valuable 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 recognize 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 offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to accomplish afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 rang. She pressed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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 on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. 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 on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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Her very first consumer, 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 underwear is really quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: 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, nice and easy.”.

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 knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika moved and agonized, 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 stunning …” He should have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt clashed. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the advantage 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 took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped 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 sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.