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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she could and ought to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was just momentary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished to achieve 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 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 discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

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

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 could do this. She knew how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous 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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was good at following instructions. 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 be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “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 screen.

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

She didn’t feel delicious; she had not desired to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous.

However mostly, she felt contrasted. Since she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a great girl. Complete 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 cash in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.