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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 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, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood 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 first consumer, 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 underwear is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t fret, 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 product, with a hole at one end. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a second 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, simple and great.”.

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

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

His voice came stifled 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 complete mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. 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 yummy. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also realized how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a great lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled 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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.