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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first task in the world of individual services, however they informed her she could and need to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 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 ideal wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

Later on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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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 said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not fret, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, 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 upper body would line up.

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

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 provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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

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

She followed. She was good at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. 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 beautiful …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t stress, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on full display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt absurd, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Since she also recognized just 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.

” That’s a good lady. 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.