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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task 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 anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her 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 enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to accomplish 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 sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look good,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, 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 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 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 might do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came stifled 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. Slowly. 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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was proficient at following directions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look delicious. Just move all over me, there you go.

Annika wriggled and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. 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 lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

Dealing with 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 lovely view, sweetie. Keep going.”.

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

But mostly, she felt clashed. Because she also realized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a good woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.

He grasped her thighs and released with one last sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.