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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple 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 named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve thereafter.

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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer called. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “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 promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it was about, 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 consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

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

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and simple.”.

He eliminated his clothes, 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.

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

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

She complied with. She was proficient 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. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika writhed and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a man crazy. But there was something left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the search her face, since he added, “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 a little, her intimate parts on full display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A toy for men with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt clashed. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a great girl. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving faster.

He grasped her thighs and launched with one last 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.