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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 ought to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

Simply put? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.

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

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening 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 pressed 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 on, when asked what she envisioned finding there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even need to fuck anybody.

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

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

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t stress, 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 peculiar distinction: 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, easy and great.”.

He eliminated 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 muffled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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

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

She obeyed. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” 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 wriggled and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She already knew how to drive a male insane. But there was one thing delegated find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on full display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for men with disposable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt clashed. Because she also recognized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.