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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, but they informed her she could and ought to pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded 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 had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to achieve 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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Her very first customer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t stress, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary 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 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, 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from listed 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 best. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

” 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.

Annika moved and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He should have seen the look on her face, since he included, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

Facing 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, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous.

Mostly, she felt clashed. Because she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s an excellent woman. 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.