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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, however they informed her she might and must pass for younger.

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

In other words? Rewarding.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed the call button beside 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 called. She pushed the door available 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 on, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later on, 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 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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

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

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

” So, let’s get going? Do not worry, I’ll walk 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. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika placed 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.

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

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

” Oh, that’s ideal. 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. 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 tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so attractive …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy crazy. 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 beautiful …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t stress, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Due to the fact that she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched 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 encourage her to accept the next walk-in.