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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of individual services, but they told her she could and must pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just 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, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

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 ad?”.

The buzzer rang. She pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, 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 understood in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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 nice,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is really quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothing, 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 knew how to provide 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 in between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really 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 good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and squirmed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He must have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wished to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she likewise understood how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the advantage 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 took on a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped her thighs and launched 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.