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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some step of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her dignity undamaged.

This was just short-term, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish afterwards.

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 corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no response. 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 on, when asked why she remained a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight days. And she didn’t even need 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 great,” 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, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Do not fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what looked 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 peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He removed 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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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

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

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Just move all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika twisted and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already understood how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to find out.

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

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

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

She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous.

But mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

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

He gripped her thighs and released with one final 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.