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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the world of personal services, however they informed her she could and must pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

To put it simply? Profitable.

Offering 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 walked in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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 imagined 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 hallway didn’t result in one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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

” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really 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 begin? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what appeared 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 strange difference: 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 start with a back massage, easy and good.”.

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

Annika put her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She might do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from listed below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy.

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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 turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika slid and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He must have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mostly, she felt contrasted. Since she also realized just 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, after all.

” That’s a good woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much 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 money in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.