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She was 27 the day she accepted her first job in the realm of individual services, however they told her she could and need to pass for more youthful.

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy 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 become an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only safeguard her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect undamaged.

This was only momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed 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 left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

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

” For the cash, obviously.”.

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

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Her first consumer, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

She shivered under the blast of a/c, shivering in her four-inch heels, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second 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, easy and great.”.

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

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

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

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He stiffened to complete mast at the very 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 complied with. She was good at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika slid and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. 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 lovely …” He must have seen the search her face, because he included, “Don’t stress, 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 screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also realized just how much power she held. This was a place where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s a good lady. Complete 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 sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.