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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 ought to pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.

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

This was just temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September evening 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 sounded. She pushed the door available 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 thought of finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that corridor didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she knew what it was about, 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 first consumer, 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 lingerie is truly 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 worry, I’ll stroll 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 distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He removed 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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient 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. Simply slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika twisted and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. She currently understood how to drive a man crazy. But there was one thing left to learn.

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt clashed. Because she also realized just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.