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

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

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic 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 end up being a product called 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 separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect intact.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wished 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer called. 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 on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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Her very 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 begin? 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 product, with a hole at one end. But this table (together with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

He removed his clothes, 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 understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came muffled from listed below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy.

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He stiffened to full mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s best. 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. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

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

Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. 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 stunning …” He must have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous.

But mostly, she felt clashed. Due to the fact that she also understood 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 complete stranger.

” That’s a good girl. 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.