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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Successful.

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 understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she provided to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She could detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her dignity intact.

This was only short-lived, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wished to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night 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 rang. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway 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, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she honestly had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t result in one.

Later on, when asked why she remained a full week once she knew what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look good,” 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 possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.

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

In the middle of the room 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 second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He removed 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 could do this. She understood how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came smothered from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go 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 very 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 directions. 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 yummy. Just slide all over me, there you go.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and wriggled, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Show me that stunning …” He should have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t stress, I won’t 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 screen.

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

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

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she also understood just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a stranger.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It was enough to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.