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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

To put it simply? Rewarding.

Offering yourself was legal here, to reduce it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it protected 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 accomplished and intended to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September evening 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 called. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no answer. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

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

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

” You look great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is truly pretty.”.

She shivered under the blast of air conditioning, trembling in her four-inch heels, but possibly it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s begin? Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked 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 distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 might do this. She understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from listed below after numerous minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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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 playing with me.”.

She complied with. She was good at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

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

Annika winced and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. 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 needs to have seen the search her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Dealing with toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mostly, she felt conflicted. Since she also recognized how much power she held. This was a place where clients spent for the benefit 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 faster.

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

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