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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of individual services, but they told her she could and must pass for younger.

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

In other words? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce 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 called Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d come out with her self-respect undamaged.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to accomplish thereafter.

On a cool September evening in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 pressed 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 on, when asked what she imagined discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 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 said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get going? Don’t fret, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange distinction: a second 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, nice and simple.”.

He eliminated 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 knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came smothered from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the really first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient at following directions. She surprised when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so sexy …”.

Her mind was blank. Annika slid and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She currently knew how to drive a guy insane. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that stunning …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt ridiculous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mostly, she felt contrasted. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

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

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