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

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

In other words? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize 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 know she ‘d become a product named Annika *, the name she provided to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity undamaged.

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve afterwards.

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 sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later, when asked what she thought of discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anybody.

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Her first customer, a white male in his 40s, offered some much-needed on-the-job training.

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

She shivered under the blast of cooling, shivering in her four-inch heels, however maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

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

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the extremely 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 followed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Annika squirmed 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 up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He must have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uneasy, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Since she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

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

He gripped her thighs and launched with one last 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.