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

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some step of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Valuable to a wide variety of tastes.

In other words? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy 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 named Annika *, the name she provided to her brand-new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just safeguard her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might remove, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe distance, praying each time she had actually brought out her dignity intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended to achieve thereafter.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 ad?”.

The buzzer rang. She pressed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the ideal wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in eight 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 nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not stress, 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. 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 a few of the oil. Warm it in between your hands. We’ll start with a back massage, great and easy.”.

He removed his clothing, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned 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.

His voice came stifled from below after numerous minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t 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 proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove your bra … yes … oh, you look yummy. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Just move all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so sexy …”.

Annika writhed and moved, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to discover.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t stress, I will not 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 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 delicious; she had not wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for guys with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However mainly, she felt clashed. Since she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He gripped 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.