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

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

To put it simply? Profitable.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she strolled in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe distance, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity undamaged.

This was only short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and hoped 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 sounded. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best wall, closed doors lined the left. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

Later, when asked why she stayed a complete week once she understood what it was about, her reply came easily:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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Her very 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 lingerie is really pretty.”.

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

” So, let’s begin? Don’t fret, I’ll walk 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. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd 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 begin with a back massage, great and simple.”.

He removed his clothes, 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.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from below after a number of 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 very 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. 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 yummy. Just slide all over me, there you go.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that beautiful …” He needs to have seen the search her face, since he included, “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous.

Primarily, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood just how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the benefit of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a great girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving much faster.

He grasped 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 convince her to accept the next walk-in.