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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, flexible, and desirable. Valuable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to decrease it to simple 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 offered to her brand-new work personality.

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

This was just momentary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and hoped to achieve thereafter.

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

The buzzer rang. She pressed 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. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

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

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

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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Her first client, 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 underwear is actually quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what looked like an ordinary massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. However this table (together 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, nice and simple.”.

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 offer a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in 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 playing with me.”.

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

” 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, infant, that’s so attractive …”.

Annika twisted and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that gorgeous …” He must have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t 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 complete display 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 wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mostly, she felt conflicted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He grasped her thighs and launched 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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.