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

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old sufficient to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Marketable to a wide variety of tastes.

Simply put? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

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

This was just temporary, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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 on, when asked what she imagined finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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Her very first client, a white male in his 40s, provided some much-needed on-the-job training.

” You look nice,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Do not worry, I’ll walk you through it.”.

In the middle of the space stood what looked like an ordinary 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 difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothing, 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 give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She complied with. She was good 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 tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, do not be afraid. Put some oil on your chest. Simply move all over me, there you go. Oh, baby, that’s so hot …”.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that gorgeous …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, because he added, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she hadn’t wanted to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for guys with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise realized how much power she held. This was a location where customers spent for the benefit of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent woman. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled 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 sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.