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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the world of personal services, but they told her she could and need to pass for younger.

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

In other words? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to decrease it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d become a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. 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 only temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended to accomplish afterwards.

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 called. She pressed 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, when asked what she envisioned discovering there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is actually pretty.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space stood what looked like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black material, with a hole at one end. However this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

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 might do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from below after a number of minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, don’t be shy. Gradually. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to complete mast at the very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s best. I’m going to turn around now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she startled.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal impulses take control of. She already knew how to drive a man insane. There was one thing left to find out.

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

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

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for males with non reusable earnings under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

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

” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

He grasped her thighs and released with one final sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 money in her hand. It sufficed to encourage her to accept the next walk-in.