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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the realm of individual services, but they informed her she might and must pass for younger.

That week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (suggesting some procedure of intelligence and conversational ability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

To put it simply? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower 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 a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it safeguarded 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 self-respect intact.

This was only short-term, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to accomplish 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pressed the door open 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 on, when asked what she pictured discovering there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look nice,” he stated, 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, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

” So, let’s get started? Do not stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

In the middle of the room stood what looked 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 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, good 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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came stifled from below after numerous 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 complete mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

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

She followed. She was proficient at following instructions. She shocked when he tapped her wrist.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika winced and slid, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. She already knew how to drive a man crazy. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the look on her face, due to the fact that he added, “Don’t fret, I will not touch you there.”.

Facing toward 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, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, uneasy, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But mainly, she felt clashed. Because she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a location where customers spent for the advantage of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

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

He gripped her thighs and released with one last sigh. And it was over.

At the end of those 45 minutes, she had $110 cash in her hand. It was enough to convince her to accept the next walk-in.