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

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

Simply put? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she viewed from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually brought out her self-respect intact.

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pressed 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 sounded. She pressed the door open to a long narrow corridor lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right 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 answer. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that corridor didn’t cause one.

Later, when asked why she stayed a full week once she understood what it had to do with, her reply came easily:.

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

” Yeah, that’s good.” His voice came stifled from below after several 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 full 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 playing with me.”.

She complied with. She was proficient at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and writhed, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already knew how to drive a guy insane. But there was something delegated find out.

” 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 worry, I will not touch you there.”.

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

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

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

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

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

He grasped her thighs and launched 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.