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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of individual services, but they told her she might and need to pass for more youthful.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to drink, likely a university graduate (indicating some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), however still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

Selling yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy 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 become a product called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only secure her on paper– it safeguarded her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d come out with her dignity undamaged.

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

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 rang. She pushed 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. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she imagined 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 hallway didn’t result in one.

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

” For the money, naturally.”.

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

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Her first consumer, 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 lingerie is truly quite.”.

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

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

In the middle of the room stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. This table (along with all the other ones here) had one strange difference: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

” Grab some of the oil. Warm it between your hands. We’ll begin with a back massage, good 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 provide a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from below after a number of minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not 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 having fun with me.”.

She followed. She was good at following instructions. She startled when he tapped her wrist.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off 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, baby, that’s so attractive …”.

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

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

Facing towards his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt outrageous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she likewise realized just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger, after all.

” That’s an excellent lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on 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 was enough to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.