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She was 27 the day she accepted her first task in the world of individual services, but they told her she might and should pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anybody who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (indicating some procedure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, supple, and desirable. Marketable to a vast array of tastes.

In other words? Successful.

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

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, hoping each time she had actually come out with her dignity intact.

This was just short-lived, she told herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and intended 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. 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 on, 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 understood in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later on, 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 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 good,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is truly quite.”.

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t stress, I’ll stroll 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 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 upper body would line up.

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

He removed 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 might do this. She knew how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” His voice came stifled from listed below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy. Slowly. Yes, just like that …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the really 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 obeyed. She was good at following instructions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Remove 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, child, that’s so hot …”.

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

” 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 search her face, due to the fact that he included, “Don’t fret, I won’t touch you there.”.

Facing toward his feet she straddled him and leaned forward just so, her back arched ever so a little, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

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

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

” That’s a great 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 final sigh. And it was over.

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