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She was 27 the day she accepted her very first job in the realm of personal services, however they informed her she could and should pass for younger.

So, that week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the ideal age, you see: old enough to consume, likely a university graduate (suggesting some measure of intelligence and conversational ability), however still young, supple, and preferable. Marketable to a wide range of tastes.

In other words? Lucrative.

Selling yourself was legal here, to reduce it to basic terms, although she didn’t realize 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 provided to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t only protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She could remove, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she enjoyed from a safe range, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted to achieve afterwards.

On a cool September night in Melbourne, Australia, not-yet-Annika pushed 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 pushed the door open to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the right wall, closed doors lined the. “Come down to the end,” called the voice.

She did.

Later on, when asked what she thought of finding there, she truthfully had no answer. 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 on, when asked why she stayed a full week once she knew what it was about, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, of course.”.

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

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Her very first client, a white male in his 40s, supplied 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 air conditioning, shivering in her four-inch heels, but maybe it was something else. “Thank you.”.

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

In the middle of the space stood what appeared like a run-of-the-mill massage table, upholstered in a cushioned black product, with a hole at one end. But this table (along with all the other ones here) had one peculiar difference: a second 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 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 could do this. She knew how to give a back massage, no problem.

His voice came smothered from below after several minutes. Massage my legs and move up to my ass. Reach between my legs, don’t be shy.

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He stiffened to complete 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 having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was proficient 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. Just slide all over me, there you go.

Annika slid 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. Show me that stunning …” He needs to have seen the search 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 just so, her back arched ever so slightly, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she had not wanted to be. Instead, she felt outrageous, awkward, even traitorous. A plaything for men with disposable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

But primarily, she felt conflicted. Due to the fact that she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a place where consumers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a great girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving 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 sufficed to convince her to accept the next walk-in.