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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 could and ought to pass for more youthful.

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

Simply put? Rewarding.

Selling yourself was legal here, to lower it to basic terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the very first day she strolled in. She didn’t know she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she offered to her new work personality.

This pseudonym didn’t just secure her on paper– it secured her sense of self. She could separate, dissociate, vanish. Annika would do all the work while she watched from a safe range, praying each time she ‘d brought out her dignity intact.

This was only temporary, she told herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved and wanted 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 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 pictured finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t cause one.

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

” For the money, obviously.”.

Annika made over $7,500 in 8 days. And she didn’t even have 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 great,” he said, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually pretty.”.

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

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

In the middle of the space 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 peculiar distinction: a 2nd hole, right where one’s lower torso would line up.

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

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 understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s great.” His voice came muffled from below after several minutes. “Now tease me. Massage my legs and go up to my ass. Reach in between my legs, do not be shy. Slowly. Yes, easily …”.

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He stiffened to full mast at the extremely first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s perfect. I’m going to reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep having fun with me.”.

She obeyed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she surprised.

” 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.

Annika slid and agonized, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take over. There was one thing left to learn.

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb back up here. Program me that lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, since he added, “Don’t fret, 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 full screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel yummy; she hadn’t wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for males with disposable income under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

However primarily, she felt clashed. Because she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a place where customers paid for the opportunity of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a complete stranger.

” That’s a good girl. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving quicker.

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 persuade her to accept the next walk-in.