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

That week, she was 22 to anyone who asked. It was the perfect age, you see: old adequate to drink, likely a university graduate (showing some measure of intelligence and conversational capability), but still young, flexible, and preferable. Valuable to a large range of tastes.

Simply put? Successful.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to simple terms, although she didn’t understand that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being a product named Annika *, the name she gave to her new work persona.

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

This was just short-term, she informed herself. This didn’t specify her, didn’t negate all she ‘d achieved 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 advertisement?”.

The buzzer rang. She pushed the door open up to a long narrow hallway lit with strips of multicolour LED lights; floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined the best 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 known in an immediate that corridor didn’t lead to one.

Later, when asked why she remained a complete week once she knew what it had to do with, her reply came quickly:.

” For the cash, naturally.”.

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

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

” You look good,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your lingerie is actually quite.”.

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

” So, let’s begin? Do not stress, I’ll stroll you through it.”.

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

” Grab a few of the oil. Warm it in 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 could do this. She understood how to provide a back massage, no problem.

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

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

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

She obeyed. She was good at following directions. She stunned when he tapped her wrist.

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

Her mind was blank. Annika moved and twisted, skin on skin, letting her primal instincts take control of. She already understood how to drive a man crazy. However 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 lovely …” He needs to have seen the search her face, since 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 somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel delicious; she had not wished to be. Instead, she felt ludicrous, self-conscious, even traitorous. A plaything for men with non reusable income under the very finely veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Primarily, she felt contrasted. Because she likewise understood just how much power she held. This was a location where clients paid for the privilege of putting their most delicate parts into the hands of a stranger.

” That’s a great woman. Complete me off,” he gasped. Her hands handled a life of their own, moving much faster.

He gripped her thighs and released 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.