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

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

To put it simply? Profitable.

Offering yourself was legal here, to minimize it to easy terms, although she didn’t recognize 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 provided to her brand-new work persona.

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

This was only temporary, she informed herself. This didn’t define her, didn’t negate all she ‘d accomplished and intended 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 ad?”.

The buzzer sounded. She pushed the door open to a long narrow corridor 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 imagined finding there, she honestly had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promotion and modelling position; she ‘d understood in an instant that hallway didn’t lead to one.

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

” For the money, of course.”.

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

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Her very first consumer, a white male in his 40s, supplied some much-needed on-the-job training.

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

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

” So, let’s get started? Don’t worry, I’ll stroll 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 strange distinction: a second hole, right where one’s lower upper body would line up.

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

He eliminated his clothes, all of it, and laid face down on the table.

Annika positioned her hands gingerly on his shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. She understood how to offer a back massage, no problem.

” Yeah, that’s excellent.” 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. Gradually. Yes, easily …”.

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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 reverse now. You can massage my chest and keep playing with me.”.

She followed. She was good at following directions. When he tapped her wrist, she shocked.

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

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Take off your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He needs to have seen the look on her face, since 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 full display screen.

” Oh, yummy,” he purred once again. “It’s a lovely view, sweetheart. Keep going.”.

She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t desired to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uneasy, even traitorous.

Mostly, she felt contrasted. Because she also understood how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the advantage of putting their most sensitive parts into the hands of a complete stranger, after all.

” That’s a great lady. Finish me off,” he gasped. Her hands took on a life of their own, moving 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 sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.