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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.

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

To put it simply? Lucrative.

Offering yourself was legal here, to lower it to easy terms, although she didn’t realize that’s what she ‘d be doing the first day she walked in. She didn’t understand she ‘d end up being an item called Annika *, the name she gave to her brand-new work persona.

This pseudonym didn’t just protect her on paper– it protected her sense of self. She might detach, dissociate, disappear. Annika would do all the work while she saw from a safe distance, hoping each time she ‘d brought out her self-respect intact.

This was just short-lived, 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 pushed 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 sounded. She pushed the door available 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, when asked what she pictured finding there, she truthfully had no response. She ‘d come in for a club promo and modelling position; she ‘d known in an immediate that hallway didn’t lead to one.

Later on, when asked why she stayed 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 8 days. And she didn’t even have to fuck anyone.

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

” You look great,” he stated, deep blue eyes drinking in her exposed body. “Your underwear is really quite.”.

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

” So, let’s start? Don’t stress, I’ll walk 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. But this table (in addition to all the other ones here) had one strange 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 start with a back massage, great and simple.”.

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

His voice came smothered from below after a number of 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 very first brush of her fingertips.

” Oh, that’s ideal. I’m going to turn around 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 stunned.

” I’m gon na have you do a body slide. Take off your bra … yes … oh, you look tasty. Get on the table, that’s it, don’t hesitate. Put some oil on your chest. Simply slide all over me, there you go. Oh, child, that’s so hot …”.

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

” You can do the reverse slide. Remove your panties and climb up back up here. Show me that beautiful …” He should have seen the search her face, because he included, “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 somewhat, her intimate parts on complete display screen.

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

Yummy? Was that what she was? She didn’t feel tasty; she hadn’t wanted to be. Rather, she felt absurd, uncomfortable, even traitorous. A toy for guys with disposable earnings under the thinly veiled guise of “masseuse”.

Mainly, she felt conflicted. Since she also recognized how much power she held. This was a location where consumers paid for the benefit 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 much faster.

He gripped 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 sufficed to persuade her to accept the next walk-in.