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I even began taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the method of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could actually charge more, especially if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many people I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd marvel how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the pointers that actually flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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