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I even began taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of typical sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way 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. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, however that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't harming anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me would not hurt 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 desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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