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I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised how numerous men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. However that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to really like these people for an hour or more. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, just a girl, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, however that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and live with them. But 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 since I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could speak with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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