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I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the method 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 girl in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.

Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.

The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 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, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.

I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his wife. 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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