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I even started taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common 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 woman in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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, mostly 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 guys 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 lady next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might speak with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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