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I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Method too much 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 extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't harm me, you know? I loved my daddy. That had altered too and I don't know if one thing pertained to the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe. However a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And someplace, in some way along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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