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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method 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 thought was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the suggestions that truly flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 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 more secure that way. Like a man who loved me wouldn't harm me, you know? I was in love with my daddy. That had actually changed too and I don't know if one thing pertained to the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me in the beginning, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak 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 trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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