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I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do. I had not been a little lady in a long time. I just worked three or four nights a week anyhow, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly afraid someone would see me entering a odd car, a various strange car whenever, and wonder what was going on.

Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things 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 actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly 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 enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.

I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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