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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months already, and I 'd misplaced how many guys I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way 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. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised the number of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who liked me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could speak to him, inform 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 house and see my real papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two 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 daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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