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I even began taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do. I had not been a little woman in a very long time though. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.

Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a female, simply a lady, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.

The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring 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 lady next door possibly.

I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. 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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