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I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly 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 in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.

Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore 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 primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.

The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I was in love with my daddy. That had actually changed too and I don't know if one thing had to do with the other exactly, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.

I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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