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I even began taking the cash, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do. I had not been a little woman in a long time though. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the guy 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 truly like it.

I 'd been doing it for nearly two months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way excessive 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. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd marvel the number of men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the ideas that truly flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk 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 given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes 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 loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me would not harm me, you understand? I loved my father. That had changed too and I do not know if something pertained to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me in the beginning, but then it didn't and I began liking it.

I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I could talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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