I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if...I had common sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.I only worked three or four nights a week anyway, since I had to be home by 9pm on. "Paul, listen, I got a call from Elliot Horowitz, from the Braves. Now -- don't get too excited, because I know the Braves are already set for the season. They don't need anybody, on radio or on TV. But Horowitz asked about you, and I agreed that you'd give him a direct callback. Can you do that?" Yeah. But next Monday morning, Lois is going back into the hospital, and I'm not leaving here after that." Call him. See what he says." OK." Mr. Horowitz? Paul Elias. I spoke to my agent, Powell. “You utter shit.”My contracting pussy sets him off, and he starts to fuck me more violently as he shudders and groans. I feel his cock start to twitch as a warmness enters me as he cums.“Don’t,” I moan, “don’t cum in my pussy.” But it’s already done and I lay limp. He pumps his cock in me, milking the last of the cum out.I lie there, shattered, cum and blood dripping out of my freshly raped pussy as he lifts me up and moves me over, pushing me down onto my back on the cushions. I keep hold of. This was a mistake, Nicky boy. A big mistake. ‘I thought you might like to know what the letter said, the one we found at the apartment, you know, the case we’re working on.’ No, that wasn’t bitterness or sarcasm in his voice. He didn’t sound cynical. ‘You didn’t call me back today after you left the scene.’ He walked over to the door, opened the screen and picked up the bag of Chinese that he had dropped. The little white boxes it was packed in had kept it from spilling. He brought it over and.