Professional Girlfriend

Pretty face, nice rack, nice ass. What more can you want? I happened to have been born like that, but I grew up the only daughter of a single mother in a trailer park. When I was seven I was discovered by a photographer looking for clothes models for JC Penney's and Sears. I liked the pantie and training bra pictures the best.

Puberty ruined that, pimples, awkward legs, chest that was too big for my frame. It wasn't until I was in college that I grew into my tits and ass, and my woman face worked with my woman body. But I wasn't photogenic. After college I went to work for Brand X in a customer relationship role. And that's where I met Mr. Moneypants.

I did not ask for the money, I mean the car. It was a loan, use it and here's a card for the gas. What about the diamond studs for my birthday, or the trip to Cancun with my sorority sisters. The debit card, the use of the apartment in the high rise overlooking the river. By the time I woke up beside him and began to realize the mess I was in it was too late. I had sold my soul to the Devil.

I'm not a whore. I'm a girlfriend. I don't love him, I don't dislike him. Sex is part of the job. I'm eye candy, arm candy, a cutie, a piece of ass. I don't have a plan for the future, I get paid too much to change jobs, I can't afford my lifestyle, I don't know if I would have to return the j*welry. I'm stuck, the job is fine, I'm protected. The sex is expected, I can do it. It's just not fun.