Every 200 years, a virgin is sacrificed to a powerful beast, for breeding.
In the previous years passed, no offspring has been produced. It is known that only the mate to the beast can give him a pup.
The community always selects the outcast virgin...
My mum was a whore, with no sense of shame. Dad...got mixed with merchants. Not that he was one himself, more like a servant who got himself a favour for a night.
My mum happened to spread her legs apart, at her most fertile moment. Herbal concoctions got wrong, and I showed up. Ruining her customers. Was told she'd curse every day, and fight for her rights.
She got none though.
She had to squeeze in with some butchery market, flaking hides off, till her water broke. Mum was back to the brothel, the instant I dropped out of her lady part.
I'd say her mouth was a hell of a truth pill, cause she never hid a single thing from me.
"I didn't plan for you, Cece," she'd say, in a sweet tone, reminding me of the nature of my birth.
"But now you're here, you'd better make it worth it."
Mum repeated those words, daily, ever since I could walk. The instant I became a teenager, I was used to seeing adults screwing in the weirdest of places. I knew the shade of mouth makeup that made men crazy. I also knew what scent and the kind of clothing you could wear to attract one.
Thanks to mum, of course.
She'd warn me to stay off from a multitude of men, though.
"They're soldiers, they'll die off." she'll tell me. "Have nothing to offer."
"Go for the bigger patrons. A chief who is bored of his wife? Some elder merchant with some gold? Anything not ordinary."
"What's it about these people?" I'd ask every day. "Why should I spend my time chasing these people, mum?"
"They'll get you out of your hell hole, Cece."
She'd smile saying. Her face, though, a little wrinkled from old age, yet, coated in makeup.
Mum never named me; you know. I took my name out of a brothel ad, and next thing, everyone started calling me that. Cicilia with Cece as the short form.
I was more after getting patrons, clients, merchants, as days went on. There were levels to the entire whorilistic thing, if that is a word.
The experienced whores who spread their legs literally, anywhere. The middle whores, with a fair game, not as good as the experienced. And, the novices, who were like new born.
The novices were mostly dancers who didn't have to spread their woman parts. In the brothel, you took what you gave in.
I did more of the dance for them, as I aged. My sticky and wimpy legs and entire body didn't get me what I needed though. There used to be this girl. Her name was Miranda, and she had everything I could wish for.
Mighty bosoms, an attractive face and well-taken care of, skin.
"Learn from me, Cece," she'd say, walking in glorious pride, swaying her hand fan like she owned the floor.
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