Eyes Wide Open

I am a daughter of a Whore

My name is Tia. I am eighteen. I work at a convenience store in the suburbs of Vegas. My mother is a sex worker, a prostitute, and a whore. I am a product of her eventual rape and enslavement in the sex trade. I never understood why people called my mom such nasty things.

Mom never brought her "work" home. I had never been exposed to her clients, the "Johns." The people in our town knew about Mom and her profession. Even though she never plied her trade in town.

Mom worked in Las Vegas. "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" is bullshit! Mom always told me she worked at the casinos. I didn't know she worked on her back, allowing men to use her body as a dump for their sperm.

Mom is still a hot-looking woman for her age. A well-proportioned natural blonde with a fuck-me-looking ass. I never knew my father. He's now doing life in an Arizona prison for killing a man. My father is a black man who befriended my mom when she was a young adult and naive. He got her drunk and stoned at one of his house parties, and she woke up the next morning with him rutting in her like an animal.

He knocked her up with a child, me. I'm a small, demure copy of my mom. Except for my very light, almost white skin. I have been blessed with a very ample-sized chest and booty.

Guys are always hitting on me. Often asking if I'm in the family business. I didn't understand what they were saying. Like I said, Mom kept her real trade a closely guarded secret. We moved quite a bit. It seems that after a while, one of Mom's "clients" would find us and our home.

I never lacked the attention of the male species. It seemed as though I had a magnet that attracted them. I eventually learned who or what my mother was. I was shocked and devastated. I was angry and hurt. I called her all the nastiest names I could muster up.

She was hurt. I saw her hurt for the first time. No, not physically, but deeply in her soul. It struck me hard. I knew I hurt her worse than any "John" ever did. Yes, I saw her bruises over the years. She always had an excuse. She was clumsy, etcetera.

This was the day Mom told me the entire story--her story. My story. By the time she was done explaining everything to me, I was crying and holding my mom.

Yes, she is a whore, a prostitute, but she always does right by and for me. Now I understand. Mom is proud of me and herself. She made a life for us out of a nasty situation. She raised and provided for me while protecting me from the ugly truth.

We always lived in nice homes and had nice clothes and good food. But now, I have a mental image of my mom laying on her back as random men stuff their penises into her and dumping sperm into her like a cum bucket.

I'm not stupid or naive; I suspected that my mom slept with men a lot. I never thought it was about or for money. After we had our moment of confrontation, we clung to each other in silence as we both wept. Mom whispered softly as she told me that she knew the day would come when I would find out, and she always dreaded it.

I apologized to her and asked her to tell me more. She asked me if I thought I was ready to hear the ugly truth about the life of a sex worker. A sex worker--that is how she regarded herself.

I knew that the sex trade was as old as mankind. I knew about Mary Madeline and the stories in the Bible. I knew about Sodom and Gomorrah. But I thought they were stories of what happened to others. Not my mom, and certainly not me.

I have always been a bit inquisitive when it came to my sexuality. My vagina always itched and was often wet. I had my first orgasm when I was drying off after a shower and got scared. I curiously put my fingers into my slit, rubbed my clitoris, and experienced another orgasm.

After that day, I masturbated daily. Sometimes all evening while mom was working. I'd be talking to one of my friends and stroking my clitoris until I was ready to pop. I would make an excuse to get off the phone and then gush with my release.

I'm still a technical virgin. I mean, I never had sex with anyone. I diddled myself, but that doesn't count. Does it? This recent revelation of my mom's real line of work is an eye-opener. I now imagine men laying on top of me as they must on my mom and plundering my vagina as I stroke my clitoris until I cream my underwear.

I really have to know. I have to know more about Mom's life and her work. I'm going to ask her. I'm going to insist on knowing things. Everything!

Mom always gets home in the wee hours of the morning. Occasionally, she stays out until mid-day. This morning, she came home at the usual time and went to her room. I heard her shower and fell asleep.

I got up at my regular time and peeked in on Mom. She was breathing softly, dressed in a babydoll nightie. It was comfortably warm, and she was lying prone on her back. As I looked her over, I realized she didn't wear any underwear.

I was shocked to see my mom's vagina. It was completely devoid of any trace of pubic hair. I trim mine. I trim my pubes to keep them from sticking out of my bikini bottoms. I never thought of totally removing them.

Wow! My vagina was getting itchy. I backed up and closed Mom's door and went to my room, where I stripped off my underwear and laid out a towel to lay on as I plunged my fingers into the furrow of my itching vagina. I stroked my clitoris furiously until I squirted my girl cream all over the towel. The whole time, I was imagining a man's penis plundering my mom's hairless vagina.

I looked at the time and got out of bed, quickly cleaned myself, put on some clothes, and left for work at a local convenience store. After work, I went home to find mom in the kitchen. I sat at the table with a glass of iced tea and looked at Mom.

As a woman on the down hill side heading to forty, she still looked hot. She kept herself in good shape. When she wasn't working, she was at a local gym, staying trim and fit. Hell If I were a man, I'd fuck the hell out of her.

I wanted to know more, so I blurted out, "Mom, how did you get into prostitution?" Mom looked at me and sat down. She then said, "I was young barely an adult and naive; your father was my first man, and he got into trouble with a local thug who said he would forgive his debt if he told me to have sex with him."

Mom went on to tell me how she refused and fought with my father, but eventually gave in to him and fucked the thug. The thug wasn't happy with having her to himself. He fucked her three times, then left his three top guys to fuck her too. After that, he told her she either fucked guys for cash or he would turn me into a junkie whore, and I would then fuck for my fix.

Mom continued, and when your father found out, he tracked him down and put a bullet in his head.

I sat there, riveted by her story. I asked her the question that was going through my mind. "Mom, so who is my real father?"

Mom looked at me and said, "I'm not certain, but I believe it is James."

James is the man sitting in prison for the murder of the thug who forced my mom into life as a prostitute.

Mom didn't have many choices being pregnant and alone at the time. Prostitution became the easiest way for her to survive. She hooked up with some influential men who provided her with a supply of men. Mostly well-to-do and family men who had good lives and didn't need negative attention to ruin their lives.

She said she got lucky. After I was born, she worked hard at trimming up and losing the baby flab.

I'm not ignorant of sexual acts. Girls talk, and I listen. I may be a virgin at intercourse, but I have seen a few "X"-rated DVDs. So I kept asking Mom about the different acts she performed and listened intently as she described swallowing men's cocks and sperm. How she had men's cocks in her asshole and "cunt," as she described it, and the feelings involved

Mom looked at me and asked, Are you having sex with people?

I looked down at the table with embarrassment and softly said, "No, Mom."

Mom reached over, took my hand in hers, and said, It's okay Tia; wait until you are ready."

I swallowed a lump in my chest and blurted out, "Mom, I want to fuck men like you."

Mom looked at me, shocked. She said, "You don't know what you are saying."

I responded, "Yes, Mom, I do."

She said, "You can't be serious."

I looked up and said, "Why not?" I know the stigma of being a prostitute, and I've heard the things people have said about you over the years. You have always provided for me, and who would be better than you to guide me into this life?

Mom said, "You have no idea," and left the room.

I have read case studies of women in the sex trade. I know that most people are forced into it, like my mom. I know that most become dependent on substances to get through their lives.

Mom is the exception. I know she can show me the ropes, as they say.

An hour later, Mom came out of her room and said, "Tia, are you a virgin?"

I replied, "Yes"

She then said, "So no one ever tore your hymen?"

"No Mom."

Then she said, "I have to get ready to go to work."

Mom never dressed trashy. She was the pinnacle of a fashionable, classy-dressed woman. She always bought me the most fashionable clothes as a kid.

The next day, I finished my shift and went home to find her in the kitchen having a coffee. She looked up as I entered the room and bluntly said, "Strip!"

I looked at her, shocked.

She said, "Strip, bitch!"

Then she said this was not a glamorous business. If you want to do this, get used to men and women demanding things. They aren't nice about it either, so if you want to be a whore, like your momma, then strip out of those now.

I was still in a state of shock. Mom had never spoken this way before. Honestly, she rarely ever cursed that I could remember.

She said, "Now!"

I unbuttoned my work shirt and wiggled out of the black dress slacks we had to wear. I had on a full-cup bra and white French-cut underwear.

Mom looked me over and said, "We'll have to get you more appealing undergarments."

Then she said, "Off with them as well."

I reached back and deftly unhooked my bra and let it slip from my chest to expose my 34" C-cup breasts.

Mom said, "Nice tits, now the underwear."

I turned red with embarrassment as I hooked my thumbs into my underwear and bent over to pull them down, stepping out of them and standing up straight. I felt embarrassed. I haven't been naked in front of my mom for years.

Mom looked me over and said, "Nice!" Then she asked, "Are you uncomfortable being naked in front of me"?

I nodded yes.

She said, "That will pass; whores live by their bodies."

I looked at Mom and asked, "Can I get dressed now?"

She said, "No, you have to get comfortable with your skin, so you will spend every moment in this house naked." You will also shave all traces of hair off your cunt. You don't want traces of a man on or in you when you serve another man.

"But I'm afraid I might cut myself."

Mom said, "Go take a shower and call out to me when you are done."

I picked up my clothes and went to my room. I went into the bathroom and showered, then called out for mom.

She instructed me to lay on my bed with a towel under me, and she got a basin of warm water and the shaving gear. She took scissors and trimmed my pubes very close to my skin. I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up on my face again.

Mom hadn't seen me naked in ten years, and now she was looking directly at my naked vagina, spread open to her gaze. She lathered me up, and using deft strokes, she removed the last traces of pubic hair from my mound and vaginal lips.

I looked down at myself, touched my mound, and thought, I'm as smooth as silk.

I spent the next week constantly naked in the house. I also shaved my now-denuded vagina. Well, my pussy, my cunt. Mom said I can no longer refer to my sex as a vagina. Clients call it a pussy or a cunt.

After about a month of talking to my mom, learning to use trash talk, and being naked all the time while in the house, I started becoming comfortable. I also fingered my wet, buttery twat slit all the time. Even in Mom's presence.

Tonight, Mom informed me that she had set up a turnout party for me. There will be six very discrete men with full wallets.