Anya in Slavery: The First Day at the Market

Anya woke up from the bright rays of the sun, which gently but persistently caressed her cheek. Today was the first day she was supposed to go to work. "Quickly, quickly take the pills," she thought, otherwise a wave of horror, fear, wild anxiety, fear of the unknown would overwhelm her, and she would stay home, but there was no food left at home, absolutely none—even the water had been cut off. Yes, Anya had been living for three months without any means of subsistence, her last savings were gone, and for over a week she had been giving all her food to her daughter. Although her daughter was already over 20, she simply couldn't live independently now—there was no money for survival

—let alone work. It was time to do what all her friends, relatives, and distant acquaintances had long since fully devoted themselves to—to undress, go to the slave market, and sell herself into slavery. First and foremost, of course—into sexual slavery.

Anya decided not to have breakfast—there was nothing to eat anyway. Time to get ready. Taking off her home panties and throwing her T-shirt over the back of the chair, she went to the mirror to examine her body. Despite having been underfed for quite some time, she remained a very attractive woman, with only her skin betraying her age. Her small, slightly sagging breasts, like those of many women her age who had given birth, were still quite neat and had a good shape. Particularly prominent were her large, dark, and very sensitive nipples, which she sometimes wanted to take into her own mouth. Her tummy protruded somewhat and hung slightly over her shaved pubis, below which large, dangling labia minora were visible with every movement. They were very long, as she had always thought—almost 2-3 centimeters each, and Anya used to be very embarrassed by them until men started giving them endless compliments. Yes, before her "debut" into society, which awaited Anya, she had tried working on a webcam—it was very difficult to earn money there now, because there were slave markets, and the most solvent part of the population spent their leisure time there, but our heroine at least learned what about her body men particularly liked. Her hips were very wide and large—before, in pre-war times, Anya always wore tight dresses and high-waisted jeans to emphasize them. Men loved to hold onto them both during slow dances at the club and when they entered her from behind—she liked it very much herself. Turning around, Anya looked at her buttocks—yes, they were a bit plump, cellulite was visible, there was a small fold at the bottom, but still her butt was large, even very large, round, and this, as she knew, was highly valued now by buyers of goods like her. Men always stared at Anya when she wore something tight, and at the beach they couldn't take their eyes off her rear end. Once in a video chat, she was told that her butt was a spitting image of porn actress Madison Rose—indeed, her legs and butt were very similar to hers.

Her legs were large but quite elegant, which perfectly complemented her wide and plump hips. Her well-groomed feet had an alluring red pedicure. Yes, Anya had been preparing for this day.

Realizing that she was already evaluating herself as a commodity, as a thing, as an object, she finally looked at her face. Of course, age had left its mark on her skin—small wrinkles were visible, crow's feet around the eyes, but her deep, expressive brown eyes, thin, elegant lip line, straight, slightly upturned nose, slightly dark skin tone with a very healthy glow (which, she thought, would starkly distinguish her at the slave market, since many women who came there had gone through the stage of accepting their situation not with yoga and meditation practices, like Anya, but through drugs and alcohol), a high forehead, and dark hair. A sexy bob, which, as she knew, was also very popular among buyers of live goods, "holes," as they called the unfortunate women, framed her head, giving her a particularly hot look. Thin shoulders with protruding collarbones, slender, neat arms without excess skin, and elegant hands—Anya was a beautiful woman for her age.

She decided not to go out completely naked—although earlier, when she was younger, she could still run out naked onto the street on a dare, but she was, after all, quite old... She understood that she would soon lose her dignity, but subconsciously wanted to postpone that moment as much as possible. Although it was only a few minutes' walk to the slave market, she decided to put something on. Her friends had advised her on how not to violate the market rules (95% of the body must be accessible for touching, hitting, pinching, poking, and simply evaluation), and at the same time not remain completely naked—to wear a mesh dress. Besides, it was insanely hot outside. "Perfect choice," she thought, smiling sadly. Anya considered such clothing excessively vulgar and extremely tasteless. "Like some kind of sausage," she thought, pulling on a rainbow-colored mesh. Suddenly, her reflection in the mirror pleased her—everything that needed to be emphasized was emphasized, her breasts were hugged and pressed, her slightly plump buttocks showed through the mesh, her large vulva was squeezed between two multicolored threads. She seemed to have become 10 years younger. "I've seen this a couple of times in porn... it looks no worse on me," she thought. She had only started watching porn recently—exclusively for preparation, so her experience in this matter was small. Brightly painting her lips, face, and curling her eyelashes, Anya left the house.

Running through courtyards to get to the market, Anya still managed to encounter a group of boys who showered her with compliments typical of their age... "What a nipple!", "Great slut!", "Do you have a daughter? Bring her here!". One of them even managed to grab her butt and squeeze it so hard that Anya cried out. Of course, they all filmed her on their phones. In fact, lately, such sights in courtyards had become commonplace, and women-starved guys, alcoholics, and other antisocial elements knew this perfectly well.

Anya could never hold back her emotions when she passed by this market. All the women, of whom there were no less than a hundred, were naked or dressed, like her, in the most vulgar and depraved things they could find in their wardrobes; they writhed, spread everything that could be spread, crawled on the ground before men who walked between the rows of these "slaves," grabbing almost every one by the breast, face, vagina, butt—whatever came to hand. Someone, who apparently knew how, was dancing a striptease (Anya had done dancing, and subconsciously already understood perfectly well that this skill would be useful to her today, and in the near future).

Overcoming herself and standing in a row with a young girl who was probably not even 19, Anya was stunned. She didn't know what to do. The girl to her left was moaning very loudly, sitting bare-bottomed on the ground, and, spreading her legs, was pleasuring herself with some dirty bottle, of which there were an incredible number lying around—at first Anya thought this filth was left behind by visitors, but later she saw several dead-drunk slaves and realized that it was, most likely, a kind of "professional necessity." The young girl's mouth was open, her tongue hanging out, and saliva was dripping down her body. She was being filmed by a crowd of some disgusting old men, two of whom were already glancing at Anya. One of them turned away from the young girl, approached Anya, and grabbed her nipple.

— They're sagging, damn it, but they're big... Are you a mom? What, forgot your daughter at home?" began to mock the oldest of these freaks.

The whole company burst out laughing, turning their attention to Anya, who was obviously very afraid of them. They all approached her, only one lagged behind—he, taking out his disgusting, crooked, dirty penis, was pissing into the mouth of the young girl, Anya's neighbor in the row, who was greedily swallowing the dark-brown liquid, the disgusting smell of which our heroine could sense from several meters away.

— What are you standing for, mommy, do something! Turn your ass around, bitch!" yelled one of these scum, shoving his hand into his pants and pulling out his tired penis, dripping with pre-ejaculate.

Slightly trembling with fear (fortunately, Anya had taken her pills in advance, otherwise she would definitely have had a nervous breakdown), the woman turned her back to them. Obeying some inner call, she slightly lifted her large, somewhat flabby buttocks with two fingers.

— Come on, come on, bend over, shake your ass!" shouted someone from the crowd that gathered around each newly arrived commodity.

Yes, Anya knew how to do it. She certainly considered twerking a very vulgar dance, but her previous husband loved it when she moved her impressive rear in bed. Gathering her courage, Anya began to provocatively move her ass, slightly bending her knees. After a few seconds, she was confidently shaking her buttocks, now bending over, now straightening up. Her soft rear moved from side to side, now and then revealing her most intimate places. A light breeze blew, and Anya felt herself getting slightly wet. Trying not to pay attention to it, she continued. She moved only her legs, slightly bringing them together, and her large buttocks slapped against each other, splattering lubrication. They started groping Anya. She leaned forward slightly and continued shaking her ass, she did it harder and harder, she was literally pounding it. She understood that she was moving it so powerfully that everyone had long since seen her vulva, no, not only seen, they were already touching it—hands were everywhere, they were squeezing her buttocks, legs, slapping her hard, someone's fingers were collecting lubrication and smearing it over her labia, lightly touching her clitoris. Her plump but elegant-for-her-age legs continued to shake in time with her large ass. Someone tried to penetrate her vagina, but she sharply clenched, for which she received a hard slap on the butt. Tired of shaking, she stood up, shifting her body weight to one leg, tilted her pelvis, and moved one buttock to the side, giving everyone easy access to her mature holes.

Literally the same second, someone tried to abruptly enter her tight anus with a thick finger with a sharp nail. Crying out in pain, Anya instantly clenched her hole, but immediately received a heavy blow—no, not on her ass, of which she had already received no less than a hundred, but on her back. The poor woman's breath caught. Fortunately, there was no second blow, but she felt the same disgusting finger penetrate deep into her very tight and, probably, not very clean hole.

Ignoring the shouts, slaps, blows, and attempts to shove something hard, cold, and smooth into her vagina (apparently, it was a beer bottle from one of the crowd), Anya focused on the sensations coming from her delicate, insanely sensitive anal opening. She tensed her anus, clenched it with all her might, but the finger went deeper and deeper, moving inside, writhing like an earthworm, touching every wall, scratching them with a long-untrimmed dirty nail. Anya felt the finger reach something that this freak clearly didn't want to touch. He abruptly pulled his finger out of the woman's anus, causing her such pain that she reflexively squeezed her eyes shut, but before she could recover from this extremely unpleasant sensation in her rectum, she immediately felt the same dirty finger that had been inside her, now in her mouth. The finger, naturally, was no longer just dirty on its own.

— Suck it, suck it, whore!" came approving shouts from the crowd. Most of the men, of whom no less than fifty had gathered around Anya, had pulled out their flaccid but gradually swelling penises and were jerking them off. Someone was already filming everything. Understanding that in this situation it was better not to show her character, Anya suppressed her gag reflex and began to lick the disgustingly smelling, dirty finger. Her mind seemed to empty in an instant—she understood that this crowd could now pounce on her and leave no living spot, do to her what they didn't even do to people in darknet porn, which she so often found on her daughter's computer. Someone shoved a small bottle of strangely smelling liquid under her nose, and within a second she felt a strange, hitherto unseen lightness in her body... Her heart began to beat faster, color rushed to her cheeks and chest, she wanted to breathe as deeply as possible, the beats of her heart echoed in her head. But that wasn't all—she felt her openings relax, and no, not just relax—they began to ache, literally desiring on their own, separate from Anya's brain, to be penetrated, to have anything shoved into them, preferably something as large, hard as possible, and to be fucked, fucked, fucked, stretching her flesh, penetrating deep into her rear, into her uterus... But suddenly, through the excited cries of the crowd and her clouded consciousness, she heard the sound of a bell.