Cintia, the Dirtiest Submissive in the Old Market

I swear that this time Cintia didn’t leave home looking for men. It was work, pure work. She worked as an intern in a law office, and they had received a client’s complaint: a serious food poisoning from spoiled food bought at the municipal market. It could amount to nothing, or turn into a lucrative lawsuit if more victims turned up. Her boss asked her to take a walk around there and observe discreetly.

The market was fifteen minutes from her apartment. On a Saturday morning, after breakfast, she got into her car and drove to the neighborhood. It was hot, so over her black bra she wore a tight white T-shirt, and below, a thin blue tracksuit pant.

Everyone knew that market was doomed to close. Out of forty stalls, barely four were still standing. The others had already rolled down their shutters as they saw the outlook looming ahead.

The sight from outside was desolate. A stench of rotten food, murky puddles at the entrance, peeling walls with pieces threatening to come loose. It was a single-story square, ten spaces on each side, and in the center a structure that served as storage and a cold-room.

Once inside, Cintia saw there was no need for a garbage room: the trash was scattered through the empty stalls. Wet cardboard boxes soaked with impossible liquids were piled everywhere, giving off a sour smell. A couple of cats strolled around as if they owned the place.

—Good morning, may I ask you a few questions? I’m a journalist and I’m…

—Do I look like I’ve got time for questions, girl? —Bruno, the fishmonger, cut her off without letting her finish.

—Well, you don’t look busy. At most, swatting flies —she answered with a laugh, though she wasn’t lying: a cloud of flies buzzed over the limp fish.

—Go on, girl, fuck off —the man snapped.

—I wish —Cintia murmured as she walked away toward the greengrocer’s, three units to the right.

—Good morning, beautiful —the greengrocer greeted her.

His name was Faruk. Very thin, almost all bone. She wouldn’t have put him at less than sixty. The veins on his arms stood out like dry branches ending in long, dirty fingers. He wore a long tunic covered in stains. Fruit crates hid his legs, but it wasn’t hard to imagine them matching the rest.

—I’ll help you. You said you had some questions? —he said, showing a mouth missing almost all its teeth.

—Yes, about the price hikes —she lied.

—Call me Faruk. Come on, let’s go to the office, we’ll be more comfortable there —he said, briskly leaving the stall.

He led her to a battered door in the central building. That was anything but an office. A metal shelf on the verge of collapsing, loaded with disordered file folders. Bolted to the wall, a huge busted sofa. In the center, a table surrounded by wobbly chairs, covered in several days’ worth of food scraps. It wasn’t surprising to see the occasional cockroach crossing the wood. Off to one side, a bathroom from which a thick smell seeped.

—And what’s your name? —he asked.

—Cintia. Nice to meet you —she said, extending her hand, though from the moment she had entered that room, the only thing she really wanted was to kneel.

The heat, the confinement, the smells, those rough men: everything had gotten her worked up without her fully deciding to. It had always been like that. The seedier the place, the more something inside her flared up.

Faruk grabbed her wrist with a quick gesture and brought her hand to his crotch, over his tunic.

—Would you look at that, I know exactly why you’re here, liar —he said, nervously.

Cintia was almost startled by how quickly the old man had read something in her. But she immediately understood that he hadn’t uncovered her cover story about the complaint, only her desires. And the misunderstanding worked beautifully in her favor.

She began to feel the bulge through the fabric.

—You caught me, Faruk. I’m crazy for this —she said in a low voice.

—And for swallowing, for sure —he replied, pulling up his tunic.

She took off her T-shirt and left it on the cleanest chair. She unfastened her bra and freed her breasts.

—Eat them —she ordered, surprised by her own boldness.

The old man kneaded her breasts with his bony fingers, squeezed them until she gasped between pain and pleasure, and then set about devouring them hungrily, as if afraid she might change her mind. Cintia, with one hand, held his tunic rolled up; with the other she held his cock, already hard despite his age.

—Easy, handsome —she panted—. There’s enough for you and your friends.

***

The door opened and Cintia thought she was seeing double. The owners of the butcher shop—the only one still open—had just come in. They were Saúl and Damián, identical twins, tall, thin, with gray hair and white skin. They went everywhere together; in the neighborhood they were known by one name, as if they were one man.

—Another special customer, eh, Faruk? Bastard, and you didn’t even say anything —one of them blurted out, and both laughed with a shrill cackle.

—He doesn’t say anything because he knows we’d make him look ridiculous —the other finished.

—It’s not that, it’s a customer. Right, miss? —Faruk said, lifting Cintia’s chin with two fingers.

—Are yours really that good? I want to see that —she said, getting to her feet.

She walked up to the twins, who had frozen at the sound of her voice. She pulled down one’s pants and then the other’s. Two cocks, identical like their owners, thicker than the greengrocer’s. She sat on the edge of a bench, grabbed both, and took them into her mouth, alternating one and the other, until she felt them harden against her tongue. They went in all the way, making her gag, her eyes filling with tears, and she didn’t stop.

—Fuck, what a throat —Saúl said.

—What a throat, fuck —Damián repeated.

When the cocks seemed about to burst, Cintia stood up and, tugging them along, led the twins to the sofa.

—Take everything off, you’re going to fuck me. Faruk, handsome, come here so I can eat you while I do —she said, finally free to touch herself.

***

Saúl lay down on the old sofa, sweeping away a pizza box and a bag of dubious contents with one slap of his hand. He was broad enough. Cintia mounted him astride and sank down onto him with a long sigh. A hand on her back pushed her to lean forward until her nipples brushed the twin’s chest. At once another cock slid along the crack of her ass and, without much ceremony, forced its way inside. For a moment it felt as if the two identical pricks were colliding inside her. Full to bursting, she lowered her head just enough to reach Faruk’s cock, waiting standing beside the sofa arm.

The rhythm of the three was fast from the start. They seemed unable to believe that woman was really there, giving herself over to them, and they wanted to come before she changed her mind.

But if you knew Cintia the way we know her, you’d know changing her mind wasn’t part of her plan. She was enjoying herself more than she had in ages, and all she wanted was more.

—Come, you bastards. Fill me up —she said with a smile, pulling the cock from her mouth for a moment.

The gasps of the four filled the room and seeped out into the hallway. Bruno, the fishmonger, smiled at his stall, waiting for his turn. And then Anselmo appeared, the oldest of them all. Eighty years old and refusing to retire from the deli counter. Eighty years that made him the most lewd bastard in the market.

—Where are these sons of bitches? I can hear them fucking from my stall. Make room for me —he said, peering around the corner.

—I’m coming! —Faruk was heard to shout.

Anselmo arrived just in time to see Cintia, fucked on the sofa, receive the first load. The twins emptied themselves at the same time, with the same moans, almost the same expression. They were still throbbing inside her when the greengrocer gripped her head by the forehead and came in her open mouth, spurting shot after shot until it overflowed her. Cintia swallowed, let out a sigh, and turned her face toward the door to see who had arrived.

***

—What a good bitch, bastards —Anselmo said, bringing his short, potbellied body closer.

He was bald, with a chest covered in gray hair, and he looked younger than he was. His mouth, just as toothless as the greengrocer’s. Cintia, on her knees on the sofa, squeezed her breasts with one hand while with the other she gathered up what they had left inside her and brought it to her mouth, horny as hell.

Her breasts were at the old man’s mouth level, and he lunged at them without asking permission, slobbering over them thoroughly. She went looking for his mouth and they tangled in a long, filthy kiss. She slipped her hand into his black briefs and pulled out his cock: short but the thickest of all those in that room, with a bruised-purple head that looked ready to burst.

—They’ve already used you and you want more, right, beautiful? Because you’re a greedy little thing. You’re going to let Uncle Anselmo do dirty things to you, aren’t you? —he whispered in her ear, driving her to the edge with just his voice and the occasional soft smack.

—Yes, please, give me more —she moaned, not yet knowing what the old man had in mind.

Anselmo whispered something to Faruk, who ran out of the room just as he was. After all, not a soul ever came into that market.

***

Five minutes later, Cintia was flushed red and sweating buckets, breathing so hard she seemed on the verge of an attack. Her eyes were closed, focused on the pleasure of being opened on both sides: the twins held her legs high and wide apart, Anselmo handled a thick cucumber they had brought from the greengrocer’s, and Faruk took care of the other end. What would have been too much for another woman was pure glory in her.

She began convulsing when the orgasm hit her all at once. Her screams echoed through the room, her eyes rolled white, and the old man, with malicious intent, ordered the cucumber withdrawn at exactly the right moment. A clear jet came out of her, splashing everything nearby, while her whole body trembled.

—She came like a bitch —Saúl said.

—She came —Damián simplified.

Cintia, with her eyes open again and a dumb smile on her face, slowly caught her breath. The twins let go of her legs. Anselmo’s cock, still stiff, released a stream of urine that the old man directed toward her breasts and belly; far from pulling away, she spread it over her skin with her hands, purring.

***

At that moment Bruno, the fishmonger, came in, no longer able to stand watching from the hallway. He brought with him the reek of the sea that followed him everywhere. He knew he wouldn’t last long. He pulled down his pants and lay down beside Cintia, groping her with those huge hands. His hairy belly sagged over her and restricted her movements, but to Cintia that only made it hotter. They devoured each other’s mouths with filthy, desperate lust.

—Spread your legs, beautiful —he said.

Once again the four of them were hard, grinding their cocks around her, fighting for space. Cintia was so turned on that none of them lasted much longer. Bruno was first: with his small cock right in front of her face, he came like a pig, splattering her face and hair with thick drops. Cintia, coming again, tried to catch the drops in the air with her tongue.

—I’m coming again! —she shouted as her body shook.

And then the others emptied themselves too, one after another, over her body. Cintia stayed still, smiling with the most depraved face they had ever seen, gathering the hot globs from everywhere with her fingers and bringing them, slowly, to her mouth.

***

It was two in the afternoon when Cintia walked into her apartment, freshly showered, with a butcher shop bag hanging from her arm. The phone rang as soon as she set down the keys.

—Tell me, Mom. Yes, working all morning —she answered, barely holding back laughter—. Look, I brought some delicious meatballs from a new place. Come over, I’m inviting you to lunch.