The auction ring buzzed with the raw energy of the village fairground, dust swirling under the harsh afternoon sun as the crowd of leering men pressed against the rope barriers. Ananya, the once-proud city woman, was dragged into the center, her body encased in a coarse burlap sack that scratched against her naked skin like sandpaper. Holes cut for her arms left her shoulders exposed, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked curves, outlining the swell of her full breasts and the flare of her hips. Jagat Singh gripped the thick iron chain attached to the heavy bull-ring piercing her septum, the metal tugging sharply with every step, sending jolts of pain through her face that made her pussy clench involuntarily.