Chapter 1

“You ain’t gonna believe what I heard,” whispered Billy, a fifteen old boy, his eyes wide with excitement as he nudged his friend Jake.

“What is it?” Jake, his friend in the same age, responded, curiosity piquing as they meandered down the dirt-packed street, schoolbags slung over their shoulders. The setting sun cast long shadows across the ground, and the air had the promise of secrets.

“Ma says tonight’s show at the Golden Garter’s gonna be somethin’ else,” Billy said, his voice low and filled with the kind of awe reserved for the most tantalizing of rumors. “They’re bringin’ in more ... uh, performers for her act.”

Jake’s eyes bulged. “More? As in, more than one?” His voice cracked with a mix of astonishment and a hint of something else. They were young, sure, but not naive enough to be oblivious to the whispers that floated around town about the risqué nature of Billy’s mother’s profession.

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Three of ‘em, to be precise. And not just any ol’ Joe’s. They’re the new hands from the plantation outside of town. Big, strong, and...” he trailed off, his cheeks reddening slightly. “You know, the kind that make the ladies faint.”

Jake felt a peculiar mix of envy and concern. His own mother, a tired-looking woman who worked the night shift at the local brothel, had always been clear about her limits. “Ma says she can’t handle more than one client at a time. Says it’s too much for her.”

Billy snorted. “Well, your ma’s gotta be made of weaker stuff then. My mom tougher than a two-dollar steak. She says she can handle ‘em all night long if she needs to. You don’t know, don’t you? She’s the star of the show, the belle of the Golden Garter!” Billy exclaimed. “My mom, she’s got curves like the Mississippi and a smile that could charm the devil out of his boots. She’s the reason everyone’s talkin’!”

Jake felt his face flush with a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He had always known that his mother’s work was physical, but to hear it discussed so casually, especially by someone like Billy who seemed to relish every sordid detail, was a bit much. He’d caught glimpses of her client’s preferences before, the way they ogled her voluptuous figure, and the moans that sometimes carried through the walls at night. It was a strange feeling, knowing that his mother’s big, curvy ass and ample breasts were the talk of the town, and the center of attention at the saloon where she performed.

“Billy,” Jake started, his voice barely above a whisper, “My mom ... she’s got a big curvy ass too. And big tits. I’ve seen her clients, they all love to fuck her from behind. In all four positions, they say.”

Billy’s smirk widened into a full-blown grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that right? Well, I reckon your ma’s got her own fan club too, then,” he said, slapping Jake on the back a bit too hard. “But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. My mom’s got a stage to strut her stuff on, and she’s gonna show those plantation boys a thing or two. They’re gonna be talkin’ about her for weeks!”

Jake nodded slowly, trying to keep up the facade of casual indifference, but his mind was racing. He’d heard the usual grumbles and cheers from the saloon patrons, but never had he considered that they enjoyed watching a beautiful woman suffer. It was a strange thought, but the more he pondered it, the more it seemed to make sense. The way they talked about the performers, the way they spoke of the shows with a mix of reverence and hunger, it was clear they weren’t just there for the drinks.

“You know,” Jake began tentatively, “I’ve noticed that the folks at the Golden Garter, they seem to like it when the girls look like they’re in a bit of ... trouble. Like when they’re gettin’ fucked real hard, and it seems like maybe it’s too much for ‘em. They cheer louder, throw more coins.”

Billy nodded sagely. “That’s ‘cause it’s what the crowd wants, Jake. They pay good money to see a show, and a show’s gotta have some kind of drama, right? And nothing says drama like a good ol’ fashioned struggle between a helpless white woman and a trio of big, black stallions,” he said, using a term that made Jake’s stomach churn slightly.

“But why?” Jake pressed, genuinely puzzled. “Why do they like to see her in ... pain?”

Billy looked at him as if he were daft. “Ain’t you ever felt it, Jake?” he said, leaning in closer. “That ... stirring in your pants when you see something you’re not s’pposed to? It’s like watching a gunfight or a knife throw - it’s thrilling because it’s dangerous, because it’s wrong. And that’s what makes it hot. The men come to see my mom get fucked, sure, but they get off on the idea of her sufferin’ for their pleasure. It’s like they’re the ones doin’ it to her, you know?”

Jake didn’t know, not really. He had never felt that way about his mother, but he had felt it before, in the stolen glances at the saloon girls and the illicit whispers he heard in the schoolyard. He didn’t like to admit it, but there was something about watching someone give in to pleasure, or pain, that made his own body react in ways he didn’t fully understand. It was confusing, and a little scary, but also undeniably ... exciting.

The two boys approached the saloon, the wooden planks of the sidewalk groaning under their booted feet. The Golden Garter’s swinging doors creaked open and a cloud of smoke and raucous laughter billowed out into the street. Jake had never been inside, but he could imagine the scene: the smell of stale beer and sweat mingling with the faint scent of gunpowder, the clinking of coins and the rustling of playing cards, the rough voices of men eager to spend their hard-earned pay on a taste of sin.

The saloon’s exterior was painted a garish red and gold, with a fading mural of a half-dressed woman holding a whiskey bottle and a deck of cards, a seductive smile playing on her lips. The windows were covered with thick, velvet curtains that blocked out any glimpse of the debauchery within. The sign above the door swung lazily in the breeze, its letters barely legible under layers of dust and grime.

Jake’s heart raced as they stepped closer. He’d heard stories about the Golden Garter, but had never been brave enough to venture inside. The place had a reputation that was both fascinating and terrifying, a bastion of adult pleasures that seemed a world away from the drudgery of their daily lives.

“You think we should go in?” Jake whispered, his eyes darting to the saloon’s entrance.

Billy shrugged, a glint of mischief in his gaze. “Why not? We’re old enough to handle it.”

Jake nodded, his curiosity outweighing his fear. They stepped through the swinging doors, the smell of cigar smoke and cheap whiskey enveloping them. The saloon was a cacophony of sounds: the tinkling of the piano, the laughter of the patrons, and the occasional clink of glasses. The walls were adorned with the same velvet curtains that shielded the windows, and the floor was sticky underfoot, stained with a history of spilled drinks and forgotten dreams.

The barkeep, a burly man with a handlebar mustache and a greasy apron, glanced up from polishing a glass, eyeing them with suspicion. Billy flashed a grin, pulling out a few coins from his pocket. “Two cokes, please, sir,” he said, trying to sound older than his years. The barkeep raised an eyebrow but slid the drinks across the counter without a word.

They found a spot at the back of the saloon, where they could blend in with the shadows and not be noticed. The air was thick with the scent of male desire and the electric anticipation that only comes before a show of this nature. The chandeliers flickered, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the men who had gathered, their eyes glinting with excitement as they waited for the main event.

The stage was a simple wooden platform, surrounded by a sea of expectant faces. The red velvet curtains that served as the backdrop had seen better days, and the few props scattered around looked worn and used. Yet, there was something about the setup that spoke of raw, unbridled passion, a promise of an experience that was about to unfold.

The saloon grew quieter as the house lights dimmed, and a single spotlight pierced through the gloom, illuminating a figure standing at the edge of the stage. It was Billy’s mother, her voluptuous figure wrapped in a scandalously tight corset that pushed her breasts up to nearly spill over the top. She wore a skirt so short that it barely covered her thighs, revealing fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots that added to her allure. Her hair was piled up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

Her name was Mrs. Rose ‘Raven’ Flynn, and she had a certain charm that could make even the hardest man in town drop to his knees. She looked out over the crowd, her gaze a mix of confidence and challenge. The men at the bar leaned in, their breaths bated, as the anticipation grew to a crescendo. Then, with a flourish, she began to dance, moving with a sensual grace that made the air feel charged. The music started, a slow, sultry tune that seemed to ooze from the piano in the corner.

Her hips swayed and her breasts jiggled with each step she took, her movements deliberately provocative. She knew the effect she had on the audience, and she reveled in it. As she danced closer to the edge of the stage, the men leaned in, reaching out to touch her, their faces a blend of hunger and disbelief. She allowed it, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The show had just begun, and she was going to give them everything they paid for and more.

The whispers grew louder as she reached behind her, her nimble fingers deftly unlacing her corset. With a dramatic flourish, she let it fall to the floor, revealing her ample breasts to the eager eyes of the saloon’s patrons. The room grew even quieter as she cupped them, her thumbs tracing circles around her hardened nipples, making the men squirm in their seats.

Billy leaned over to Jake, his voice barely audible over the thumping of his own heart. “That’s Mrs. Raven,” he murmured, his eyes glued to the stage. “She’s gonna warm ‘em up for my mom. They do this before the main show, get the blood flowin’ and all that.”

Jake’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Mrs. Raven, who was now straddling a chair, her legs spread wide. She was a vision of carnality, her red lips painted into a seductive pout as she began to touch herself, her hands sliding down to her crotch, teasing the audience with the promise of what was to come.

The music grew louder, more intense, setting the rhythm for her erotic dance. She began to rub her clit through the thin fabric of her panties, her breathing growing heavier. The men in the crowd leaned in, their eyes glazed over with lust. Some had already started to stroke themselves, their cocks swelling with each of her movements.

Then, as if on cue, the curtains parted with a dramatic flourish. A young, muscular cowboy emerged, his dark skin gleaming with sweat, his eyes locked on Mrs. Raven’s exposed pussy. He was one of the new plantation workers, tall and powerful, with a cock that seemed to defy the laws of nature. The crowd let out a collective gasp as he stepped forward, the very essence of masculine dominance.

Mrs. Raven’s eyes widened, feigned surprise painted on her face, but she didn’t resist as he approached, her dance never faltering. Instead, she leaned back, inviting him closer, her legs spread even wider. The cowboy’s hands found her waist, hoisting her up onto the chair. He stepped between her thighs, his cock jutting out like a spear aimed at her wet, eager entrance. The crowd watched, transfixed, as he revealing her pink, glistening pussy to the hungry eyes of the saloon.

With a grin that spoke of experience and power, the cowboy positioned himself at her opening and thrust forward, the sound of his cock plunging into Mrs. Raven’s cunt echoing through the saloon like a gunshot. The men in the audience gasped, their own hands moving to mirror his, stroking themselves in time with his rhythm. Mrs. Raven threw her head back, her moans of pleasure bouncing off the walls, each one a siren’s call to the base desires within them.

Billy leaned closer to Jake, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You see that guy? That’s her son. He’s not just any worker; they do this act together. She’s a single mom, and he’s got no other job. So she taught him the ropes, so to speak. It’s like they’re a team.”

Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Her son? She does this with her own son?” The thought was both shocking and fascinating, and it sent a strange, confusing mix of emotions through him.

“Sure does,” Billy said with a nod, his eyes glued to the stage. “It’s like they’re a family business or something. They say it’s the closest thing to the real McCoy you can get in a place like this.”

Jake’s mind was racing. He had never heard of such a thing, but there it was, playing out before his eyes. Mrs. Raven’s son was now fucking her on the chair, the two of them moving in a rhythm that was at once disturbing and fascinating. It was clear from the way they moved together that they had done this many times before, a dance of lust and desperation that seemed to have the room in a trance.

“Some guys, they can’t handle it,” Billy murmured, following Jake’s gaze. “They’d rather see their moms with other men than not at all. But others, they take it into their own hands, you know?” He leaned back, his eyes never leaving the stage. “They say it keeps their moms’ self-esteem up. They do it themselves so she doesn’t have to sell herself to the whole town.”

Jake’s stomach twisted, and he took a sip of his coke, the bubbles feeling strange and foreign in his throat. “This town,” he said, his voice low and tight, “it’s like a cesspool of desperation. Lawlessness has bred a whole culture of ... this.” He gestured vaguely to the stage, where Mrs. Raven’s son was now pumping into her with a fervor that seemed almost angry.

Billy nodded, his eyes never leaving the spectacle before them. “It’s the way of the West, Jake. People come here to escape, to find something they can’t get elsewhere. Sometimes, that’s gold. Other times,” he shrugged, “it’s just ... this.”

Jake felt a sudden urge to stand up and yell at them all, to tell them that what they were watching was wrong, that it was a twisted version of what love and connection should be. But he knew that would be futile. This was their world, and he and Billy were part of it, too. They were all just trying to survive in the only ways they knew how.

On stage, the tension grew as Mrs. Raven’s son picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more violent, more desperate. She threw her head back, her cries of pleasure turning into something else, something deeper and more primal. It was as if she was letting go of all her fears and worries with each thrust, offering herself up to the brutal rhythm of their action.