Will and Carter
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 6
Western Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Two longtime friends go to a saloon bar to see a nude catfight match show. Upon returning, they are inspired to put on their own show. Unbeknownst to them, this change will change their lives forever.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Teenagers Rape Fiction Crime Western Incest Mother Son Cat-Fighting AI Generated
The barn nude fight match’s success had brought them to this moment, but it also loomed over them like a specter, a reminder of the price they were willing to pay for power and pleasure. Yet in the aftermath of their union, it was a price that, for the moment, seemed worth every penny.
The first light of dawn painted the horizon as Will and Mrs. McMillan lay entwined in her bed, their breathing slowly returning to normal. The room was still, the only sound the distant crow of a rooster and the rustle of the emerald dress that had been discarded in a fit of passion. Will broke the silence, his voice thick with a mix of love and concern. “Ma, we need to be ready for anything. I think I has old enough to handle a gun to protect ourself.”
Mrs. McMillan looked at him, her eyes soft with affection. “You’re right, Will,” she said, her voice still a little shaky from their shared climax. “We’ll go to the gunsmith in town together. You and Carter both need to know how to handle yourselves in a fight.”
The next day, the trio set out for the town, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over the dusty streets. The gunsmith, a grizzled old man named Old Hank, eyed them suspiciously as they entered his shop. “What can I do for you, madam?” he asked, his voice gruff with years of tobacco and whiskey.
Mrs. McMillan stepped forward, her eyes shining with a newfound determination. “I need a gun,” she said firmly. “Something safe for my boys to learn with. They need to be able to protect themselves, especially with ... everything that’s been going on.”
Old Hank nodded, his gaze flicking over the emerald dress that Will had bought her. It was clear he knew the type of ‘everything’ she was referring to, and his expression softened. He moved to the back of his shop, his leather apron creaking as he did so. “I reckon I got just the thing,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.
He emerged with two lightweight rifles, the gleaming metal of the barrels catching the light from the windows. “These here are the finest I got,” he said, placing them on the counter with a thunk. “They’re made for the likes of young men who need to be quick on the draw, but strong enough to pack a punch.” He handed one to Will and the other to Mrs. McMillan, his eyes assessing their reactions.
Carter’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapons, his hands itching to hold one. “How can I use this?” he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and nerves.
Old Hank took a deep breath, his eyes assessing the youngest McMillan brother. “You’re going to need to be careful, son,” he said, his tone serious. “These ain’t toys. They’re tools for protection, not for playing around.”
With that, he proceeded to give them a quick lesson in firearm safety, his gnarled hands deftly demonstrating how to load and aim. Will and Carter listened intently, their eyes glued to the gleaming metal of the rifles. Mrs. McMillan watched from the side, a strange mix of pride and fear in her heart as her boys grew into men before her very eyes.
Old Hank led them to a makeshift shooting range at the back of his shop, a series of wooden targets with crude drawings of outlaws and bandits painted on them. He handed each of them a handful of bullets and instructed them on how to load their rifles. The sound of metal on metal filled the small space as they followed his instructions, their eyes focused and determined.
For the next hour, they practiced. Old Hank’s gruff voice echoed through the barn, guiding their hands as they aimed and fired. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the scent of hay and the faint hint of sweat. Mrs. McMillan watched her sons with a mix of pride and anxiety, knowing that this newfound skill could mean the difference between life and death in the lawless west.
Finally, Old Hank nodded in approval. “You’ve got the hang of it,” he said, his expression gruff but satisfied. “Now, for the price of your education and these fine firearms...”
Mrs. McMillan stepped forward, her hand reaching into her purse. “How much do we owe you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.
Old Hank named his price: “A hundred dollars for the both of ‘em, with a pack of bullets to get you started.”
Mrs. McMillan’s hand paused over her purse. The sum was steep, but the safety of her family was priceless. She counted out the bills with trembling fingers, each one a silent promise of protection and power. “Thank you,” she murmured as she handed over the money. “You’ve done us a great service.”
Old Hank took the cash, his expression unreadable as he tucked it away into the folds of his apron. “Just remember, shoot straight and keep your wits about you.” He nodded towards the rifles. “And keep those weapons clean. They’re an investment.”
The ride back home was quieter than usual, the weight of their new responsibilities heavy on the McMillan brothers’ shoulders. Mrs. McMillan, her thoughts a tumultuous storm, couldn’t shake the feeling that she was sending her boys into a world she no longer recognized. As they approached the farm, she made a decision. “You’re just going to the desert,” she announced, her voice firm. “You two can train with the rifles in a safe place. But don’t forget to get back before the dark, right?”
Will nodded solemnly, the gravity of the situation not lost on him. He looked over at his mother, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and determination. “Thank you, Ma,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, the gesture simple yet filled with all the love and respect he had for her. Mrs. McMillan’s eyes searched his, and for a moment, she saw the man he was becoming, not just the boy she had raised.
The two boys saddled up their horses, the leather creaking under their touch as they readied themselves for their journey into the desert. The horses, sensing the urgency of the moment, pranced impatiently, their hooves kicking up dust in the barn. Will took a deep breath, the smell of leather and horse mixing with the lingering scent of his mother’s arousal, a constant reminder of the night before.
Carter, his eyes shining with excitement, checked his rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready. The desert sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows. They rode out into the open, the evening air cool and crisp against their skin, a stark contrast to the heated passion of the night.
The first shots echoed through the desert, the sound carrying far and wide in the stillness. The boys took turns aiming and firing at the makeshift targets they had set up, each bullet whizzing through the air with a deadly intent that seemed to mirror the intensity of their newfound roles. Will’s shots hit true, a testament to their training and his own natural skill. The sand kicked up around the targets with each hit, a fine mist of gritty dust stinging their eyes.
Carter, though not as skilled, showed remarkable improvement under the watchful eye of his brother. His grin was wide as he watched his bullets strike closer to the center of the target, the thrill of the chase evident in his every move. They practiced until their arms ached, until the sun began to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. The desert, once a place of quiet solitude, had become a battleground of sorts, a stage for their transformation from innocent youths to hardened men capable of defending their own.
As the days rolled into weeks, the training sessions grew longer and more intense. They pushed themselves to their limits, each shot a declaration of their newfound purpose. They learned to shoot from horseback, their steeds galloping through the sandy dunes, manes flying like banners in the wind. The sound of gunfire became as familiar to them as the chirp of the crickets at dusk, the smell of gunpowder as comforting as the scent of their mother’s apple pie.
The desert became their classroom, the cacti and tumbleweeds their silent spectators as they honed their skills. They practiced at a distance, their rifles a blur as they sent bullets soaring towards targets that grew smaller and smaller with each passing day. The wind whipped at their clothes and hair, the sun beating down on their bare backs as they worked tirelessly to improve their aim.
One afternoon, as they took a break to drink from their canteens, a majestic eagle soared into view, its wings spread wide against the azure sky. It hovered high above, a symbol of freedom and power, the very essence of the west. Will and Carter watched it in awe, the creature’s grace a stark contrast to the harsh world they were preparing to defend.
On a whim, Will raised his rifle and took aim, the sun glinting off the metal as he squinted into the distance. He fired, the shot echoing through the canyon. The eagle barely flinched, continuing its regal dance in the thermals. The boys exchanged amused glances, dismissing the idea of such a creature as a target. They returned to their training, their bullets finding their marks in the lifeless targets before them.
The days grew into weeks, their skills sharpening as the sun baked their skin. The eagle became a persistent presence during their sessions, a silent judge to their progress. Despite the seriousness of their practice, the two friends couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement each time it appeared. They began to see it as a challenge, a creature of the wild that embodied the very essence of the west’s freedom and elusiveness.
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