Clifton Smoke
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 1
Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - In the dusty, lawless town of Dreadworth, Clifton “Smokes” Peña is a washed-up beggar and voyeur, drifting through life in a haze of heat, whiskey, and peeping through saloon and brothel windows. His only talent is going unnoticed—until one night he witnesses the suffering of Sue, a tattooed prostitute at the Red Lantern, and feels something he hasn’t known in years: empathy.When Smokes confronts the brothel’s cold-eyed madam about Sue’s treatment, it sparks a fragile bond between him
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Fiction Crime Farming Rags To Riches Western Polygamy/Polyamory Cat-Fighting AI Generated
Clifton ‘Smokes’ Pena squinted against the harsh sun, his beady eyes tracing the dusty horizon of Dreadworth. The town was a collection of wooden edifices that leaned into each other like old drunks, whispering secrets that the desert was eager to claim. His gray, almost bald head was a testament to the years he’d spent in this forsaken place, his unkempt beard and mustache the only defense against the relentless heat. His clothes hung from his frame like discarded rags, the once vibrant colors of his youth now a mottled brown from years of neglect and the ever-present dust.
Every day, Smokes shuffled along the same sun-bleached streets, his girth casting a long shadow in the early morning. He knew every crevice and corner, every nook where a coin might fall unnoticed from a hurrying traveler’s pocket. His life was a simple one, a cycle of panhandling and peeping through windows, a solitary dance of survival in a town that had long ago forgotten mercy. The townsfolk looked at him with a mix of pity and disgust, tossing him an occasional copper if he was lucky, or a mouthful of scorn if they were feeling generous.
But Smokes had his pleasures. He took pride in his craft, the art of going unnoticed. His peeping was a silent symphony, a ballet of shadow and timing that brought him closer to the lives of others than anyone else in Dreadworth could claim. Through the windows of the local saloon, he watched the card games played with desperate fervor, the whispers of illicit deals exchanged over cheap whiskey. And in the upstairs rooms, where the painted ladies offered their charms to the lonely and the depraved, he was a silent witness to their fleeting moments of pleasure and pain.
Today, he had his eyes set on a particular brothel, the Red Lantern, known for its velvet curtains and the sweet music that lured men in with the promise of escape. He approached with the stealth of a cobra, his breath hot and labored from the exertion of climbing the stairs. Each room had a crack in the door, just enough for a man like Smokes to peer through. His heart raced with anticipation, his hand already reaching for his trousers. The first room revealed a young girl, barely more than a child, her eyes vacant as she serviced a man whose back was to the door. Smokes felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly swallowed by his ravenous hunger.
The second room was more of a battleground, two sweaty figures entangled in a passionate dance that was anything but loving. The smell of sweat and despair filled the narrow space, but Smokes didn’t flinch. He’d seen it all before. He moved on, eager for something that could stir his soul, even if it was just a brief, fleeting glimpse of connection in this desert of loneliness. The third room was a tableau of a woman, dressed in nothing but a silk robe, playing a mournful tune on a piano. Her eyes met his through the crack, and for a second, he felt a jolt of recognition, as if she knew exactly what he was doing. But she didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge him. The music was for her alone, a sad serenade to the shadows that clung to the walls.
The fourth room was where he found his prize. A woman lay on the bed, her body a canvas of ink and bruises. She was crying softly, and the man above her was too busy to notice. Smokes felt a strange kinship with her, two lost souls adrift in the sea of Dreadworth’s sins. He watched as she bit her lip, trying to muffle her sobs, and something in him stirred. It was more than just the base urges that usually fueled his nightly escapades. He felt a pang of empathy, a feeling so foreign it was almost painful.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.