Clifton Smoke
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 13
Western Sex Story: Chapter 13 - 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
The days passed in a blur of hard work and anticipation. The farm began to take shape under their collective efforts, the fields slowly coming to life under the caress of the plow. The air was filled with the scent of earth and sweat, the sounds of laughter and occasional bickering. And all the while, the specter of ‘The Sweet Surrender’ hovered on the horizon, a tantalizing promise of a world unseen.
One evening, as they sat around the dinner table, Erick spoke up, his voice tentative. “Smoke,” he said, his eyes on his plate. “Could I go with you to the ... the place you talked about?”
Smoke looked at the boy, his heart swelling with pride.
“You know what it is, Erick,” he said gently. “It’s not a place for a young ‘un like you.”
But Erick’s eyes, so much like his mother’s, burned with curiosity. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he protested. “I want to understand this place we’re building our life in.”
Sue and Lucille exchanged a knowing glance. The boy was growing up, eager to explore the complexities of the world around him. They had hoped to shield him from the town’s darker secrets, but perhaps it was time to introduce him to the reality of the west.
“Maybe,” Smoke said finally, his voice gruff with consideration. “But only if your mother agrees.”
Lucille took a deep breath, her gaze lingering on her son. “If it’s a part of our new life,” she said slowly, “then maybe it’s something we all should experience together.”
Sue nodded, her eyes shining with a newfound determination. “We’re a family,” she said, placing a hand on Erick’s shoulder. “And we face everything together.”
The following evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a fiery dance of reds and oranges, a message arrived at the farm. It was a simple scrap of paper, the ink smudged from the journey. ‘The Sweet Surrender, tonight. Dress to impress. Bring the gold.’
Smoke looked at the note, his heart racing with excitement and nerves. He turned to the women, their faces a mirror of his own feelings. “Looks like we’re going to get our first taste of Freedom Worth’s secret life,” he said, his voice low.
They dressed in their finest, the clothes a stark contrast to the dusty overalls they wore on the farm. Sue’s dress hugged her ample curves, the fabric a deep blue that brought out the fire in her eyes. Lucille wore a gown that made her look like a queen, her blonde hair cascading down her back in waves of gold. Erick, though young, was dressed sharply, his shirt and pants a testament to their newfound prosperity.
They climbed into the carriage, the leather seats creaking under their weight. The horse whinnied, sensing the excitement of its passengers. As they approached the outskirts of town, the air grew thick with anticipation, the distant sounds of the saloons and brothels a siren’s call to the night’s revelry.
The barn was an unassuming structure, nestled between two larger houses. It was easy to miss, but the soft glow of candlelight spilling from the cracks in the wood told a different story. Smoke’s heart hammered in his chest as they approached, the plow resting in the back of the carriage a silent sentinel of their newfound wealth and status.
The door swung open at their knock, revealing a world of shadows and whispers. A man with a scar across his cheek looked them up and down before nodding and gesturing them inside. The scent of perfume and sweat hit them like a wall, a heady mix that spoke of passion and desperation.
Inside, the barn had been transformed. Hay bales had been arranged into a makeshift arena, and the walls were lined with townsfolk, their faces a mix of excitement and trepidation. The floor was packed dirt, smooth from the countless battles that had been fought there. At the center, two women stood, their fists bared and their eyes filled with a fierce determination that belied their delicate features.
Smoke felt a strange mix of horror and fascination as he watched the women fight, their bodies moving with a grace that belied their brutality. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and fear, the crowd’s cheers a cacophony that seemed to fuel their passion.
The fight was announced, and the anticipation grew as the crowd murmured the names: Henrietta ‘Wicked’ Armstrong versus Mrs. Loretta ‘Smiley’ Lang. The names alone spoke of a stark contrast in their natures, and the impending battle was a testament to the depth of the town’s secrets. Henrietta, a tall, lean woman with a sharp jawline and piercing green eyes, stepped into the ring, her red hair tied back in a severe bun. Her reputation for her swift left hook and merciless tactics had earned her the moniker ‘Wicked’.
Mrs. Loretta ‘Smiley’ Lang, on the other hand, was a picture of sweetness and light, with a warm smile that never seemed to leave her lips. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, and her eyes, though twinkling with mischief, were the kind that could charm the birds from the trees. The crowd roared as she disrobed, revealing a figure that was both voluptuous and powerful.
The two women circled each other, their bodies a study in contrasts. Henrietta’s lean muscles rippled in the candlelight, a testament to her life of hard labor and discipline. Loretta’s curves were soft and inviting, a stark reminder of the comforts and joys of hearth and home. Yet, as they touched gloves, it was clear that both were warriors in their own right, ready to lay bare not just their bodies, but their very souls in the quest for victory.
Smoke felt the weight of his gold nugget in his pocket, a symbol of the life they had left behind and the future they were building. He knew the stakes were high, not just for the women fighting, but for all of Freedom Worth. Each blow they exchanged was a declaration of strength and a plea for fortune’s favor.
With a knowing nod to Terry, who was watching from the sidelines, Smoke made his way to the makeshift betting table. The bookie, a portly man with a greasy smile, took his wad of cash with a nod. “Wise choice,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to Henrietta. “She’s got the devil’s own luck.”
Smoke felt a pang of doubt. Was it luck they were after, or something more? He glanced at Sue and Mrs. Stephens, their faces a mix of excitement and concern as they watched the women strip down to their undergarments. The fight was about to begin, and the air was electric with tension.
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