Hawk Eye's Revenge
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 1
Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jimmy, q boy tries to find his mother who has been missing for months in Redemption Creaks town, and he finds her trapped in a brothel. How does he find a way out to free his mother?
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Slavery Fiction Crime Tear Jerker Western Orgy Interracial Black Male White Female Anal Sex Cat-Fighting Violence
“You ain’t from ‘round here, are ya?” the grizzled man drawled, squinting at the young, clean-shaven face that peered out from beneath the brim of a dusty hat. The train had rumbled into the station a few moments ago, sending plumes of dust and the scent of burning coal into the muggy air of the otherwise quiet town.
Jimmy, the young fella with a Colt on his hip, didn’t even flinch. His eyes, a stormy gray, took in the whole station - a bunch of wooden buildings and tired folks that looked like they hadn’t seen a good rain in forever. The sun was a merciless hammer overhead, beating down on the unpaved streets, making the dust rise in a fine mist with every step. The buildings leaned into each other like old friends sharing secrets, their once vibrant facades now faded and chipped, whispering of better days long gone. “I’m from Oklahoma, I need to find the auction house in this town” he said, his voice a soft rumble, the kind that suggested he’d seen more than his share of the world’s harshness despite his youthful years.
“Looking for the auction house, are ya?” Hank’s grin grew wider, revealing teeth that had seen more tobacco than dentistry. He slapped his knee, chuckling. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, son. It’s the biggest thing that happens ‘round here every month. Folks from all over come to bid on the finest women this side of the Mississippi.” His eyes narrowed, studying Jimmy’s unblemished clothes and the tension in his jaw. “But you don’t seem the type to be buying, if you catch my drift.”
Jimmy’s hand tightened around the grip of his Colt. “I’m looking for someone,” he said, his voice low and firm.
“Oh, I see,” Hank leaned in, his interest piqued. “A lady friend, maybe? Someone special you’re trying to get back?”
Jimmy’s jaw clenched. “She is my mom. Mrs. Sophia ‘Raven’ Blankenship,” he said firmly. The name hit the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the casual conversation. Hank’s expression shifted from amusement to something akin to respect mixed with a hint of fear.
“Well, I’ll be,” Hank murmured, stroking his scruffy beard. “Heard of her. She was quite the looker back when she had her pick of the litter. But that was two, maybe three months ago, when she was brought here by the bandits. The Madam with the red parasol bought her. Name’s Madam Flora. Runs the best, and the roughest, brothel in town. Called ‘The Hooty Pink’.”
The name of the establishment sent a shiver down Jimmy’s spine. He’d heard whispers of it during his journey, a place where hope was traded for coin and dignity was a luxury few could afford. “Where can I find this Madam Flora?” he asked, his voice tight with urgency.
“Now hold your horses, son,” Hank said, raising a calloused hand. “The Hooty Pink is way out on the outskirts of town. You’re not gonna get there on foot before the sun sets, and that’s no place for a tenderfoot like you after dark. Besides, you’ll need a steed to make that journey.” He jerked his thumb towards the livery stable across the street. Ron “Ol’ Jenkins has the best horses in town. Tell him Hank sent ya, and he’ll give you a good deal on a reliable mount.”
Jimmy nodded, fished out a silver dollar from his pocket, and placed it in Hank’s palm. The man’s eyes gleamed as he closed his hand around the coin. “Much obliged,” he said, tipping his dusty hat. “Madam Flora won’t be expecting you, so keep that under your hat.” With that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving Jimmy to his thoughts.
The sun was a fiery globe in the sky, casting long shadows as Jimmy crossed the street to the livery stable. The heat was like a living entity, wrapping around him, but he barely felt it, his mind racing with the horrors that could befalling his mother at the hands of those who saw her only as chattel. The stable was cool and dark, a welcome respite from the relentless glare outside. The scent of hay and horse manure mingled with leather and sweat, a comforting smell that reminded him of home.
Ron “Ol’ Jenkins” looked up from his work, a greasy rag in hand, when he heard the jingle of the bell above the door. His eyes lit up when he saw the dollar in Jimmy’s hand. “What can I do for you, son?” he asked, wiping his hands on a greasy apron. Jimmy told him about his need for a fast horse and the urgency of his quest.
Ol’ Jenkins listened, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I reckon I’ve got just the animal for you,” he said, leading Jimmy through the stables to a stall at the back. A beautiful palomino with a coat as golden as the sun and a fiery spirit to match, stomped its hoof impatiently. “This here’s Midnight,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “Fast as a bullet in the night and smarter than most folks in town. You treat her right, and she’ll get you there in no time.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “How much?”
Ol’ Jenkins looked at him, then at the silver dollar in his hand, then back at him. “For you, son, twenty bucks and a promise to bring her back in one piece. That’s a steal.”
Jimmy’s hand tightened around the dollar. “Deal,” he said, his voice firm.
As Ron began bridling Midnight, Jimmy couldn’t help but ask more about Madam Flora and her infamous establishment. The old man’s eyes grew distant, as if remembering something best left forgotten. “Madam Flora,” he said, “she’s got a reputation that stretches farther than the railroad tracks. Used to be a beauty herself, so they say. Now, she’s a hard woman, runs a tight ship. You’ll know The Hooty Pink when you see it - it’s painted a garish pink, like something out of a nightmare.”
Ol’ Jenkins paused in his work, wiping his brow with the dirty rag. “But the real spectacle, the one that gets the townsfolk talking, is her balcony show. Every evening, she parades her finest ‘merchandise’ out there, stark naked for all to see. It’s like a twisted parade, each girl trying to outdo the others in beauty and allure. Madam Flora stands tall, her red parasol shading her from the sun, watching the crowd like a hawk eyeing its prey. It’s a sight that’ll turn your stomach if you’ve got one, but it brings in the customers.”
Jimmy felt a cold rage building inside him at the thought of his mother being treated like a commodity. “What happens at the brothel?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Ol’ Jenkins sighed heavily, his eyes flicking towards the dollar still clutched in Jimmy’s hand. “Well, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, I reckon. Madam Flora, she’s got this ... ritual, I guess you’d call it. Every evening, right before sunset, she has all her new girls - that’s what they call ‘em, ‘girls’ - line up on the balcony of The Hooty Pink. They’re all naked as jaybirds, strutting and smiling like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to ‘em. The townsfolk, they all come out to watch. Some of ‘em are looking to buy, some are just there for the ... entertainment. It’s a sad sight, son.”
He paused, looking at Jimmy’s clenched fists and the determination etched on his face. “If you’re looking to find your mother, you might wanna come back tonight. That’s when they do the showing, and it’s your best bet to catch a glimpse of her without stirring up trouble. Madam Flora, she’s got eyes everywhere, and she don’t take kindly to strangers poking their noses where they don’t belong. You’d do well to blend in, watch from a distance.”
Jimmy nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Alright, I’ll be back after dark. What else should I know about this place?”
Ol’ Jenkins paused, stroking Midnight’s mane. “Madam Flora, she’s got a right nasty set of guards. They’re as loyal to her as a pack of wolves to their alpha. And the sheriff in town, a fella named Cutter, he’s in her pocket deep. If you go stealing one of her ‘girls,’ as she calls ‘em, you’ll have more than just her wrath to deal with.” He spat on the ground, his voice thick with disgust. “Cutter’s got a vendetta against anyone who crosses Flora. You’d be wise to stay under the radar, son.”
Jimmy nodded, his jaw set. “Understood. What about the layout of the brothel? Any tips on how to get in and out without being noticed?”
Ol’ Jenkins pursed his lips, considering. “Best thing you can do is come as a customer,” he said finally. “Book a room, get your mother inside, and then make your escape. They got windows in those rooms, don’t they?”
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “How do I get her out without alerting anyone?”
“Now, that’s the trick,” Ol’ Jenkins said, his voice low and serious. “The rooms upstairs, they’re all locked tighter than a miser’s purse. Only Madam Flora and her right-hand man, a sneaky cuss named Silas, got the keys. But, God’s honest truth, nobody’s ever seen inside them rooms. They say they’re like mini fortresses, designed to keep the girls in and the riffraff out.”
Jimmy’s gaze sharpened. “So, if we can get to the window...”
Ol’ Jenkins nodded, his expression grim. “You might stand a chance. But it’s not gonna be easy, son. The windows are small, and the drop to the alley is a doozy. And that’s not even considering the guards that patrol the streets like bloodhounds.”
Jimmy listened intently, his mind racing with plans and contingencies. “What about the back?” he asked. “Is there a way to get into the alley without being seen?”
Ol’ Jenkins nodded slowly. “There’s a back door, but it’s as guarded as Fort Knox. They say Madam Flora don’t want no one sneaking her girls out the back. But,” he leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, “if you’re quick and quiet, you might be able to use the alley. Just wait for the right moment, when the crowd’s inside for the show and the alley’s clear. And you’ll need something to get down from those windows. You might get a torn bedsheet in the room. Tie it to the bed frame and lower your mother down slow and steady. It’s risky, but it’s your best shot.”
With a final pat on Midnight’s neck, Jimmy thanked the old man and swung himself into the saddle. The palomino was more than ready to go, her eyes flashing with excitement as she sensed the urgency in her rider. As he rode out of the stable, the sun dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky with a fiery display of oranges and purples. The air grew cooler, the shadows longer, and the anticipation in his chest grew heavier with every beat of Midnight’s hooves against the packed earth.
The town was a hive of activity, with folks scurrying to and fro, preparing for the evening’s entertainment. The Hooty Pink loomed on the edge of town, its garish pink facade a stark contrast to the fading light. Jimmy slowed his horse, taking in the sights, his stomach churning at the thought of his mother being a part of this. He knew he had to keep his cool and play the part if he wanted to get her out.
He found a spot behind a water trough, where the shadows of the buildings stretched long and thin across the street. From there, he could see the balcony of The Hooty Pink without being seen. The palomino, Midnight, was as still as a statue, her eyes fixed on the distant spectacle, sensing the tension in her rider.
As the sun kissed the horizon, a murmur grew from the brothel like the rumble before a storm. The balcony doors swung open, and a procession of young women, each more beautiful than the last, paraded out into view. They were all naked, their skin a canvas for the dying light to play upon. Jimmy’s heart clenched in his chest as he searched for any sign of his mother. The crowd grew louder, catcalls and whistles piercing the air as the women moved with a forced grace, each trying to outshine the others.
Madam Flora strutted out, her crimson parasol a stark contrast to her pale skin. She wore a gown that was more lace than fabric, and her eyes gleamed with a malicious delight as she surveyed the town below. The women on the balcony were her chess pieces, and she moved them with a cruel precision that made bile rise in Jimmy’s throat. The Madam began her twisted performance, her voice a siren’s call that seemed to resonate through the very air. She taunted the crowd, her hand tracing the curves of the women, making them squirm and giggle for the amusement of the leering townsfolk.
Jimmy’s eyes darted among the lineup, searching for the familiar face of his mother. His heart hammered against his ribs as each girl was presented, their eyes hollow and their smiles forced. The crowd below was a sea of sweaty, hungry men, their eyes devouring every inch of the displayed flesh. The atmosphere was thick with lust and greed, a palpable stench that made the hairs on the back of Jimmy’s neck stand on end.
Madam Flora was in her element, her voice as sweet and deadly as a rattlesnake’s hiss. She squeezed and prodded the women, making them giggle and pout for the audience’s amusement. Each one had a number attached to her wrist, a stark reminder of their new status as mere commodities.
Jimmy’s gaze was a hawk’s, unblinking and sharp as he scanned the line of degraded beauty. His heart raced, every beat echoing the pounding of his horse’s hooves on the dusty street. The smell of sweat and desperation clung to the air as the townsfolk jeered and shouted, eager to claim their prize for the night.
Madam Flora’s eyes glittered with a dark amusement as she paraded the ‘merchandise’ before the drooling crowd. She was a cruel puppeteer, her hands moving over the trembling flesh of the women with a practiced ease that made Jimmy’s stomach turn. Each girl was forced to perform, bending and arching to show off their assets, a silent auction of the most intimate kind. They were poked and prodded, their bodies manipulated like dolls for the lecherous delight of the onlookers. The Madam’s cruel smile grew wider with each giggle she coaxed from her ‘girls’, her red parasol fluttering like a demonic flag above the spectacle.
One by one, the townfolk approached the balcony, their eyes alight with greed as they picked their prize for the night. Jimmy watched, his heart a leaden weight in his chest, as men of all sizes and shapes pointed and bargained, their coarse laughter ringing through the evening air. Each transaction was a knife in his soul, each girl led away a silent scream that echoed through the dusty streets. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with rage, but he knew that now was not the time to act. He had to find his mother, get her to safety, and then deal with the monsters who had brought her to this hellish place.
As the last of the ‘merchandise’ was paraded away, the Madam’s gaze swept over the dwindling crowd, lingering for a brief moment on the solitary figure of Jimmy, hunkered down in the shadows. He felt the weight of her stare, the coldness of her appraisal, but she said nothing, her smile never faltering as she retreated into the brothel, the crimson parasol fluttering behind her like the tail of a malevolent bird.
Jimmy knew the time had come. He nudged Midnight into a slow, silent walk towards the garish pink building, his hand hovering over the Colt at his side. The palomino’s hooves were as quiet as a ghost’s whispers on the dusty street. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation of what lay ahead like a storm gathering on the horizon.
As he approached The Hooty Pink, the sounds of raucous laughter and music spilled from the open windows, the very essence of the place feeling like a slap in the face. He dismounted, tying the horse to a nearby post, and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. The doors swung open, revealing a world of shadows and vice that made his skin crawl.
Jimmy stepped inside, his hat low, trying to blend in with the rowdy patrons that filled the place. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and perfume, the latter a desperate attempt to mask the underlying odor of despair. Madam Flora stood at the top of the stairs, her crimson parasol perched atop her head like a crown, watching the proceedings below with a cold, calculating gaze.
Her eyes landed on him, and for a moment, Jimmy felt exposed, like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s sights. But he held his ground, his hand resting casually on the butt of his Colt. The Madam descended the stairs, her crimson dress billowing around her like a bloody cloud. She moved with the grace of a predator, every step deliberate and precise. “Welcome to The Hooty Pink, kid,” she purred, extending a gloved hand. “I don’t recall seeing you around here before. What brings you to our little establishment?”
Jimmy took the offered hand, his grip firm but not challenging. “Just passing through,” he replied, his voice steady despite the rage simmering beneath the surface. “Looking for a place to lay my head and maybe some ... company.”
Madam Flora’s smile grew knowing, her eyes raking over him like a serpent sizing up its prey. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, darling,” she said, her voice a smooth caress. “We’ve got the finest whores this side of the Mississippi. What’s your taste? Blonde or brunette? Sweet or spicy?”
Jimmy’s gut twisted at the mention of his mother as if she were just another commodity to be bought and sold, but he kept his cool. “I’ve heard tell of a special one,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Her name is Raven.”
Madam Flora’s smile grew even more predatory, a glint of something akin to surprise flashing in her cold, green eyes. “Ah, Mrs. Blankenship,” she said, her voice dripping with a mocking sweetness that made him want to spit. “Indeed, she is one of my finest.” The Madam’s eyes roved over him, assessing his worth. “But she’s not for the faint of heart. Or the light of wallet.”
Jimmy’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm. “I’ve got the coin, and I’m not here for a chat,” he said, his hand hovering near the Colt. “I want to rent her for the night.”
Madam Flora’s smile grew even more predatory, and she leaned in closer, her breath hot on his cheek. “Raven is indeed a popular choice, but she’s currently ... engaged,” she murmured, her eyes flicking towards an upstair room where the sounds of grunts and feminine whimpers could be heard. “But for someone like you, I might be able to make an exception.” Her voice was a silken whisper that made his skin crawl.
Jimmy’s hand hovered over his Colt, his eyes never leaving hers. “How much?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Madam Flora’s smile grew into a full-fledged grin, revealing teeth stained with the whiskey she so liberally imbued. “For the likes of you, double the usual,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “But fear not, my dear boy, she’s worth every penny. Just wait here, you’ll get your turn soon.”
Jimmy’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt, but he managed a nod. His mother was being violated in that very moment, and he had to stand there, pretending to be one of the monsters who bought and sold her. His hand itched to pull out his Colt and lay waste to the whole rotten place, but he knew that would only make things worse. Instead, he leaned against the bar, trying to blend in with the raucous crowd.
He ordered a whiskey, the cheapest they had, his eyes never leaving the door to the room where he knew his mother was being defiled. The bartender, a burly man with a greasy apron and a nose that had seen more booze than a teetotaler’s dreams, slammed the glass down in front of him with a look that suggested he knew exactly what was going on upstairs. Jimmy took a sip, the liquid burning his throat as he forced himself to swallow.
The sounds of laughter and depravity floated down from the second floor, a cacophony of sin that seemed to mock his very existence. Each slap of flesh, every guttural grunt, was like a knife in his soul. His hand remained steady, hovering near his Colt, his mind racing with the thought of busting through that door and saving her. But he knew that would only end in a bloody mess, with him likely dead and his mother no better off.
The bartender, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, leaned closer. “Raven, eh?” he said, his voice a gruff whisper. “Madam Flora’s favorite, she is. They don’t call her ‘The Nightingale of the West’ for nothin’. That one’s got more men wanting a piece of her than a fresh pie at a county fair.” His leer made Jimmy’s skin crawl, but he nodded, keeping his emotions in check.
As the hours dragged on, the whiskey burned a path through his gut, but his mind remained sharp. He had to wait for the perfect moment. The brothel room grew rowdier, the patrons’ voices rising and falling with the tides of their lust and drunkenness. The music grew louder, the laughter more forced, and the air grew thick with the stench of sweat and desperation.
Finally, the door to the room upstairs creaked open, and the men who had been inside stumbled out, their faces flushed and their eyes glazed with the satisfaction of their depraved conquests. Jimmy’s stomach roiled at the sight of them, his hand tightening around the grip of his Colt. The men looked at him with knowing smirks, their leers speaking volumes about the fate of the woman they had just left behind.
With a sudden surge of anger-fueled strength, Jimmy pushed away from the bar and strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The Madam’s eyes followed him, a mix of curiosity and annoyance, but she said nothing, watching the unfolding drama like a cat watching a mouse in a cage. His boots echoed in the hallway, each step feeling like a lifetime as he approached the room with the number ‘3’ hanging crookedly from a rusty nail.
The door swung open with a squeal of protesting wood, revealing a scene that would be forever burned into his mind. His mother, Mrs. Sophia ‘Raven’ Blankenship, lay naked and bound to the bed, her body a canvas of bruises and the aftermath of the men’s lust. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat and the foulness that coated her. The sight was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.
Her eyes widened with hope and fear when she saw him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Jimmy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the brothel.
Jimmy’s rage boiled over as he saw his mother in such a state, and he rushed to her side, his Colt at the ready. With trembling hands, he began to untie the thick ropes that bound her to the bed. Each knot loosened felt like a victory, a step closer to freeing her from this hell. As the last rope fell away, he gathered her into his arms, feeling the tremors of her sobs against his chest. Her skin was hot and sticky with sweat, but he held her tight, whispering words of comfort into her ear.
Her eyes searched his face, a silent plea for rescue shining through the tears. He kissed her forehead, his own eyes misting over. “It’s okay, Ma,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I’m here now. I’m gonna get you out of here.”
The room was a prison cell of velvet and lace, a mockery of comfort in this cesspool of debauchery. Jimmy’s hands trembled as he gently lifted her off the bed, her body feeling fragile and broken. He wrapped the tattered bedsheet around her, trying to give her some semblance of dignity in this hellish place. She clung to him, her nails digging into his arms, as if afraid he would vanish if she let go.
“We gotta move fast,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent. “The whole place is on to us soon enough.”
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