Hawk Eye's Revenge
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 5
Western Sex Story: Chapter 5 - 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
The days that followed were a whirlwind of preparation and subterfuge. The carnival went on as usual, its garish lights and raucous laughter hiding the tension that coiled beneath the surface. During the day, Mrs. Blankenship trained with Oscar and Simone, her skills with the bow growing ever sharper.
But the night brought whispers and shadows, as Nielsen’s message reached her through the veil of the carnival’s canvas: the next evening, she would face Gidea Goliath, a woman as notorious for her brute strength as she was for her viciousness. The anticipation of the fight was palpable, the town buzzing with excitement at the prospect of the ‘White Hawk’ facing such a formidable opponent.
Mrs. Blankenship’s heart raced at the challenge. Gidea Goliath, a towering behemoth with fists like hams, had been a terrifying presence at the auction house, breaking the spirits of the strongest and most rebellious women. The very thought of facing her sent a shiver down her spine, but she knew that victory would not only be sweet revenge but also a powerful declaration of her intent to the town.
The night of the fight arrived with a storm that seemed to mirror the tumult in Mrs. Blankenship’s heart. Rain pounded the canvas of the big tent, the thunder a drumbeat to her impending battle. She stripped off her clothes, feeling the cold embrace of the mud as it slithered over her skin, transforming her into a creature of the earth, a symbol of the primal forces that fueled her anger.
Christelle’s eyes were wide as she applied the war paint that would complete Mrs. Blankenship’s transformation. “You’re going to need this,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she handed over a flask filled with a potent liquid. Mrs. Blankenship took it with a nod, the fiery amber liquid a promise of courage. She downed it in one swift gulp, the burn in her throat echoing the fiery resolve in her chest.
The tent was a cauldron of anticipation, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and the sweat of eager spectators. The rain had stopped, but the ground beneath the tent was a quagmire of mud, churned into a slick, treacherous surface by the restless crowd.
Mrs. Blankenship stepped into the pit, her eyes locked on the looming figure of Gidea Goliath. The giantess was a monstrous silhouette in the flickering torchlight, her massive form daunting and intimidating. The crowd roared in approval, their catcalls and taunts a symphony of depravity. But Mrs. Blankenship felt only a cold, focused rage.
Mr. Nielsen, his voice a booming thunderclap, announced the match with a dramatic flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed, “tonight, we bear witness to a battle of wills and strength! In the left corner, the unyielding ‘White Hawk’, whose very name strikes fear into the hearts of our town’s oppressors!”
The crowd roared, their anticipation a living, breathing entity in the tent. Mrs. Blankenship took her place in the mud pit, her eyes gleaming with determination. Her transformation was complete; she was no longer Mrs. Blankenship, the broken woman who had been sold to the highest bidder. She was the ‘White Hawk’, the avenging spirit that would bring retribution to the corrupt.
Oscar stepped into the audience seat, Simone on his shoulder, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “And in the right corner,” Nielsen continued, his voice a crescendo of drama, “behold the mighty Gidea Goliath, whose fists have silenced the cries of the innocent and whose cruel laughter echoes through the streets of Redemption Creek!”
The crowd’s cheers grew louder, a cacophony of lustful anticipation. Mrs. Blankenship’s heart hammered in her chest as the reality of the situation sank in. This was not just a fight for entertainment; it was a battle for the soul of the town.
Mr. Nielsen held up his hands, calling for silence. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” he exclaimed. “Place your bets, good people of Redemption Creek! Will the ‘White Hawk’ soar to victory, or will Gidea Goliath crush her beneath her mighty fists?”
The crowd’s roar grew deafening as coins clattered onto the wooden planks of the makeshift betting table, a symphony of greed and anticipation. Mrs. Blankenship took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving her opponent. Gidea Goliath grinned, her teeth gleaming like sharpened stones. The Madam’s absence was a festering wound in the town’s collective conscience, and the crowd’s thirst for blood was insatiable.
Nielsen’s hand fell with the finality of a guillotine’s blade. “Let the fight begin!” The crowd’s roar swelled as the two women charged at each other, a clash of lightning and thunder in the muddy arena. Mrs. Blankenship’s bow sang through the air, the arrows flying true, but Gidea Goliath was a moving mountain, dodging with surprising agility. Her massive fists swung with the force of a sledgehammer, sending plumes of mud and earth flying as they narrowly missed their mark.
Mrs. Blankenship felt the wind of the first blow graze her cheek, the force of it making her stumble. Gideon’s laughter was like a knell, echoing through the tent and filling her with a cold, primal terror. But she knew she had to be smarter, to use her speed and precision against the brute’s power. She danced around Gidea, her feet slipping in the mire but her movements always graceful.
Christelle watched from the shadows, her heart in her throat. She had seen Mrs. Blankenship fight before, but this was different. This was personal. The rage in her eyes was like nothing Christelle had ever seen, and she knew that this woman, this ‘White Hawk’, was fighting not just for herself, but for every woman who had ever been caged and sold like cattle.
Oscar’s heart raced as he clutched Simone, the little monkey chattering excitedly. He had never seen Mrs. Blankenship in battle, and he was both terrified and exhilarated by the spectacle unfolding before him. The gold and jewels they had stolen from the Madam felt heavy in his pocket, a constant reminder of the price of freedom.
Gidea Goliath had Mrs. Blankenship pinned against the ropes, her fists pummeling the ‘White Hawk’ with the force of a stampeding bull. Each blow sent shockwaves through the tent, the wooden frame groaning in protest. Mrs. Blankenship’s face was a mask of mud but her eyes remained sharp, her will unbroken.
Her breaths grew ragged, but she knew she had to escape. Summoning every ounce of strength and agility she had honed during her time with the Indian tribe, Mrs. Blankenship twisted her body, slipping from Gidea’s grasp like a fish escaping a bear’s maw. The crowd gasped as she rolled away, coming back to her feet with the grace of a gazelle.
With a snarl that mirrored the fiercest beasts of the plains, Mrs. Blankenship lunged. Her arms wrapped around Gidea’s massive waist, and she pushed with all her might. The giantess staggered backward, her laughter turning to a grunt of surprise. The ‘White Hawk’s’ legs churned the mud as she propelled them both towards the center of the pit.
Their bodies collided with a thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Gidea’s superior weight bore them down, but Mrs. Blankenship had the leverage. Her arms and legs entangled with Gidea’s, she locked her into an inescapable hold, her grip like a vice. The crowd’s cheers grew frenzied as they watched the David and Goliath struggle unfold before them.
The mud became a canvas for their battle, their limbs painting a picture of desperation and rage. Mrs. Blankenship’s eyes never left Gidea’s, her determination as unyielding as the steel bands that had once held her in the Madam’s cage. Her breaths came in gasps as she strained against the giantess, her muscles screaming in protest.
The crowd watched in rapt silence as the two women grappled, each trying to gain the upper hand. Mrs. Blankenship felt the earth give way beneath her, the weight of Gidea’s body driving her into the mud. The air was forced from her lungs as she hit the ground, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she tightened her grip, her legs wrapping around Gidea’s torso, her arms locking around her neck.
Gidea’s face grew red with exertion as she struggled against the ‘White Hawk’s’ vice-like hold. The crowd held their collective breath, the tension in the air as thick as the mud that clung to their bodies. Mrs. Blankenship’s eyes narrowed with concentration, her thoughts focused solely on the task at hand. The counting began, Mr. Nielsen’s voice cutting through the silence like a knife.
“One!” he called out, his eyes glued to the wrestling figures in the pit. The crowd leaned forward, their bets hanging in the balance.
“Two!” The anticipation grew, their breaths collectively held. Mrs. Blankenship’s legs tightened, her body a coil of tension.
“Three!” The crowd’s chant grew louder, a crescendo of hope and disbelief. Gidea’s arms flailed, her massive hands scrabbling for purchase in the quagmire of mud.
“Four!” The tent was a pressure cooker of anticipation, the air thick with the scent of sweat and rain. Mrs. Blankenship felt Gidea’s grip on her loosening, the giantess’s movements growing sluggish.
“Five!” The count grew more frantic, the crowd’s chant reaching a fever pitch. Gidea Goliath’s eyes bulged, her massive body thrashing in a desperate bid for freedom.
“Six!” The sound of Nielsen’s voice seemed to resonate through the very earth beneath them. Mrs. Blankenship felt Gidea’s grip weakening, the giantess’s strength waning.
“Seven!” The crowd’s chant grew frenzied, the anticipation of victory electrifying the air. Mrs. Blankenship’s muscles burned with the effort of holding on, but she refused to let go.
“Eight!” Nielsen’s voice grew hoarse with excitement, his eyes never leaving the struggling figures in the pit. Gidea’s movements grew more erratic, her breaths coming in great, ragged gasps.
“Nine!” The crowd was on their feet now, their eyes glued to the mud-soaked battle. Mrs. Blankenship felt a surge of power, drawing on the collective energy of the spectators, the very essence of their hope and anger.
“Ten!” Nielsen’s voice boomed through the tent like a thunderclap, and with that final count, Gidea Goliath’s mighty arms fell limp to her sides. The ‘White Hawk’ had done the impossible. The giantess lay still, her eyes rolled back, unconscious beneath the weight of Mrs. Blankenship’s unyielding embrace.
The crowd erupted into a maelstrom of cheers and jeers, the sound like a tornado ripping through the night. The air was electric with the scent of victory, and the tent walls trembled with the force of their collective emotion. Mrs. Blankenship pushed herself up, her body a sculpture of triumph in the mud, her grip on Gidea’s neck still firm.
With a grunt, she helped the giantess to her feet, the mud slipping from their entwined limbs like a second skin. Gidea’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of anger in them. But as she met Mrs. Blankenship’s gaze, something shifted. Perhaps it was the recognition of respect earned in the pit, or the realization that she had met her match. Either way, the anger bled away, leaving only a weary resignation.
The crowd had gone quiet, the only sound the heavy patter of rain on the tent’s canvas. The ‘White Hawk’ offered her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Gidea took it. They stood there, two warriors in the aftermath of battle, the air thick with the scent of mud and sweat. Their handshake was firm, a silent acknowledgment of the power they each wielded.
As Mrs. Blankenship helped Gidea to her feet, the crowd held its breath, unsure what to make of this sudden display of camaraderie between the town’s most feared fighters. Yet, as the giantess’s hand met hers, it was clear that something had changed in the pit. The handshake lingered, a silent promise that the fight was over, the battle won.
With a nod to the audience, Mrs. Blankenship turned and began to make her way out of the arena. Each step was deliberate, her legs heavy with the weight of her victory and the mud that clung to her. Christelle and Oscar rushed to her side, their faces a mix of awe and relief. Simone chattered excitedly from Oscar’s shoulder, her little paws patting Mrs. Blankenship’s mud-caked arm in congratulation.
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