Hawk Eye's Revenge
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 6
Western Sex Story: Chapter 6 - 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 morning light crept in, painting the world in shades of gray as they approached the town’s boutique. The shop’s windows were dark, but a light flickered from within, hinting at the finery that awaited. They had earned this victory, and it was time to claim their spoils.
Mrs. Blankenship, Oscar, and Christelle walked in, their mud-stained clothes a stark contrast to the luxurious fabrics displayed around them. The shopkeeper, a portly man with a perpetual look of surprise, stared at the trio as if they were mythical creatures that had stumbled out of a storybook.
Ignoring his stare, Mrs. Blankenship strode through the boutique with the confidence of a woman who had just conquered the town’s most fearsome adversary. Her eyes scanned the racks, searching for the finest garments that the town had to offer. The smell of expensive perfumes filled the air, a stark contrast to the scent of mud and sweat that had been her constant companion.
Oscar and Christelle followed her lead, their own excitement palpable. They had tasted victory, and now it was time to claim their rewards. With the gold coins from the stolen treasure jingling in their pockets, they had the means to adorn themselves in the finest threads that Redemption Creek had never seen on anyone but the Madam’s elite.
Mrs. Blankenship’s gaze fell upon a hat with a broad brim, the dark net mesh whispering secrets of hidden beauty beneath. It was a Pandora’s hat, the kind that spoke of mysteries and allure. She knew that this would serve as her mask as they moved through the town, unnoticed and untouchable. With a flourish, she plucked it from its perch, the fabric whispering against her skin as she placed it upon her head.
Oscar, still riding the wave of victory, couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the selection of men’s attire. His gaze landed on a silk vest, a rich emerald color that seemed to pulse with the energy of their rebellion. He picked it up, the fabric sliding through his fingers like a lover’s caress. He had always been a fan of the finer things in life, and now he had the means to indulge.
But as he held the vest against his chest, contemplating the transformation it would bring, his thoughts turned to Simone. The clever little monkey had been their secret weapon in so many ways. It only seemed fair that she should share in their triumph. With a mischievous smile, he set the vest aside and searched the racks for something more ... fitting.
And there it was: a miniature version of his own attire, a perfect match to his own ensemble. He picked out the tiny garments, his heart swelling with pride as he pictured Simone dressed to the nines, a symbol of their unity and shared victory. The hat, the vest, the trousers – all scaled down to fit the monkey’s diminutive frame. The shopkeeper watched with a mix of astonishment and amusement as Oscar laid out his selections on the counter.
Christelle, meanwhile, had found her own treasure. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a pair of snug-fitting pantalons and a tight corset that would hug her body in all the right places. The fabric was a deep blue that seemed to shimmer with the promise of adventure, and the stitching was as precise as the knives she kept hidden in her boots. It was a garment made for movement, for the kind of acrobatic feats that had earned her a place in Nielsen’s carnival.
Mrs. Blankenship watched with a smile as Christelle twirled in front of the mirror, the pantalons hugging her muscular legs and the corset accentuating her slender waist. She knew that Christelle had chosen her outfit with more than just vanity in mind. This was a declaration of war, and the clothes they wore were their armor.
“It’s time,” she said, her voice firm and steady. “We need the finest horses and guns this town has to offer.”
Oscar nodded, his mind already racing with the implications of their next move. “I know just the place,” he said, his eyes lighting up with the memory of whispers in the saloon. “The barkeep mentioned an old man named Harvey ‘Quick Gun’ Burch. He lives on the outskirts of town, keeps to himself, but he’s said to have the best stock around.”
The trio made their way to Quick Gun’s place, the mud from the previous night’s fight drying on their skin as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The shopkeeper had provided them with a map, drawn hastily on the back of a discarded playing card. The path was winding and fraught with danger, but they had come too far to let fear dictate their course.
As they approached the outskirts of Redemption Creek, the landscape grew sparse, the buildings giving way to a sprawling ranch surrounded by a weathered fence. The only sound was the distant whinny of horses and the occasional creak of the saloon’s swinging doors. They dismounted their horses, leaving them tethered to a post outside the fence.
Mrs. Blankenship, Oscar, and Christelle approached the house with caution, their eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. The door was open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with the scent of leather and gunpowder. Inside, an old man with a thick mustache sat in a rocking chair, cleaning a pistol with a meticulousness that spoke of years of practice. His eyes snapped up at their entrance, a wary look in his gaze.
“What do you folks want?” he asked gruffly, not bothering to hide his weapon.
Mrs. Blankenship stepped forward, her voice steady and clear. “We’re here for horses and firearms, Mr. Burch. We’ve got gold to spend and a cause to fight for.”
Quick Gun eyed them up, his gaze lingering on their mud-spattered clothes and the hat on Mrs. Blankenship’s head. He knew the look of those who had been to the auction house – desperate, determined, and usually in a hurry to leave town. But there was something different about these three. The confidence in their stance, the fire in their eyes – they weren’t running away from a fight; they were bringing it to the very heart of the corruption.
He took a long drag from his pipe, his eyes never leaving them. “What cause is that?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Mrs. Blankenship leaned against the doorframe, the hat shadowing her face. “The kind that could use a man with your expertise,” she said, her voice low and sultry.
Quick Gun studied them for a moment longer before rising to his feet. He spat a wad of tobacco into a metal spittoon with a ringing sound that echoed through the room. “I ain’t one for small talk,” he said, setting the pistol aside. “But I do like the smell of gold in the morning.”
He led them through the back of his house into a barn that was cleaner and better organized than any of them had ever seen. Rows of gleaming rifles and pistols lined the walls, and the horses in their stalls stamped and snorted at the newcomers. Mrs. Blankenship’s eyes widened at the sight of the powerful stallions and mares, and she knew that these were not just animals; they were weapons of liberation.
Oscar stepped up to the old man, his own eyes shining with excitement. “We’re looking for the fastest, the most reliable horses you have, Mr. Burch,” he said, laying a gold coin on the counter. “And the firepower to match.”
Quick Gun Burch chuckled, a sound like gravel being crunched underfoot. “Fast, you say?” He nodded towards a stall where three black stallions snorted and pawed at the ground. “Take a look at these.”
Mrs. Blankenship approached the stall, her eyes locked with one of the horse’s. It was clear that this wasn’t just any steed; it was a creature that craved the same kind of freedom she did. The animal’s spirit called to her, and she knew that together, they could outrun any pursuer, leave any battlefield in their dust.
Oscar picked up the coin, turning it over in his fingers. “We’re going to need more than just speed,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a cunning that belied his outward charm. “We need stealth, agility – horses that can navigate the town’s back alleys and escape routes like ghosts.”
Quick Gun grunted in approval. “I’ve got just the things,” he said, leading them to a separate area of the barn. There, a pair of sleek, midnight-colored mares and a dappled gray stallion awaited, their eyes wide with curiosity. Mrs. Blankenship felt a connection to the gray, its coat speckled like the stars in a moonlit sky.
They spent the afternoon with Quick Gun, selecting their mounts and weapons. The old man showed them his prized possessions: a Colt Peacemaker that had never missed a shot, a Winchester that sang with the thunder of freedom, and a pair of knives that had seen more battles than the town itself. They tried on their new gear, the leather holsters fitting snugly around their waists, the weight of the guns comforting in their hands.
The gray stallion was indeed a stealthy creature, its eyes flickering with intelligence. Mrs. Blankenship named it ‘Shadowfax’, after a legendary steed from her son’s stories. The animal seemed to understand, tossing its head as if in agreement. Christelle picked a nimble mare, quick and quiet on its hooves, perfect for her own brand of swift justice. Oscar chose a horse with a wild streak, a black stallion with a white blaze down its nose that seemed to mirror his own rebellious spirit.
Their transactions completed, the trio donned their new attire and armed themselves. The weight of the Colt at Mrs. Blankenship’s side was a reassuring presence, a constant reminder of their newfound power. With a tip of her hat to Quick Gun, she led her comrades back into the heart of Redemption Creek, the cobblestone streets glinting in the early afternoon light.
They approached the saloon where the whispers of rebellion had once filled the air, now seeking to become the very shadows they had fought in. Christelle’s sharp eyes scanned the faces of the patrons, searching for any sign of the town’s underbelly. Oscar sauntered in, the emerald vest a beacon of their recent victory, his swagger now a tool of deception rather than a declaration of intent.
Mrs. Blankenship, her identity hidden beneath the brim of her new hat, took a seat at the bar. Her voice was a seductive purr as she ordered three whiskeys, her accent thick and unmistakably that of a Southern belle. The barkeep, a man named Elbert with a greasy smile, slid the drinks across the counter, his eyes lingering on the gold coins she had placed there.
Oscar leaned against the bar, his posture casual despite the tension coiled in his muscles. He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the poker table where the town’s elite often gathered to discuss the upcoming auction. Christelle, in her new pantalons and corset, melded into the shadows of the saloon with the grace of a panther, her eyes flicking from face to face, searching for any hint of recognition.
Mrs. Blankenship took a sip of her whiskey, her gaze never leaving Elbert’s face as she asked in her honeyed drawl, “Now that the Madam’s auction house has met with such an ... unfortun accident, where might a lady of refined tastes acquire the finest company in town?”
Elbert’s smile grew greasier as he leaned in, his eyes glinting with the knowledge that he had something valuable. “Well, ma’am,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, “I might just know a place or two. But information like that don’t come cheap, especially not in these parts.”
Mrs. Blankenship slid another gold coin across the counter, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m willing to pay for what I need,” she said, her voice as smooth as the whiskey sliding down her throat. “But I expect it to be worth every penny.”
Elbert’s eyes lit up at the sight of the additional gold. He leaned in closer, his breath a noxious cloud of whiskey and cigar smoke. “I heard tell that Mrs. Amanda ‘Golden Teeth’ Galloway has got herself quite the haul,” he whispered. “Two noblewomen, snatched right from their carriage by a band of scoundrels. She’s keeping ‘em under lock and key, waiting for the right buyer. The price has gone up since the auction house burned down. Seems like the trade’s gotten a bit more ... exclusive.”
Mrs. Blankenship felt a cold rage simmer within her. “Where is she keeping them?”
Elbert’s eyes flicked to the coin, then back to her. “Well now, that’s the million-dollar question, ain’t it?” He leaned in further, the smell of his breath making her stomach turn. “Golden Teeth is a clever one. She’s got a mansion outside of town, where the law don’t reach.”
The trio exchanged glances, the gravity of the situation setting in. They had dismantled one cog in the town’s corrupt machine, but the gears were still turning. “We’ll need to find out where this mansion is,” Oscar murmured, his voice as deadly as a coiled rattlesnake.
Christelle nodded, her expression thoughtful. “But it will have to wait until tomorrow. I must return to the carnival,” she said, her voice tight with regret. “The show goes on, and my absence will be noticed.”
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.