The Trio Rioters
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 29
Western Sex Story: Chapter 29 - In the dusty frontier town of Hootyville, three inseparable boys—Nick, Erick, and Micko—dream of escape from the monotony of school, chores, and the stern rules of adults. Known around town as “The Trio Rioters” for their mischief and daring antics, the boys chase danger like moths to flame.When they stumble upon a mysterious pamphlet promising forbidden thrills at a notorious saloon, their youthful curiosity pulls them into a world far darker than they imagined.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual NonConsensual Romantic Slavery Lesbian Fiction Crime Rags To Riches Western Incest Mother Son Humiliation Rough Orgy Interracial Black Male White Female Anal Sex Sex Toys Cat-Fighting Prostitution Violence AI Generated
The next morning, the sun rose over the dusty streets, casting long shadows across the wooden planks as Nick and Micko sat in their carriage in front of the Big Bite Saloon. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of sagebrush and the promise of a new day. They leaned against the leather seats, their hats tipped low over their eyes, watching the townsfolk begin to stir.
Micko broke the silence with a low whistle. “Can’t believe it,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “Erick, marrying Mrs. Hooper? That boy’s got more guts than a bear.”
Nick leaned forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And not just any woman,” he said, nudging Erick playfully. “But a woman with a body that could make the angels weep with envy.”
The Young Guns erupted into laughter, the kind that bubbled up from deep within and shook their entire bodies. It was a laughter born of relief and joy, a release of the tension that had been coiled around them like a snake for so long.
Mrs. Hooper emerged from the saloon, her beauty radiating like the sun breaking through storm clouds. The wedding dress she wore was a vision of white lace and silk, hugging her curves in all the right places, making her look like a heavenly angel amidst the dusty backdrop of Hootyville. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes sparkled with a joy that seemed to defy the town’s history of despair. The Young Guns couldn’t help but stare, their jaws dropping at the sight of their friend transformed into a man’s ultimate fantasy.
Nick was the first to recover, “Are you ready, Mrs. Hooper?” he called out, his voice filled with a teasing lilt. “Your groom is waiting, and Mrs. Elena is already at the altar.”
Mrs. Hooper looked at them, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady and firm. “I’m ready.”
Lady Magill’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous spark, and she tapped Nick on the shoulder with a gloved hand. “Young man,” she said in a voice that was both commanding and playful, “would you be so kind as to escort me and Mrs. Hooper to the church?”
Nick looked up at her, his expression a mix of awe and determination. He had seen Mrs. Hooper in many situations, but never like this, dressed in white, looking every inch the part of a sheriff’s bride. He swallowed hard, then nodded, standing up with a flourish. “It would be my honor, Lady Magill.”
Micko’s grin was wide as he opened the carriage door. “Come on, Mrs. Hooper,” he said, offering her his hand. “Let’s get you hitched to our fearless leader.”
Mrs. Hooper took his hand, her own trembling slightly. She stepped into the carriage, the rustle of her dress the only sound in the quiet street. Erick was already waiting for her, his own nervousness barely hidden behind his stoic expression.
The four of them settled into the plush velvet seats, the warmth of their bodies creating a cocoon of comfort in the early morning chill. The carriage lurched forward, the sound of hooves and wheels echoing through the empty streets. Outside, the town of Hootyville was slowly waking up, unaware of the monumental change that was about to take place.
As they approached the church, the townsfolk began to emerge from their wooden homes, drawn by the sound of the approaching carriage. Their eyes widened in amazement as they caught sight of Mrs. Hooper dressed in white, her beauty a stark contrast to the dirt and grime that had become synonymous with their lives. Whispers grew into murmurs, and murmurs into gasps as the reality of what they were witnessing sank in.
Micko held Mrs. Hooper’s hand as they stepped out of the carriage, his eyes never leaving hers. He had seen her in every light, but today she was radiant, a beacon of hope in the harsh landscape of Hootyville. They walked up the steps of the church, the worn wooden boards creaking beneath their feet. The sun shone down on them, casting a heavenly glow around her, making her look like an angel descended from the heavens.
Inside, the small chapel was packed with townsfolk, their faces a tapestry of hope and disbelief. Erick stood at the altar, his heart racing like a stampede of wild horses. His eyes met Mrs. Hooper’s, and in that moment, all the fear and doubt melted away. Priest Hartman, his face a mix of solemnity and joy, waited for them with an open Bible, his eyes shining with the knowledge of the love that had blossomed between them.
Micko’s hand was firm and steady as he guided Mrs. Hooper down the aisle. The scent of her perfume mingled with the faint smell of gunpowder that seemed to cling to her, a reminder of the battles they had fought together. The pews creaked with every step she took, each one echoing through the silent chapel like a promise of change. Erick felt his throat tighten as she approached, his eyes never leaving hers.
Pastor Hartman cleared his throat, his eyes reflecting the weight of the moment. “We are gathered here today,” he began, his voice resonating through the small space, “to witness the union of Erick McMillan and Berty Hooper, two souls bound by love and destined to lead Hootyville out of the shadows of its past.”
The townsfolk exchanged glances, whispers of “blessings” and “congratulations” filling the air. Erick’s heart hammered in his chest as Mrs. Hooper reached the altar, her hand sliding from Micko’s to his. The warmth of her touch was reassuring, a beacon of comfort in the storm of emotion that swirled within him.
“Do you, Berty Hooper,” Pastor Hartman intoned, “take Erick McMillan to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Mrs. Hooper’s voice was strong and clear. “I do.”
The crowd’s collective sigh of relief was palpable. They had seen their fair share of marriages made in haste and born of convenience, but this was different. This was a union of hearts and souls, forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the steel of their convictions.
As Erick took Mrs. Hooper’s hand in his, the weight of his mother’s ring on her finger was a stark reminder of the legacy he was now responsible for. His grip tightened, and she squeezed back, a silent promise that together, they would face whatever the future held for them.
Pastor Hartman’s words washed over them, a mix of the familiar and the profound. “Do you, Erick McMillan,” he continued, “take Berty Hooper to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Erick looked into Mrs. Hooper’s eyes, feeling the gravity of his response. “I do,” he said, his voice steady and sure.
The pastor’s voice grew softer, as if the very walls of the church were leaning in to hear. “Then by the power vested in me by the good Lord and the state of Texas, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Erick leaned in, his heart racing, and kissed Mrs. Hooper with a passion that seemed to ignite the very air around them. The townsfolk erupted into applause, their cheers bouncing off the rafters and echoing through the dusty streets outside. The kiss lingered, a promise of love and protection in a town that had seen too little of either.
When they finally parted, Mrs. Elena stepped forward, her eyes brimming with pride. She took Mrs. Hooper’s hand and raised it to her cheek, whispering something only the two of them could hear. Then she turned to Erick and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Welcome to the family,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
The reception at The Golden Spur was nothing short of a celebration. The townsfolk, eager for a reason to revel in something other than their own vices, turned out in their Sunday best, filling the saloon to the brim. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meats and the sweet scent of freshly baked pies. The piano played a jaunty tune, and the sound of laughter and good cheer filled the room.
As Erick and Mrs. Hooper entered the saloon, hand in hand, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Chief Everett, his usually stern face cracked into a broad smile, strode towards them, his hand outstretched. “Congratulations, Sheriff McMillan,” he said, his deep voice rumbling with affection. “You’ve done us all proud.”
Mayor Marshall, his portly figure draped in a fine suit, waddled over, his handshake firm and warm. “Welcome to the family,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “You’ve got quite the challenge ahead of you, but I’ve no doubt you’re up to it.” His gaze lingered on Mrs. Hooper, his expression a mix of admiration and respect. “And to you, Mrs. McMillan,” he added, his voice taking on a more formal tone, “Thank you for standing by our young hero’s side. Together, you two are the beacon of hope this town needs.”
Judge Alfred Breunan, his stern face etched with the lines of a lifetime’s worth of wisdom, approached them next. He took both of their hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “Your union is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit,” he said, his voice gruff but earnest. “You’ve shown us that love can conquer even the darkest of places. May your marriage be as strong as the bond you share in your quest for justice.” His eyes grew misty, and he patted Erick’s shoulder before embracing Mrs. Hooper in a fatherly hug.
Then, from the crowd emerged Mr. Samuel Goodwin, the railroad construction foreman. His eyes, usually narrowed in disapproval, were now crinkled with genuine happiness. He wiped a tear from his eye with a handkerchief that had seen better days. “Erick,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion, “you’ve always had the makings of a great leader. And Mrs. Hooper,” he turned to her, his gaze filled with respect, “you’ve shown us that even in the face of adversity, there is always room for love and redemption.”
The town’s people gathered around, offering their congratulations, their faces a blend of awe and hope. Among them was Lady Magill, her eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and sadness. She approached Erick and Mrs. Hooper, her hand outstretched, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “My dearest Berty,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I am so proud of you, so incredibly proud.”
Nick and his mother, Mrs. Mary, stepped forward, their faces beaming with joy. Mrs. Mary, her hair neatly coiffed and her dress meticulously pressed, wrapped her arms around Mrs. Hooper, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Welcome to the family,” she whispered into her ear, her voice a soothing balm to the nerves that still hummed through the new bride’s body.
Micko and his mother, Mrs. Biddy, a woman with a heart as vast as the desert and a smile that could light up the darkest corner of the saloon, approached next. Mrs. Biddy’s eyes searched Mrs. Hooper’s, and in that brief moment, the two women shared an understanding that went beyond words. Micko looked at Erick, his eyes shining with pride. “You’ve got yourself a fine woman there,” he said, slapping Erick on the back. “And we’ve got ourselves a sheriff who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”
“Thanks, Micko,” Erick replied, his cheeks flushing at the praise. “But enough about me. What about you? You ever think about settling down?”
Micko’s grin grew wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Settle down? Me?” He laughed, the sound echoing through the saloon. “I’ve got too much of the devil in me for that.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But speaking of devilish things, where you two lovebirds planning on spending your honeymoon?”
Erick shot him a glare, but Mrs. Hooper’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “We’re going to the Rocking R Ranch,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “Mrs. Elena arranged it all.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “The Rocking R?” he exclaimed. “That’s where all the rich folks go for their honeymoons!”
Mrs. Hooper blushed prettily. “Mrs. Elena said it was the most romantic spot for miles around,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Private cabins, hot springs, and the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen.”
“Sounds heavenly,” Nick said with a wink. “But remember, you’re not just a sheriff’s wife now. You’re one of the Young Guns. You’ve got to keep that sharp tongue and that sharper shotgun ready.”
Mrs. Hooper rolled her eyes, her laughter bubbling up like a fresh spring. “Don’t you worry about me, Nick,” she said, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. “I can handle myself.”
The carriage ride to the Rocking R Ranch was filled with quiet excitement. The countryside rolled by in a blur of dust and sagebrush, the sun beating down on the leather roof like a drummer’s solo. Erick sat beside her, his hand resting protectively on her knee, the gold band on her finger glinting in the sunlight. They talked of their plans for the future, their voices filled with hope and determination.
The ranch itself was an oasis amidst the harsh landscape, a sprawling expanse of green that seemed to stretch on forever. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers and the distant sound of a babbling brook. As they approached, the cabins came into view, nestled in the shade of towering oaks, their wooden porches beckoning with the promise of rest and respite.
The owner, a jovial man named Mr. Rogers, greeted them with a wide smile and a firm handshake for Erick and a gentle nod for Mrs. Hooper. He led them to their private cabin, a cozy abode with a four-poster bed draped in soft, clean linens, a crackling fireplace, and a steaming tub of water drawn from the nearby hot springs. “Your mother did us a mighty fine favor,” Mr. Rogers said to Erick, his eyes twinkling. “We’re honored to have you both here.”
Once they were alone, Mrs. Hooper looked around the room, her eyes wide with wonder. “This is ... incredible,” she murmured. Erick took her hand, his eyes shining with love. “It’s nothing compared to you,” he said, pulling her closer. Their kiss was deep and lingering, filled with the passion and promise of a future they had never dared to dream of.
They undressed each other slowly, their hands trembling with anticipation. Mrs. Hooper’s naked body was a masterpiece of curves and softness, a stark contrast to the harshness of the world outside. Erick’s touch was gentle, reverent, as he traced the contours of her breasts and the dip of her waist. He felt her shiver under his touch, and his own desire grew to a fever pitch.
Mrs. Hooper’s eyes never left his as she undid the buttons of his shirt, her fingers brushing against the firm planes of his chest. She whispered his name, a soft sigh that seemed to melt the very air around them. They stood in the warm embrace of the cabin, their bodies pressed together, the heat of their skin blending into one.
They stepped into the tub, the hot water enveloping them like a lover’s embrace. Mrs. Hooper gasped at the heat, her eyes fluttering shut. Erick held her tight, his arms strong and reassuring. They sank into the water, the tension of the past few days draining away with every passing moment. They washed each other, their hands lingering in tenderly, exploring every inch of exposed skin.
Their lovemaking was a silent symphony of sighs and gasps, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as the earth itself. The water sloshed around them, a gentle crescendo to their passionate melody. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, a declaration of their love and commitment to each other amidst the chaos of their lives.
Afterwards, they lay entwined on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and the scent of lavender soap. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. Mrs. Hooper’s head rested on Erick’s chest, her heart beating in time with his. They lay there, saying nothing, just listening to the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.
The days at the Rocking R Ranch passed in a blur of passion and tranquility. They rode horses through the countryside, their laughter carrying on the wind. They swam in the hot springs, the water like a warm embrace that soothed their weary muscles. And at night, they made love in the moonlit cabin, their cries of pleasure mingling with the distant howls of coyotes.
But even in this idyllic setting, the shadow of Hootyville loomed. They knew that their honeymoon was a brief reprieve, a stolen moment of peace before they had to return to the town that needed them. Their love had been forged in the fires of danger and adversity, and it was a bond that could not be broken by the corruption that still clung to the streets like a stubborn stain.
On the final night, as they lay in each other’s arms, Erick whispered, “We’ll make this town our home, Mrs. McMillan. A place where love and justice rule, not fear and greed.”
Mrs. Hooper looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I believe you, Erick,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “And together, we’ll make it happen.”
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the cabin in a soft orange light. They watched it together, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one. The future was uncertain, but in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of their love, they knew that together, they could conquer anything that Hootyville threw their way.
The next morning, as they packed their belongings and prepared to leave, Mrs. Hooper paused, her hand on the door. She turned to Erick, her gaze steady. “When we go back,” she said, “it won’t just be as the Young Guns anymore. It’ll be as Mr. and Mrs. McMillan.”
Erick’s smile was wide and genuine. “Yes,” he said, taking her hand in his. “We’re in this together, now and always.”
The carriage ride back to Hootyville was quieter, the anticipation of their return weighing heavily on their shoulders. They held hands, their fingers laced together, their grip tight and unyielding. The town loomed in the distance, a stark reminder of the work that lay ahead.
As they approached the city limits, Mrs. Hooper leaned her head against Erick’s shoulder. “Whatever comes,” she murmured, “we’ll face it together.”
Erick kissed the top of her head, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Always,” he promised.
The story of Erick and Mrs. Hooper’s marriage was one of hope and redemption, a beacon of light in the dark heart of Hootyville. Their union was not just a personal triumph, but a declaration of war against the town’s corruption. As they stepped off the carriage, the townsfolk had gathered, their faces a mix of admiration and skepticism. The Young Guns had grown up before their eyes, and now they were back, ready to lead the charge for change.
One month after the grand wedding, the dusty streets of Hootyville were abuzz with excitement. Samuel Goodwin had completed the construction of the railway line, and the town was preparing for the grand opening. The once-skeletal frame of the station now stood tall and proud, its wooden beams gleaming with fresh paint, the smell of progress thick in the air. The railroad was the lifeblood that would connect Hootyville to the rest of the world, bringing in new faces and leaving the old demons behind.
Mayor Marshall, his face flushed with excitement, stood atop the newly built platform. He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice carrying over the chatter of the townsfolk. “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of Hootyville, today marks a new chapter in our storied history,” he announced, his words echoing through the stillness that had descended upon the crowd. “The opening of this railway station is not just an event, but a symbol of our collective will to move forward.”
The townsfolk listened intently, their eyes glued to the mayor, who was dressed in his finest attire, a stark contrast to the dusty clothes they were accustomed to seeing him in. The platform was adorned with bunting and flags, a testament to the importance of this moment. The smell of fresh paint and sawdust mingled with the scent of hope that seemed to have taken root in every heart.
Mayor Marshall, his voice steady and strong, continued his speech. “With the arrival of the railway, we stand at the precipice of a new era,” he said, his words ringing with the promise of prosperity. “An era where the vices that have plagued us for too long are left behind, and in their place, we build a town that we can all be proud to call home.”
The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, a swell of anticipation rippling through the air. They knew that the railway meant more than just a new mode of transportation; it was a gateway to a better life, a future untainted by the stain of their past.
“We owe a great debt of gratitude to Mr. Samuel Goodwin and his tireless workers,” Mayor Marshall continued, raising his hat in a gesture of respect. “Without their dedication and hard work, this dream would not have become a reality.” The townsfolk broke into applause, their eyes seeking out the stoic foreman who nodded humbly, his chest puffed with pride.
The mayor went on, detailing the plans for the grand opening, the arrival of the first train, and the prosperous future the railroad would bring to Hootyville. His words painted a picture of a town reborn, a place where the clanging of slot machines and the shouts of drunken brawls would be replaced by the cheerful whistle of the iron horse and the laughter of children playing in the streets.
The townsfolk, their spirits buoyed by the mayor’s words, could almost see the future unfolding before their eyes. They had worked hard alongside Erick and the Young Guns to clean up the town, to make it a place where the light of virtue could shine once more. The anticipation grew palpable as the clock ticked closer to the fateful hour.
As the hour approached, the crowd grew restless, their eyes darting to the horizon. Then, like a silent promise, a plume of smoke appeared in the distance, growing larger and closer with every passing minute. The rumble of an engine grew louder, and suddenly, the first train chugged into view, a sleek beast of iron and steam that seemed to be born of the very earth itself.
Mr. George Walsh, the grizzled engineer with a heart of gold, climbed out of the locomotive, his face weathered by the sun and his eyes crinkling with a smile that could outshine the noonday sun. He doffed his cap to Mayor Marshall, who eagerly stepped forward to greet him. The two men clasped hands firmly, the grip of friendship and shared ambition.
Mr. Bernard Mills, the impeccably dressed head of the Hootyville railway station, emerged from the crowd, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He had been instrumental in orchestrating the town’s transformation, working tirelessly behind the scenes to ensure that the station would be a bastion of order and progress amidst the chaos of the Old West. He approached the mayor and Mr. Walsh, his handshake as firm as the hand of destiny itself.
“Gentlemen,” Mayor Marshall began, his voice carrying over the steady rhythm of the cooling locomotive. “This is not just a day of celebration, but a day of expansion. With the success of this line, we have the opportunity to bring the light of civilization to the neighboring towns of Idlehill and Serpenthill.” The crowd gasped, the very air thick with the promise of new beginnings.
Mr. Mills, his eyes gleaming with ambition, took the cue. “The first train will depart at the crack of dawn tomorrow,” he announced, his words cutting through the anticipation like a knife. “It will arrive at the Idlehill station at precisely 8 AM, heralding a new dawn for the townsfolk there.” The townsfolk murmured among themselves, the very concept of a train schedule bringing a touch of the modern world to the untamed west.
Nick, Erick, and Micko looked in awe at the train in front of them, its black iron frame gleaming in the sun, the smell of coal and oil a stark contrast to the earthy scents of their town. It was a beast of progress, a symbol of the future they had worked so hard to usher in. Each puff of steam that escaped from the engine seemed to carry with it the whispers of a thousand untold stories, a promise of adventure and excitement.
Chief Everett watched the boys, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You’ve never ridden a train before, have you?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement.
The Young Guns looked at each other, their eyes wide with excitement. “No, sir,” Nick said, his voice filled with wonder. “We’ve heard the stories, but we’ve never actually seen one up close.”
Chief Everett chuckled, his weathered face crinkling with amusement. “Well, now’s your chance,” he said, patting the gleaming metal of the train. “This here’s the future of travel, and it’s going to change everything. No more stagecoach robberies to worry about. Those bandits won’t know what hit ‘em.”
As the townsfolk of Hootyville dispersed, heading home to prepare for the grand opening celebration, Erick, Nick, and Micko approached Mr. George Walsh, the engineer who had brought the first train to their town. His eyes twinkled with the excitement of a child as he spoke with the Young Guns, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described the inner workings of the locomotive.
“It’s a marvel, ain’t it?” he said, wiping a grease smudge from his cheek with a bandana. “This here’s the future of transportation. Faster than a horse, and a darn sight safer than those rickety stagecoaches.”
Nick’s curiosity piqued, he couldn’t help but ask, “How many passenger cars and freight cars does it have, Mr. Walsh?”
Mr. Walsh looked down at the eager young face with a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, a lad with a head for numbers,” he said with a chuckle. “This here train’s got three passenger cars, all shiny and new, with enough room for folks to sit comfortably and enjoy the scenery as they travel to Idlehill. And behind them, we’ve got four freight cars, ready to haul whatever goods these fine townsfolk need to send or receive.”
But Erick’s mind was on other things. He had seen enough of the darker side of the world to know that the promise of progress didn’t always come without a price. “And the safety, Mr. Walsh?” he asked, his voice serious. “What dangers do you foresee on the journey?”
Mr. Walsh looked at him, his expression sobering. “The railways have their own set of perils, son,” he said gravely. “Bandits and outlaws might not be able to rob us on the move, but they’ll be waiting at the stations. And the tracks themselves, they’re a fickle thing. One wrong move, one bit of sabotage, and it could all come to a grinding, fiery halt.”
The Young Guns exchanged glances, the weight of their new role as protectors of the town heavy on their shoulders. “We’ll keep an eye out,” Erick assured him. “We won’t let anything happen to this train or its passengers.”
Mr. Walsh looked at Erick, his gaze one of respect and admiration. “I’ve heard tales of your exploits, Sheriff McMillan,” he said, tipping his hat. “I trust you’ll keep us safe.”
With a nod, Erick strode away, his spurs jingling with every step. Chief Everett fell into step beside him, his gait steady and sure, the weight of his badge a constant reminder of his own dedication to the town’s law and order.
Nick and Micko remained, their eyes wide as they took in the wonders of the train. Nick’s gaze was drawn to the gleaming metal and leather seats of the passenger cars, his mind racing with tales of adventure and distant lands that the tracks could lead to. Meanwhile, Micko’s eyes were glued to the freight cars, his curiosity piqued by the mysterious cargo they could be carrying.
Breaking the silence, Micko leaned in close to Nick, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “You know what this means, don’t ya?”
Nick looked at him, his expression a mix of confusion and excitement. “What do you mean?”
Micko’s grin grew sly. “You know how the stagecoaches used to bring in all the unsavory types?” he whispered. “Now, with the train, it’ll be like the floodgates are open. More folks, more goods, and yeah, more... ‘entertainment’.” He winked, and Nick felt a thrill run down his spine.
The thought of more beautiful women coming to Hootyville was intoxicating. They had seen their fair share of bare skin and heard enough whispered stories from the brothels, but the idea of a constant stream of new faces, of fresh beauty to behold, was something they hadn’t quite prepared for. “You think so?” Nick asked, his voice a mix of awe and hope.
Micko nodded, his eyes glinting with excitement. “Bet your boots,” he said. “The train’ll bring ‘em in from all over. Pretty little things looking for a better life, only to get snatched up by the likes of Lady Cornelia.” His voice was a mix of admiration and contempt for the town’s infamous madam.
Nick felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of the innocent women being drawn into Hootyville’s web of corruption. He recalled the fateful day in Rusty Springs when Lady Cornelia had met her end at the hands of Sheriff Colt Hamilton. The memory was etched in his mind, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the world they were trying to change. The rope had tightened around her neck, and she had stared at him, her eyes wide with terror, as she had swung from the gallows.
To read this story you need a
Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In
or Register (Why register?)