Ruby the Catfighter
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 2
Western Sex Story: Chapter 2 - In the dust-choked frontier town of Crimson Gulch, Ruby fights for survival in brutal underground catfights to provide for her young son, Will. Beaten, bloodied, but unbroken, she’s drawn into a dark pact with a mysterious gypsy who promises her unnatural strength—at a terrible cost. Each fight brings Ruby closer to freedom, yet deeper into danger, as enemies, whispers, and her own sacrifices threaten to consume her. Ruby the Catfighter is a fierce Western tale of grit, blood..
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Slavery Fiction War Western Interracial White Female Indian Male Pregnancy Violence AI Generated
The following dawn saw Ruby in a new dress, the fabric a faded blue that matched the bruises around her eyes. She had washed the grime of the saloon from her body and had braided her hair in a tight, practical style that wouldn’t get in the way of hard work. Determined, she set out to the farms and ranches that ringed Crimson Gulch, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and already the air was thick with the promise of another sweltering day.
The first farm she approached was a sprawling affair, the house a whitewashed bastion of hope in the dusty landscape. She knocked on the door, her hand trembling slightly. A gruff man with a weather-beaten face and a toothless smile answered, eyeing her up and down. “What can I do for you, miss?” he asked, wiping his hands on a greasy apron.
“I’m lookin’ for work,” Ruby said, her voice firm despite the tremor. “I can cook, clean, mend, and I’ve got a strong back for the fields.”
The man’s smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said, his tone condescending. “We only hire men here. Ain’t no place for a woman like you to be doin’ that kind of work.”
The refusal stung, but Ruby didn’t let it show. She thanked him and moved on, her eyes scanning the horizon for the next opportunity. At each farm, the story was the same: a polite no, a pat on the head, and a gentle nudge back towards the town she so desperately wanted to leave behind. The men, rough and unshaven, leered at her, their eyes lingering on her bruised body. They offered her work of a different kind, work that would only bind her further to the very chains she was trying to break.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down on her, baking the dirt beneath her feet. Sweat trickled down her neck, but she pushed on, her jaw set. It was at the fifth farm, a small, ramshackle place that seemed to lean into the desolate landscape, that she encountered a woman, her face as hard as the earth she worked. The woman’s eyes held a glimmer of understanding as she took in Ruby’s appearance, the raw determination etched into every line of her body.
“You ain’t from around here, are ya?” the woman said, not unkindly. “You got the look of a fighter.”
Ruby nodded, her throat tight. “I’ll do anything,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Anything to get out of Snakebite.”
The woman, whose name was Marla, studied her for a long moment before speaking. “I could use a hand,” she said finally. “But it ain’t gonna be easy. You’ll be workin’ alongside the men, doin’ the same work, gettin’ the same pay. Can you handle that?”
Ruby’s eyes lit up with a fierce resolve. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice steady. “I can handle it.”
Marla handed her a shovel and a canteen of water. “Prove it,” she said.
The work was backbreaking, the sun a merciless taskmaster that bore down on her as she dug and hoed. The men, initially skeptical, watched her with a mix of curiosity and contempt. But as the day wore on, and Ruby didn’t falter, they grew silent, their respect grudgingly given. She worked until the sun dipped below the horizon, until her muscles screamed for rest. And when she stumbled back to Snakebite that night, her dress stained with dirt and sweat, she knew she had earned something more valuable than gold: a chance to change her destiny.
Back in the shack, Ruby’s heart was heavy with the weight of her secret. She couldn’t tell Will about the job; not yet. She needed to make sure it was real, that it wasn’t just another illusion that would crumble to dust in her hands. But as she lay beside him, listening to his soft snores, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this hellhole after all.
The next afternoon, after another grueling day in the fields, Ruby stumbled into an unexpected encounter. As she trudged back to Snakebite, her eyes fell upon an intriguing sight: an ornate caravan, its once-vibrant colors now faded by the relentless sun, nestled between two crumbling buildings. An old gypsy woman, her eyes as sharp as a hawk’s, sat outside, her expression inscrutable as she observed the comings and goings of the alley.
Curiosity piqued, Ruby approached the woman, her hand held out in greeting. “Ma’am,” she said, her voice hoarse from the dust. “I’m Ruby. Can I help you with anything?”
The old gypsy, Carla Leo, looked her up and down with a piercing gaze. “I’ve seen your kind before,” she said, her voice a raspy purr. “The kind that’s been chewed up and spat out by Snakebite. What’s your story, girl?”
Ruby hesitated, then spoke. “I just want to give my son a better life,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve been fighting in catfights at the Big Booty, trying to win enough to buy him a horse. It’s all I’ve got to give.”
Carla’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned closer, her breath reeking of mint and something more exotic. “You’ve got more than you know, girl,” she whispered. “I see it in you. A power, strong as the earth beneath us. But it’s buried deep, like a jewel in the dust.”
Ruby frowned, her curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got the fire in your soul, Ruby,” Carla said, her eyes never leaving Ruby’s bruised face. “But it’s raw, untamed. I can show you how to harness it, if you’re willing to learn.”
Ruby stared at her, the hope in her eyes battling with skepticism. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got a gift, girl,” Carla insisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A power that can change your fortune. But it’s no good if you don’t know how to use it.” She gestured to the caravan behind her, the wooden door creaking open to reveal a dimly lit interior that smelled of incense and ancient secrets. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
Ruby followed, her curiosity piqued. Inside the caravan, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and spices, the walls adorned with colorful tapestries that seemed to pulse with hidden energy. Carla moved with surprising agility, her skirts swishing as she bent over a small campfire that flickered in the center of the cramped space. She picked up a cast-iron pan and began to mix an assortment of herbs from various jars with a grace that spoke of years of practice. Her movements were precise, almost ritualistic, as she crushed and stirred the ingredients together.
“What’s that for?” Ruby asked, her eyes never leaving the pan.
“This,” Carla said, holding up the concoction, “is a potion of power. It’s made from ancient herbs and spells passed down through my family. It’ll give you the strength of ten men and the speed of the wind. But beware, with great power comes great responsibility.”
Ruby’s eyes searched the old woman’s face for any sign of deception, but all she found was a solemn expression. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation.
Carla’s smile was knowing. “Ah, I knew you’d be the clever sort,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “There’s one more ingredient for the potion, and it’s a rare one. It requires the tears of a donkey, fresh and pure as the morning dew.”
Ruby blinked, taken aback. “Donkey tears?” she repeated, unsure if she’d heard correctly.
“Yes, child,” Carla nodded, her eyes never leaving the bubbling mixture in the pan. “The tears of a donkey contain a magical essence that can unlock the true potential of the potion. Without it, the brew is just a collection of pretty smells and useless plants.”
Ruby felt a sudden knot in her stomach. “How do I get donkey tears?” she asked, her voice tentative.
Carla’s smile grew sly. “Ah, my dear, that’s where your gift comes in,” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You see, the donkey’s tears are a delicate thing. They must be coaxed out with care, with something ... special.” She leaned in closer, her breath hot in Ruby’s ear. “Your feminine wiles, my dear. They hold the key.”
Ruby felt a blush creep up her neck. “You want me to...?” she began, but Carla cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand.
“It’s not what you think,” the old woman cackled, her eyes alight with a mischievous glint. “The donkey’s tears are sacred, yes, but they must be obtained through a sacred bond. A bond of trust and affection. You must coax them out with the sweetness of your voice, the softness of your touch.”
Ruby felt a strange mix of confusion and excitement. “But how do I get close to your donkey?”
Carla leaned back, her eyes twinkling. “Ah, that’s where your charm comes in, Ruby,” she said, her voice low and seductive. “You’ve got to win him over. Make him think you’re there to offer comfort, to ease his burdens.”
Ruby swallowed hard, her mind racing. “But ... how?” she managed to ask.
Carla’s smile grew even slyer. “You’ll have to get creative, my dear,” she said, her eyes gleaming with an unspoken challenge. “But fear not, I’ve seen the way you fight. That fiery spirit of yours is exactly what’s needed to tame the beast.”
Ruby’s mind reeled with the implications of what Carla was suggesting. The old gypsy had to be joking, right? But the glint in her eye told Ruby she wasn’t. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Alright,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I’ll do it.”
The donkey, a creature named Cinnamon by Carla, was tied to a post outside the caravan. He brayed mournfully as Ruby approached, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed to mirror her own. She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over her dress. Then, with a swiftness born of desperation, she began to unbutton her dress, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. The cool evening air kissed her bruised and battered body, and she felt a strange sense of vulnerability mingle with the determination that had brought her here.
She approached Cinnamon with the same gentle grace she had used to win over the rough men of Snakebite. Her hand, soft and tender, stroked his muzzle, her voice a soothing whisper that seemed to calm the beast’s agitation. She felt his cock, soft and warm, and took it in her hand, her touch light and teasing. The donkey’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a contented sigh. Ruby’s heart raced as she felt the beginnings of a response, the power of her touch coaxing life into the soft flesh.
With a deep breath, she positioned herself on all fours beneath the animal, his cock growing harder by the second. The crowd of Snakebite’s patrons had gathered outside the caravan, their lewd comments and jeers fueling her determination. She focused on the prize: the potion, the horse, the promise of a better life for Will. As the donkey mounted her, she bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain and fear. The tip of his cock brushed against her, and she felt a strange mix of revulsion and excitement.
The moment he entered her, Ruby’s body rebelled. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a searing, brutal force that tore through her. The donkey’s cock was not just large, but monstrous, stretching her beyond what she thought possible. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into the dirt, willing herself to endure the agony. Above her, Cinnamon’s hooves pounded the ground in a rhythm that seemed to echo the pounding in her own chest.
Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the dust and sweat, each one a silent testament to her desperation. She tried to focus on the potion, on Will, on anything but the pain that consumed her. Yet, with each thrust, she felt a strange power building within her, a warmth that began to spread from her core and fill her with a fierce determination.
The crowd’s jeers grew to a crescendo, their laughter and catcalls a cacophony of sound that seemed to meld with the donkey’s grunts and the slap of flesh on flesh. Yet through it all, Ruby remained still, her eyes squeezed shut as she whispered prayers for strength and endurance. The donkey’s breath grew ragged, his movements more frantic, and she knew she was close to her goal.
Suddenly, the creature’s body stiffened, and with a final, guttural roar, he released his seed into her. The pain grew to an unbearable peak before subsiding, leaving Ruby trembling and spent beneath Cinnamon’s bulk. She felt the warmth of his semen fill her, and she knew that she had paid the price for the potion’s final ingredient.
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