Mona, the Bandit
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 8
Western Sex Story: Chapter 8 - In the lawless Wild West, Mona “The Maverick” McCallister fights her way from saloon brawler to feared outlaw alongside the infamous Dust Marauders. After a brutal showdown with a rival fighter, she’s recruited into a world of high-stakes heists, dangerous alliances, and shadowy treasures like the legendary Crimson Eye. Through battles, narrow escapes, and bonds forged in blood and trust, Mona rises as both a leader and a legend — her past and passions marked by scars, victories, and moments bes
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual NonConsensual Fiction Crime Western Rough Orgy Cat-Fighting Violence AI Generated
The day of the heist dawned clear and hot, the sun beating down upon the open prairie without mercy. The Dust Marauders had staked out their position, hidden behind a rocky outcrop that offered them a clear view of the approaching stagecoach. The gold was rumored to be guarded by a dozen of the toughest men this side of the Mississippi, and the anticipation of the fight to come had them all on edge.
As the distant rumble grew louder, they could see the dust plume rising in the air, a sure sign that their quarry was approaching. Mona’s hand tightened on her revolver, her eyes narrowing as she took in the details of the approaching convoy. The stagecoach was flanked by four mounted guards, each with a rifle at the ready.
“Hold your fire,” she murmured, her voice a low growl. “Not until I give the signal.”
The tension grew as the stagecoach drew closer, the creaking of the wheels and the thunder of hooves echoing across the plains. The guards’ eyes scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of trouble, but the Marauders remained hidden, their patience honed by a lifetime of evading the law.
When the stagecoach was close enough, Mona raised her hand, and the air grew still. The men watched as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a predator about to pounce. Then, with a swift motion, she dropped her hand, and hell broke loose.
The Marauders charged from their hiding place, guns blazing. Bullets whizzed through the air, and the sound of metal striking metal filled their ears. The guards were caught off guard, their eyes widening in shock as the outlaws descended upon them like avenging angels of the west.
The standoff was tense, each side testing the other’s resolve with a volley of shots. But it was Mona’s strategy that won the day. She had anticipated the guards’ moves and had placed her gang at an advantageous angle, allowing them to take out several of the men before they even had a chance to draw their weapons.
Rebecca watched the chaos unfold, her heart racing with excitement and fear. She had never seen anything like this before, the raw power and violence of the Dust Marauders in action. It was a sight that both terrified and exhilarated her, and she felt a strange sense of pride swelling within her as she realized that she was now one of them.
The fight was quick and brutal, a dance of death that played out under the unforgiving gaze of the sun. And when the dust had settled, the stagecoach stood before them, its guards either dead or scattered. The Marauders approached it with a sense of triumph, their eyes on the prize that lay within.
But as they flung open the doors, their expressions fell. The gold they had been promised was nowhere to be seen. In its stead, they found four trembling passengers: two grizzled old men and two women, one of whom was clearly a lady of noble birth. Her clothes were finely made, though dust-stained, and she sat with an air of haughtiness that spoke of a life far removed from the grime of Hellfort.
Mona stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. “Where’s the gold?” she barked, her voice sharp as a whip. The passengers exchanged glances, their fear palpable.
The lady of noble birth looked up at her, her eyes flashing with defiance. “You’ve made a mistake, madam,” she said, her voice steady despite her trembling. “This stagecoach is under the protection of the law. Any attempt to rob us will be met with the full force of the authorities.”
Mona’s smile grew cold. “The law don’t mean shit out here,” she spat. “Where’s the gold?”
The lady’s chin lifted. “We are not your concern,” she replied, her voice a steely challenge.
Mona’s eyes narrowed further, her hand tightening on her gun. “Everything’s our concern when it’s in our way,” she said, her voice a low rumble. “Now, tell us where it is, or we start with the passengers.”
The lady’s expression didn’t change, but the two old men squirmed in their seats, their fear palpable. One of them spoke up, his voice quavering. “The gold ... it’s not here,” he said, his eyes darting from Mona to the other gang members. “It’s a decoy. The real shipment went through last week.”
Fred and the others looked at each other, their eyes wide with surprise. They had been had. Mona’s smile grew colder, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re telling me we’ve risked our necks for a handful of dust?” she snarled, her voice dripping with venom.
The two old men held up their hands, their eyes pleading. “We swear, it’s the truth!” one of them stuttered. “The real gold shipment went through days ago. This was just to throw anyone off the scent.”
Fred’s eyes darted to the luggage piled atop the stagecoach, and with a snarl, he leaped up to join the fray. His boots thudded against the wooden floor as he made his way to the cargo, his hand reaching for the ropes that held the luggage in place. With a quick slice of his knife, the bags tumbled down, spilling their contents onto the dusty ground. The other Marauders quickly dismounted, joining Fred as they tore through the luggage, searching for any sign of their prize.
The two old men cowered in their seats, their eyes wide with terror as the outlaws rummaged through their belongings. The lady of noble birth watched them with a look of contempt, her posture unyielding. Her companion, a young woman with a bruised face, held onto her arm tightly, her eyes flickering between fear and hope. The stagecoach driver, a burly man with a greasy hat, held his hands in the air, sweat beading on his forehead.
Fred’s curses grew louder as he threw the last bag to the ground, finding it empty. “Damn it all to hell!” he bellowed, his fists clenched. “We’ve been had!” The other Marauders looked at each other, their faces a mix of anger and confusion. They had been so sure of their intel, so confident in their ability to snatch the gold from under the law’s nose.
Mona’s hand hovered over her gun, her eyes never leaving the passengers. “Looks like we’re not going to be adding to our fortune today, boys,” she said, her voice deceptively calm. “But we can still teach these fine folk a lesson about crossing the Dust Marauders.”
Her words sent a shiver down spine. The line between their lawless life and cold-hearted brutality had always been blurred, but this felt different. The woman’s bravado defiance had stirred something in Mona, something darker than she had ever seen before.
“Take her,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “We’ll have some fun with her back in Hellfort.”
The townsfolk looked on in horror as the Marauders corralled the stagecoach passengers, the lady’s protests falling on deaf ears. The woman was dragged out, her pleas for mercy ignored as ropes was tied around her wrists. The driver was next, his fate sealed with a cruel yank from Fred.
Mona’s eyes remained on the noblewoman, a sinister smile playing on her lips. “You’ll regret crossing paths with us,” she sneered. The lady met her gaze, her chin held high. “You have no honor,” she spat.
The Marauders mounted their horses, the bound passenger stumbling behind as they were led back to Hellfort. The town’s edge grew closer, the buildings looming like a mirage in the unforgiving heat. The anticipation of what lay ahead thickened the air, a palpable mix of excitement and dread.
As they entered the town, the streets grew crowded, the townsfolk parting like a sea before the notorious gang. Whispers of the stagecoach heist turned into gasps as they realized the Dust Marauders had returned with more than just gold. The sight of the captured passenger brought a new kind of energy to the town, one that crackled with a mix of fear and morbid curiosity.
The Red Brothell loomed ahead, its swinging doors creaking open to reveal a dimly lit interior filled with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Mona dismounted her horse, her gaze never leaving the lady of noble birth, whose eyes burned with a fiery contempt that seemed to light the very air around her.
Inside the brothell, the atmosphere was electric. The townsfolk had gathered, eager for a spectacle, their eyes glinting with anticipation as the Marauders led their captives through the doors. The whispers grew to murmurs, then to shouts, as the news of their latest acquisitions spread like wildfire.
Mona strode to the guest room, her hand still clamped firmly on the lady’s upper arm, leaving reddened fingerprints against the pale skin. “Call the madam,” she barked at the maid, her eyes never leaving her prisoner. The maid nodded with trembling hands.
The had gone from a raucous din to a tense hush, all eyes on the new arrivals. The stagecoach passenger was pushed into a corner. The noblewoman’s eyes scanned the room, her expression a mix of contempt and defiance.
“Let’s introduce ourselves properly, shall we?” Mona announced, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She turned to the lady. “What’s your name, darlin’?”
The woman’s chin tilted upward. “Lady Catherine Fairchild,” she said, her voice as unyielding as the desert rock.
Mona’s smile grew wider, a predator’s grin. “Welcome to Hellfort, Lady Catherine,” she purred, her voice a taunt. “You’re about to see what hospitality looks like around here.”
The madam of the Red Brothel, a stern-looking woman named Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn, hurried over, her eyes greedy as she took in the sight of the bound and defiant noblewoman. “Fresh meat indeed,” she murmured, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I can see the coin rolling in already.”
Mona nodded, a cruel glint in her eye. “This one’s special,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lady Catherine Fairchild, or so she says. She’s got spirit. But I reckon it’ll break soon enough.”
Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn’s eyes lit up at the mention of Lady Catherine’s name. “Ah, a real catch,” she said, licking her lips. “We’ll have the gentry lining up for a taste of her aristocratic flesh.”
Mona leaned in close, her breath hot against Lady Catherine’s cheek. “You’re going to learn to respect me,” she growled. “And if that means you have to pay the price for your own damn pride, so be it.”
Turning to Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn, she said, “I’m selling her to you, madam. She’s going to work off her debt to us here. And if she causes any trouble, you know where to send her.”
The madam’s eyes grew wide, and she licked her lips again, her greed barely concealed. “How much are you asking for her?” she inquired, her gaze raking over Lady Catherine’s bound form.
Mona considered the question, her eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. “A ten thousand dollars,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “And she’s worth every penny.”
Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn’s eyes widened at the price tag. “A ten thousand? For a mouthy piece like her?” she exclaimed. “What makes her so special?”
Mona stepped closer to Lady Catherine, her hand trailing up to the top of the woman’s dress. With a swift, almost delicate move, she tore the fabric, exposing the lady’s curvy, smooth, big breasts to the leering gazes of the brothel’s patrons. The room gasped collectively, a mix of shock and hunger filling the air. “This,” she said, her voice smug as Lady Catherine’s breasts bounced slightly from the abrupt exposure. “And trust me, she’s got more to offer than just her mouth.”
Lady Catherine’s cheeks flamed with humiliation, but her eyes remained steely. She didn’t scream or beg; she just stared at Mona with a look that could have cut glass. Her breasts heaved with each indignant breath she took, the soft mounds bobbing in the dusty light. Mona’s grin grew wider, her eyes feasting on the newfound treasure before her. “Look at her, folks,” she taunted, turning to the crowd. “This is what happens when you mess with the Dust Marauders.”
The men in the room couldn’t help but stare, their eyes devouring Lady Catherine’s exposed flesh. Some licked their lips, others shifted in their seats with burgeoning excitement. It was clear she was a prize worth fighting for, and the thought of her being offered to the highest bidder had their imaginations running wild. The tension grew thick as the madam nodded, a greedy glint in her eye.
Mona, reveling in her power, grabbed Lady Catherine’s waist and bent her over, forcing her to lift her skirt. The fabric billowed upward, revealing her perfectly shaped, bare ass to the eager onlookers. The noblewoman’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment, but she didn’t protest, knowing it would only fuel the outlaws’ amusement. Her breathing grew shallow and quick as the room’s eyes feasted upon her.
Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn stepped closer, a sneer curling her lips. She raised her hand and brought it down with a resounding smack onto Lady Catherine’s exposed bottom. The sound echoed through the saloon, a mix of shock and excitement rippling through the crowd. The lady’s skin turned a rosy shade, and she bit her lip to stifle a cry. Mrs. Horn felt the firmness of the flesh beneath her hand, a sadistic smile spreading across her face. “Indeed,” she said, her voice thick with lust. “This one’s got some spunk. She’ll be popular, no doubt.”
Mona’s hand moved to the woman’s inner thigh, her thumb tracing a line up to the plump folds of her sex. She spread Lady Catherine’s ass cheeks wide, revealing the tight, untouched rosebud of her anus and the glistening wetness of her pussy. The room went silent except for the sound of the lady’s shallow breaths and the rustle of money changing hands. The men in the room leaned in, eager to get a closer look at the prize that had been offered to them. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and greed.
One of the patrons, a man with a greasy moustache and a stained vest, stepped forward, a gold coin in his hand. His eyes were glued to Lady Catherine’s exposed sex, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He reached out, his finger hovering just above the tight opening of her anus. He looked at Mona for permission, his eyes pleading. Mona smirked and nodded, watching with a mix of amusement and sadism.
The man’s finger touched Lady Catherine’s anus, the digit pressing gently against the taut ring of muscle. She tensed, her body rigid with humiliation. His grin grew as he pushed harder, the tip of his finger slipping past the resistance and into her. Lady Catherine’s eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her lip to hold back the moan that threatened to escape her. The room held its breath, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Mona watched, her eyes gleaming with malice. “The clamp’s strong,” she said, her voice a purr. “It’ll keep her in line until she learns her place.” The man withdrew his finger, his eyes never leaving Lady Catherine’s exposed sex. He nodded, his gaze lingering on the shiny wetness of her pussy.
Mrs. Edna ‘Flannel Mouth’ Horn, the madam of the Red Brothel, stepped up to the podium, her hand brushing against Lady Catherine’s cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture. “I’ll pay the ten thousand,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper that seemed to echo through the saloon. “But she’s going to be worth every penny and more.” She pulled out a thick leather pouch from her ample bosom, the gold coins inside jingling tantalizingly. She counted them out, one by one, until a small mountain lay before Mona.
Mona’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. She hadn’t anticipated the madam’s interest in Lady Catherine, but the money was too good to refuse. With a swift nod, she handed over the leather strap attached to the clamp on Lady Catherine’s neck. “She’s all yours,” she said, her voice dripping with venom.
Mrs. Horn took the strap and pulled Lady Catherine to the center of the saloon, the crowd of eager patrons parting like the Red Sea. She looked at Lady Catherine, her expression a mix of hunger and respect for the woman’s unbroken spirit. “You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the din of the saloon.
With a dramatic flourish, Mrs. Horn produced a knife from her voluminous skirts and sliced through the fabric of Lady Catherine’s dress, the material falling away to reveal her pale, unblemished skin. The gasps and cheers grew louder as Lady Catherine’s nudity was fully exposed to the leering eyes of the patrons. Mrs. Horn’s gaze was appraising, her eyes taking in every inch of the woman’s body with a practiced eye.
Mona stepped closer, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “Let’s show them what a real lady’s made of,” she said to the madam. “Let the man with the highest bid take her anal virginity.” The words hung in the air, thick with innuendo and challenge. The tension in the saloon ratcheted up another notch, the anticipation palpable.
Mrs. Horn nodded, a gleam in her eye that suggested she enjoyed the idea of breaking a lady of Lady Catherine’s standing. She turned to the crowd, her voice carrying over the murmurs of excitement. “Who’s man enough to claim this prize?” The patrons of the Red Rattlesnake Saloon looked at each other, some with surprise, others with raw lust.
The madam’s challenge didn’t go unanswered. A burly man with a thick beard and a silver tooth stood up, slapping a handful of gold coins on the bar. “I’ll do it,” he said, his voice gruff and sure. “Two hundred for the first taste of her ass.” The room grew still, the only sound the clinking of the coins on the wood. Lady Catherine’s eyes widened, the horror of her situation sinking in.
Mrs. Horn’s smile grew, the corners of her mouth curling up in a predatory fashion. She stepped behind Lady Catherine, placing a firm hand on her hip and guiding her to bend over the bar, her round, plump breasts resting on the scarred wood. The crowd leaned in, eager to get a better view of the impending spectacle. Lady Catherine’s cheeks burned with shame as the cool air of the saloon kissed her most intimate parts.
The madam’s other hand slid down Lady Catherine’s back, her fingers tracing the curve of her spine until they reached the base of her neck. She gave the leather strap a gentle tug, forcing Lady Catherine’s head up, her eyes meeting the lecherous gazes of the men surrounding her. With a swift, practiced movement, Mrs. Horn parted Lady Catherine’s ass cheeks, exposing her tight, untouched anus to the room. The collective gasp was almost deafening, the tension palpable as every man in the saloon imagined what it would feel like to be the one to claim that prize.
Mona leaned against the bar, her arms crossed under her ample breasts, watching with a smirk as Lady Catherine’s face contorted in a mix of fear and defiance. The bidding grew frantic, with men shouting out their offers, each trying to outdo the last. The silver-toothed man’s initial bid had set the bar, but it was clear that the true value of Lady Catherine’s anal virginity was much higher in the eyes of the saloon’s patrons. The madam’s gesture had not only raised the stakes but had also cemented the idea that this was an event not to be missed.
A tall, lean man with a black duster and a Stetson hat pushed his way through the crowd, his cold eyes locking onto Lady Catherine’s exposed form. He placed a bag of gold on the bar, the weight of it thudding heavily. “Five hundred,” he said, his voice like a rattlesnake’s hiss. The room fell silent, all eyes on him. Lady Catherine’s body trembled as she felt the leather strap tighten around her neck, a silent warning to behave.
Mona nodded, a cruel twist to her smile. “Very well,” she said. “Lady Catherine, you get your first customer.” She stepped aside, gesturing to the silent, rapt crowd. “Take your time. He’s going to be the one to pop that pretty little cherry.”
The madam took the leather strap and began to lead Lady Catherine through the saloon, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. The patrons made way for them, their eyes drinking in every inch of her vulnerable flesh. The VIP room was upstairs, a hallowed chamber reserved for the most elite of the brothel’s clientele. It was decorated with velvet curtains, plush couches, and a large, ornate four-poster bed. A table stocked with various bottles of liquor and a collection of whips, paddles, and chains sat in the corner, hinting at the types of activities that took place within its walls.
Mona followed closely behind, her curiosity piqued by Lady Catherine’s reaction. The woman had shown a surprising amount of strength and dignity, even in the face of such humiliation. It was a stark contrast to the usual cowed expressions of the women who found themselves in the brothel. As they reached the VIP room, Mona couldn’t help but wonder if Lady Catherine had a hidden fire that would make her a star in the world of the Red Rattlesnake.
The man with the black duster was already waiting inside, his eyes never leaving Lady Catherine’s tight, pale ass as she was led in. Mrs. Horn whispered something in Lady Catherine’s ear, and the woman’s body stiffened, but she didn’t resist as the madam positioned her on all fours at the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide. The man stepped closer, his eyes gleaming as he took in the view before him.
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.