Donkey Dork
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 6
Western Sex Story: Chapter 6 - In the fading town of Dreadworth, old drifter Donald “No Horse” Crawford stumbles into an unlikely second chance when a stubborn donkey named Dork becomes his companion. Together, they navigate the perils of Fort Killhills, hostile frontiers, and the looming clash between settlers and the native Annawan tribe. In a world of betrayal, redemption, and fragile hope, Donald discovers that courage and loyalty can come from the most unexpected places.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Slavery Fiction Crime Western Anal Sex AI Generated
The town of Crow’s Tusk, which had held its breath during the battle, now began to stir. Curtains twitched in the windows of the nearby houses, and the faint sound of whispers grew louder as the townsfolk gathered their courage to emerge from their hiding places. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and fear, a testament to the night’s events.
Matilda, Donald, and Dork moved from body to body, their steps heavy with the weight of what had transpired. Each bandit lay lifeless, their dreams of gold-filled futures snuffed out like the candles that had once illuminated the Hotel de la Muerte’s lobby. The sight of their still forms brought a grim satisfaction, yet it was tinged with the bitter taste of loss. For every man they had killed, there was a story untold, a life unlived, a soul that had been claimed by the unforgiving embrace of the Wild West.
As they approached the last bandit, Donald’s eyes fell upon the gleaming pistol still holstered at the man’s side. With a swift, practiced move, he unbuckled the gun belt and slid the weapon from its resting place. The metal felt cold and foreign in his hand, a stark reminder of the violence that had just unfolded. Yet, he knew that in this world, power was often synonymous with survival.
Matilda stepped into the Hotel de la Muerte’s lobby, the chill of the night air clinging to her skin. The moon cast a silver glow through the dusty windows, painting the floor with a mournful light that danced around the sacks of gold. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. The gold, once a symbol of their torment and fear, now represented a chance for redemption and a new beginning.
One by one, she lifted the heavy sacks, her arms straining with the weight of the metal that had brought so much destruction. Each sack felt like a weight lifted from her soul, a burden she had never asked to bear. The coins jingled softly, a macabre serenade to the lives that had been claimed in pursuit of their shiny allure. With a quiet determination, she made her way to the front door, her eyes never leaving the treasure she carried.
Dork, ever vigilant, waited outside, his ears perked in anticipation. His eyes shone with a newfound wisdom, as if the spirit of Weayaya had imbued him with the knowledge of their shared destiny. The donkey’s back was strong, and he knew that together, they could conquer any challenge the Wild West threw their way.
Matilda stepped into the moonlit street, the gold’s weight a stark reminder of the price paid for their freedom. With a nod to Donald, she approached Dork, the sacks of gold in her arms a silent testament to their victory. The animal’s eyes met hers, a bond forged in the fires of danger and the quiet moments of trust.
“You’ve done well, old friend,” she murmured, her voice a soft caress in the stillness.
Matilda’s eyes searched the horizon, her thoughts racing with the possibilities that lay before them. The Hotel de la Muerte, once a prison of fear and despair, now stood tall behind her, a silent sentinel to their newfound freedom. Donald had claimed two of the bandit’s horses, their snorts piercing the early morning quiet as they stamped their hooves impatiently.
With a gentle tug, he offered her one of the horses, a strong and sleek mare with a coat as black as midnight. The animal’s eyes were soft, filled with a wisdom that seemed to understand the gravity of the moment. Matilda took the reins, feeling the warmth of the horse’s breath against her hand. It was a strange sensation, one that filled her with both fear and excitement.
As she swung her leg over the horse’s back, she felt a surge of power rush through her. The Hotel de la Muerte, the place that had been her prison, was now a bastion of hope, a symbol of the strength they had found within themselves. The gold was loaded onto Dork’s back, the donkey bearing the weight with a stoic grace that belied his earlier antics.
The trio, an unlikely band of heroes, rode out of Crow’s Tusk as the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon. The buildings of the ghost town loomed behind them, their shadows stretching long and thin like the fingers of a skeletal hand reaching out in a final, futile attempt to claim them. The streets were silent, the only sound the mournful creak of the Hotel’s swinging doors, the sigh of the wind through the abandoned shops, and the clack of the horse’s hooves against the packed earth.
Matilda spoke in a voice that was both firm and trembling with emotion, “We must go to Stalescar, Donald. I need you to help me get my two children from my husband.” The words hung in the air, a declaration of a new quest, a battle not yet won. Donald, his eyes reflecting the determination that had been born from the flames of their recent victory, nodded solemnly. He knew the dangers that awaited them, the depths of despair that often accompanied hope, but he was ready to face them alongside her.
The journey to Stalescar was fraught with peril, the very ground seeming to whisper of the trials that lay ahead. Matilda’s heart was a tumult of love and fear, her thoughts never straying far from the images of her children’s faces. Her husband, a cruel and vindictive man, had always coveted the gold that she had unknowingly carried. The thought of him using the children as pawns in his greed-driven games filled her with a rage that was as cold as the steel of her pistol.
Donald rode alongside her, his gaze scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. The gold had changed their lives, but it had also painted a target on their backs. The whispers of their newfound wealth had already begun to spread through the dusty streets of every town they passed, and the scent of it was like blood in the water to the sharks that lurked in the shadows of the Wild West.
Matilda’s hand tightened on the reins as she thought of her children. The idea of her husband using them as bargaining chips was a knife twisting in her gut. She had left them behind to save them from his cruelty, but now she knew she had to go back. To save them, she would need to become something more than a mere survivor. She would need to become a warrior.
They rode for days, the sun a merciless hammer beating down upon their heads as they pushed westward. The parched earth cracked beneath their horses’ hooves, and the air was thick with the scent of sagebrush and dust. Each night, they camped in the shelter of rocky outcrops, the fire’s flickering light casting eerie shadows on the surrounding landscape. Dork, now a seasoned traveler, grazed quietly nearby, his intuition on high alert for any signs of trouble.
Matilda spoke rarely, her thoughts consumed by the looming specter of her husband and the fate of her children. She knew that the path to Stalescar would be fraught with danger, but the image of her babies’ faces kept her resolve unshaken. Donald understood her silence, respecting the turmoil that roiled within her. He had seen the steel in her eyes, the unyielding determination that had been forged in the Hotel de la Muerte.
One evening, as they sat around their campfire, she finally turned to him, her voice low and earnest. “I need to tell you something, Donald. When we reach Stalescar, I don’t want you to involve yourself in my family problem. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t risk my children being used as pawns in whatever twisted games my husband plays.”
Her words hung in the air, the crackling fire the only sound between them for a long moment. Donald studied her, the flames casting a warm glow across her weathered features. He knew she was right; the gold had made them targets, and the less attention they drew to themselves, the better. But the thought of leaving her to face the monster alone was a bitter pill to swallow.
“I understand, Matilda,” he said finally, his voice firm. “But I won’t abandon you. If you need me, I’ll be there, but I’ll keep my distance from your husband.”
The promise brought a ghost of a smile to her lips, a flicker of relief in her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the whisper of the desert night. “I know I can count on you.”
The journey grew more tense with each passing day, the shadows lengthening and the air thick with unspoken fears. The landscape grew more desolate, the cacti and tumbleweeds standing sentinel over the barren earth. The gold weighed heavily on their spirits, a stark reminder of the price of freedom. Yet, they pushed on, driven by hope and the unspoken bond that had grown between them.
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.