Donkey Dork
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 8
Western Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 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
As they approached Lady McPherson’s mansion, the grandeur of the place was a stark contrast to the modest homes and businesses they had passed. The house loomed over the town like a predator watching its prey, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the setting sun. The wrought-iron fence was tall and imposing, a clear message to any who dared approach that this was not a place for the meek.
The gates swung open with a creak that seemed to echo the very essence of the town’s despair. A black, fat woman named Meda stepped out of the shadows, her eyes narrowing as she took in the newcomers. “Where y’all come from?” she demanded, her voice a gruff rumble. “What do ya want with Lady McPherson?”
Matilda’s hand tightened around the reins, her knuckles white with tension. “We’ve come from Crazecanyon,” she said, her voice steady. “We’re here to discuss a business opportunity.”
Meda’s eyes narrowed further, and she took a step closer, scrutinizing them from head to toe. After a moment, she grunted and turned on her heel, leading them through the gates and into the courtyard. The house was a monstrosity, a grotesque testament to the wealth and power that Lady McPherson had amassed. The smell of despair hung in the air, thick and cloying, making it difficult to breathe.
The main room was a study in opulence, with velvet drapes and gleaming mahogany furniture that seemed to suck the light from the room. The widows they had passed on the way in cast furtive glances their way, their eyes haunted and their bodies weary. Matilda’s stomach turned at the sight of their suffering, her determination to bring Lady McPherson to justice only growing stronger.
As they waited, the sound of raised voices drifted down the hallway, the unmistakable tones of a heated negotiation. Matilda and Donald shared a look, each steeling themselves for what was to come.
“We need to see her,” Matilda said, her voice firm. “Now.”
Meda studied them, her expression unreadable. With a shrug, she opened the heavy oak door to a room that had seen better days. The plush carpets were threadbare, the velvet curtains faded. Yet, the scene unfolding within was starkly vivid.
Lady McPherson, a tall, bony woman with a hooked nose and sharp eyes, sat at a desk littered with gold coins and liquor bottles. Across from her, a portly landowner sweated profusely, his eyes darting between the two naked women standing before him. Their faces were stoic, their eyes downcast, as if they had seen this dance before.
Matilda’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp as she took in the sight. The women’s bodies were bruised and scarred, a stark reminder of the lives they had been forced to lead. Donald’s jaw clenched, his hand hovering over the butt of his gun. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent scream waiting to be heard.
The landowner’s voice grew louder, his beady eyes greedily devouring the commodities before him. “Two hundred for the both of ‘em,” he haggled, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his ample belly. Lady McPherson’s smile was cold and calculating, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Three fifty,” she countered, her voice like a serpent’s hiss. “They’re worth it. You know the value of fresh stock.”
The man’s cheeks reddened, and he slammed his fist on the desk, making the gold coins dance. “Fine,” he spat, “but I expect them to be ... broken in properly before they start working for me.” The deal was sealed with a slimy handshake, and Lady McPherson nodded to her henchmen, who stepped forward to claim their prize.
Matilda’s eyes burned with a fierce anger as she watched the landowner leave with his new ‘property’. The two widows, their heads held high despite their nakedness and degradation, were led through a back door of the mansion, the heavy wood slamming shut behind them like the final nail in a coffin. The sound reverberated through the silent room, a grim reminder of the fate that awaited so many others.
Meda stepped into the fray, her eyes flicking to the closed door before she addressed Lady McPherson. “Ma’am, you got company,” she said, her voice a respectful growl. “A man and a woman from Crazecanyon. They say they’ve got business with you.”
Lady McPherson’s gaze remained fixed on the gold before her, her long, bony fingers playing with the coins in a way that suggested a disturbing intimacy with wealth. She looked up, her eyes sharp and cold, and gestured for them to enter. “Send them in,” she said, her voice a dry whisper.
Matilda and Donald stepped into the room, the weight of the atmosphere pressing down on them like a physical force. The scent of despair and desperation was almost tangible, making it difficult to breathe. Lady McPherson’s eyes raked over them, her smile a twisted parody of welcome. “What can I do for you, Mr. and Mrs...?” she trailed off, her voice a sneer.
“Crawford,” Donald said, his voice firm. “We’re from Crazecanyon. We’ve come to discuss a partnership with you.” Lady McPherson’s gaze sharpened, and she leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking beneath her. “A partnership?” she echoed, her tone dripping with disdain. “What could you possibly have to offer me?”
Matilda stepped forward, her jaw set. “We’ve come for the women,” she said bluntly. “We’ve heard that you might know some who are looking for work.”
Lady McPherson’s smile grew, revealing a row of gleaming teeth. “Ah, yes,” she said, her eyes flicking between Donald and Matilda. “The women of Tuckercreeck are known for their ... versatility. What kind of work did you have in mind? Labor for your saloon, or perhaps something more ... intimate?”
The challenge in her tone was unmistakable, but Donald’s voice remained steady. “We need strong, capable women for our brothel,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Women who want to build a new life for themselves, away from the hardships they’ve known.”
Lady McPherson’s eyes narrowed, sensing the unspoken threat in their words. “I see,” she said slowly. “And what makes you think you can offer them something better than what they have here?”
Matilda met her gaze without flinching. “We offer them dignity,” she said, her voice firm. “We offer them a chance to be part of something clean and honest, where their worth isn’t measured by the coins in their pockets.”
Lady McPherson’s smile remained in place, but her eyes had gone cold. “Dignity,” she repeated, her voice dripping with scorn. “You’re naive if you think you can offer that in a place like Crazecanyon.”
Matilda’s voice grew steelier. “We’re not just offering words,” she said. “We’re offering a share in our business, a home for their children, and a future where they can stand tall.”
Lady McPherson’s smile widened, but her eyes remained cold. “How quaint,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But you see, I’ve got just ‘three’ to sell for such ... sexual pleasures. And for labor? Oh, I can sell you a dozen for what you’re willing to pay for these three.”
Meda, her expression unreadable, nodded and disappeared through the same back door the landowner had used. Moments later, she returned with three women in tow. Each woman’s head was held high, their eyes filled with a quiet defiance that seemed almost out of place in the grim surroundings.
Lady McPherson’s smile grew wider as she took in the trio, her eyes lingering on their bruised and weary faces. “Ah, my favorites,” she said, her voice dripping with mock affection. “Mrs. Park here is a real crowd-pleaser, if you know what I mean. Mrs. Hickman, she’s got a reputation for being fresh meat around here, and Mrs. Freeman ... well, she’s got a way with the lonely miners looking for a motherly touch.”
Mrs. Park, Mrs. Hickman, and Mrs. Freeman stood before them, their expressions a mix of hope and wariness. They had clearly heard the exchange, and their eyes searched Donald and Matilda’s faces for any sign of compassion or deceit.
“Now, let’s get down to business,” Lady McPherson said, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She turned to Meda. “Strip them,” she ordered, her voice like a whip crack.
Meda’s expression didn’t change as she nodded and approached the three women. With a brutal efficiency born of practice, she tore the meager clothes from their bodies, leaving them exposed and trembling before Lady McPherson’s cold gaze. The room grew hot with the scent of fear and the stark reality of their situation.
Matilda’s cheeks flushed with anger, but she forced herself to remain calm, her eyes never leaving Lady McPherson’s. Donald’s hand hovered over his gun, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping his temper in check. They had come for a peaceful negotiation, but it was clear they were in the lion’s den, and the only way out was through.
Lady McPherson stood, her skeletal frame seemingly unfazed by their presence. She sailed over to Mrs. Park, her eyes gleaming as she cupped the woman’s ample breast in her hand. With a cruel smile, she slapped it hard, the sound echoing through the room. Mrs. Park winced but remained stoic, her eyes never leaving Donald and Matilda’s. The sight was obscene, a stark display of power and degradation that made Matilda’s stomach churn.
The woman’s breasts bounced with the impact, a stark contrast to the brittle cruelty of Lady McPherson’s touch. The other two widows watched, their expressions a mix of fear and resignation, their bodies taut with anticipation of the same treatment. It was a performance, a dance of despair that had been performed countless times before in this very room.
Matilda’s eyes flashed with anger, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She had seen much in her life, but this ... this was a new level of depravity. She took a step forward, her hand reaching out as if to shield the widows, but Lady McPherson’s laughter stopped her in her tracks.
“Oh, don’t be shy,” Lady McPherson purred, slapping Mrs. Hickman’s breasts with a viciousness that seemed to satisfy some twisted part of her soul. “This is the kind of entertainment that makes men part with their gold. They’re used to it, aren’t you, dear?”
Mrs. Hickman’s eyes flickered with a hint of defiance, but she remained silent, her body trembling slightly. Donald’s hand hovered closer to his gun, his teeth grinding together. Matilda’s cheeks were scarlet with fury, but she held her ground, her eyes locked on Lady McPherson’s, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking away.
The sound of the slap echoed through the room, a harsh punctuation to the tense silence. Lady McPherson moved on to Mrs. Freeman, her hand rising and falling in a macabre rhythm. Each impact sent a shiver through the air, a stark reminder of the brutal reality the women faced. Matilda’s breath hitched in her throat, her fingernails digging into her palms.
Lady McPherson’s eyes danced with malicious delight as she surveyed her ‘merchandise’, her hand poised to strike again. “See here,” she said, her voice a sneer, “these are prime examples of what Tuckercreeck has to offer. Strong, hardworking, and” – she paused to give Mrs. Freeman’s breast a particularly vicious slap – “ready to please.”
The widow’s chin quivered, but she remained stoic, her eyes focused on some distant point beyond the room. It was a testament to their strength, their refusal to let this monster of a woman break them completely.
Mrs. Park’s hand trembled as she reached down to comply with Lady McPherson’s demand, her palm brushing over the smooth, bald mound of her sex. The gesture was a stark contrast to the forced smile she wore, a silent declaration of her humanity in the face of such degradation. The room was so quiet that the rustle of fabric was like a thunderclap, echoing through the heavy silence.
Mrs. Hickman and Mrs. Freeman followed suit, their faces a mask of resilience as they too revealed their nakedness. The absence of hair was a stark symbol of their commodification, a visual testament to the countless men who had claimed them as property. The air grew thick with tension, the very fabric of the room seeming to strain against the injustice.
Matilda’s eyes were drawn to the widows’ pussies, a stark reminder of the lives they had been forced to endure. Each one was a battleground, a canvas of bruises and scars that told a story of pain and violation. Yet, amidst the horror, there was a flicker of hope, a promise of a new beginning if they could only escape this hell.
“Ah, see the beauty of a shaved pussy,” Lady McPherson said, her voice dripping with a sinister glee. “It’s all about hygiene, you know. Clients prefer it, and it shows we take care of our girls. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness, isn’t it?” Her laugh was cold, the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
Matilda’s eyes never left Lady McPherson’s, the anger burning in her soul. She knew all too well the reality behind that ‘cleanliness’. It wasn’t about hygiene; it was about stripping the widows of their last vestiges of dignity, reducing them to nothing more than commodities to be bought and sold.
“Besides,” Lady McPherson continued, her hand lingering on Mrs. Freeman’s bare mound, “it makes them look ... innocent. And who doesn’t want to defile something pure?” She licked her lips, her eyes flicking to Donald, gauging his reaction.
Matilda felt her fury boil over, but she kept her voice calm. “The women in our establishment will not be treated as such,” she said firmly. “They will have a say in their lives, and their bodies will not be used to entertain the sick desires of those who think they can buy and sell human dignity.”
Lady McPherson’s smile grew colder, her grip on Mrs. Freeman’s chin tightening. “Your hearts are in the right place, I’m sure,” she said, her voice like a serpent’s hiss. “But this is the Wild West, my dear. Innocence is a currency that gets you nowhere but dead.”
The widows stood before them, their bodies a map of suffering and resilience, each one a silent testament to the horrors they had endured. Yet, in their eyes, there was a spark, a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Donald and Matilda could offer them something better.
Mrs. Park spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she said, her eyes never leaving Lady McPherson’s, “we’ve heard tell of a place in Crazecanyon where a woman can make an honest living, without ... without all of this.”
Lady McPherson’s smile grew sharper, her eyes narrowing. “Crazecanyon, you say?” she mused, stroking Mrs. Park’s cheek with a bony finger. “You know, my dear, that’s a place for the dregs of society. Low-class, dirty, and violent men. Do you really think they’ll treat you any better than any brothell?”
Matilda stepped closer, her voice like a whip crack. “Our place will be different,” she said, her eyes flashing with determination. “We’re building a saloon and brothel that respects its workers, not one that treats them like cattle.”
Lady McPherson’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Ah, a crusade,” she said, her tone mocking. “How noble. Tell me, Mrs. Crawford, would you be willing to join them in a ... private session? To ensure their comfort, of course.”
Matilda’s fists clenched, but she kept her voice level. “Our establishment won’t be built on fear and exploitation,” she said firmly. “We offer a fair wage, a safe place to live, and the chance for a better life.”
Lady McPherson’s laugh was brittle, her eyes gleaming with malice. “How quaint,” she said, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “You think you can change the ways of the Wild West with your kindness and dreams. But let me tell you something, Mrs. Crawford. Every brothel owner who’s walked through that door has made the same promises. They’ve all looked at these girls with their sad, hopeful eyes and promised them the moon. But when it comes down to it, they’re all the same. They want a piece of the action, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”
Matilda’s gaze didn’t waver, her eyes burning with a fierce determination that seemed to light up the room. “We’re not like the others,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “We’ve seen the kind of life you offer, and we reject it. We’re building something different in Crazecanyon. Something that won’t just survive, but thrive, on the strength of its people.”
Lady McPherson’s smile grew colder, her eyes narrowing into slits. “You’re wasting my time,” she hissed. “These women are worth much more than your meager offer. Five thousand each,” she spat out, her voice like the chime of a cash register. “Take it or leave it. But don’t bother me with your naive fantasies of changing the world.”
Matilda’s eyes widened with shock, but Donald stepped forward, his hand still resting on his gun. “We’re not leaving without them,” he said, his voice as hard as the steel of his pistol. “We’re willing to pay a fair price, but we won’t be extorted.”
Matilda leaned in close, whispering urgently into Donald’s ear, her breath warm against his skin. “Our money ... it’s only 10,000 dollars,” she murmured. “We don’t have enough for now.”
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