Ben Owen
Copyright© 2025 by Ayra Atkinson
Chapter 36
Western Sex Story: Chapter 36 - Ben Owen, a quiet drifter with a haunted past, finds himself entangled in a frontier town divided by greed, vengeance, and lawlessness. When a ruthless land baron threatens everything he values, Ben must choose between walking away or taking a stand. In a world where justice is scarce and loyalty comes at a price, his fight for redemption may cost him everything.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Romantic Slavery Lesbian Fiction Crime Rags To Riches Western Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Anal Sex Violence AI Generated
The next day, under the guise of eager new performers, Beulah and Lois introduced themselves to Mr. Skinner. His smile was as wide as the Mississippi, and his eyes twinkled with curiosity as he sized them up. “What talents do you two have to offer?” he asked, his voice oiled with charm.
Beulah stepped forward, her voice dripping with innocence. “We’ve heard about your private midnight spectacle,” she began, her eyes flicking to the pamphlet in her hand. “The nude women’s oil wrestling match, it’s quite the talk of the town.”
Mr. Skinner’s smile grew wider, revealing a set of gleaming teeth. “Ah, yes,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “The main event, where the strongest and most agile women battle it out for the amusement of the crowd.”
Beulah and Lois exchanged a knowing look. “We’re more than just entertainers,” Beulah said with a smirk. “We’re here to challenge your best.”
Mr. Skinner’s eyebrow arched, intrigued. “Is that so?” He took a long draw on his cigar, the smoke curling around his mustache. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.” He looked them over again, his eyes lingering on their tight leather outfits, designed to showcase their curves and strength. “Fine, you’re hired. But remember, this isn’t just a show for the townsfolk. We cater to a ... special kind of clientele.”
The implication hung in the air, thick and unspoken. Beulah and Lois knew what he meant, but they didn’t flinch. They had faced far worse in their lives. “We’re not just here to entertain,” Lois said, his voice a low rumble. “We’re here to win.”
Mr. Skinner studied them for a moment, his eyes sharp and assessing. “Alright, then,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But remember, this isn’t just about strength and agility. It’s about giving the audience what they want.”
“And what is it that they want?” Beulah asked, her voice dripping with curiosity.
Mr. Skinner leaned in closer, his mustache twitching with a smirk. “Well, my dear, our midnight spectacle is known for its ... exclusivity. The nudity is just the beginning. It’s the thrill of the forbidden, the allure of the taboo that brings in the big spenders.”
Beulah and Lois shared a knowing smile. “We’re not strangers to the tastes of Lawless Ridge,” Beulah said, her voice dripping with confidence. “But we want to know more about this ‘special’ audience of yours.”
Mr. Skinner leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with approval. “Ah, you’re clever,” he said, stroking his mustache. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, you’ve got to prove your worth.” He gestured to the poster on the wall, depicting a busty, barely-clothed woman wrestling in a pit of shimmering oil. “Can you handle the heat?”
Beulah and Lois exchanged a look, the challenge in their eyes. “We’re not just pretty faces,” Beulah said, her voice sultry. “We’re survivors of Lawless Ridge.”
“Good,” Mr. Skinner said, his smile growing wider. “Then you’ll do just fine. Now, let’s talk about the ... extra curricular activities our clientele enjoys.”
The two women nodded, their expressions unreadable. They knew what he was referring to, the darker side of the circus that catered to the twisted desires of the town’s elite. They had seen the worst this place had to offer, and they were determined to expose it.
“Of course,” Lois said, playing along. “We’re here to do whatever it takes to make the show a success.”
Mr. Skinner’s smile grew colder, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Exactly,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “And part of that success involves keeping our little ... secrets.” He paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air like a noose. “You’re not just performers, my dears. You’re part of the circus family now, and family sticks together.”
Beulah felt a chill run down her spine, but she didn’t let it show. “Of course,” she purred, her eyes never leaving Skinner’s. “We’re all about family here in Lawless Ridge.”
Lois nodded in agreement, his hand resting casually on his gun. “We wouldn’t dream of leaving before the show’s over,” he said with a wink.
Mr. Skinner’s smile grew colder. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his eyes lingering on their attire. “Because once you’re part of the circus, you’re here to stay.”
Beulah felt a flicker of annoyance but kept her features neutral. “Is that a rule?” she asked, her voice coy.
Mr. Skinner leaned back in his chair, his eyes raking over them both. “It’s more of an ... understanding,” he said, his tone suggesting that there was no room for argument. “Once you’re part of the circus, you’re family. And family sticks together.”
The implications were clear, and Beulah’s heart raced with excitement and a hint of fear. They had to be careful. “We understand,” she said, her voice steady. “We’re looking forward to joining the circus family.”
Mr. Skinner nodded, satisfied with their response. “Good,” he said, standing up from his chair. “You’ll find Mrs. Jean ‘Stormrider’ Freeman in the medium round white canvas tent. She’ll get you ready for tonight’s performance.”
Beulah and Lois followed his directions, their boots echoing against the dusty ground as they approached the circus encampment. The tents loomed above them, a whirlwind of color and sound that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. They found the tent in question, its canvas billowing gently in the evening breeze. The flap was closed, and the scent of sweat wafted out.
With a deep breath, they pushed aside the flap and stepped into the dimly lit space. Mrs. Jean ‘Stormrider’ Freeman was indeed a sight to behold. A large woman, she was dressed in a slip that barely covered her ample figure. Her skin glistened with oil, and her hair was piled high in a messy bun. She looked up from where she was stretching and her eyes widened when she saw them.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” she said, her voice a gravelly purr. “Two fresh faces looking to join the circus. I’ve heard about you two.”
Mrs. Jean ‘Stormrider’ Freeman was indeed a force to be reckoned with. Her biceps bulged with muscle, and her eyes sparkled with a fierce intelligence. She had earned her name not just for her incredible wrestling skills, but for the way she could tame the rowdiest of crowds.
“You’re going to need more than pretty smiles to survive in this business,” she said, her voice gruff yet kind. “Wrestling is about strategy, about knowing your opponent, and about never giving up.”
Mrs. Freeman began to show them the ropes, quite literally. She taught them the art of the grapple, the slyness of the headlock, and the power of the body slam. Beulah and Lois listened intently, their eyes never leaving hers. They knew that what they were learning wasn’t just for the show; it was for their survival.
“Remember,” Mrs. Freeman said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “As circus wrestlers, you’re not just entertainers. You’re the circus’s muscle. You win, we all win. The bets placed on these midnight matches are the lifeblood of our operation. And Mr. Skinner doesn’t take kindly to those who don’t pull their weight.”
Beulah and Lois nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of their situation. They had to win not just for themselves, but for the town they were sworn to protect. “We’re not here to lose,” Beulah murmured, her eyes steely.
Mrs. Freeman’s gaze softened. “Good,” she said, her voice gentle. “Now, let’s get you both ready for the show.” She pointed to the pile of scanty outfits in the corner. “You’ll need to strip down to your birthday suits. There’s no room for modesty in the circus, especially not in the midnight spectacle.”
Beulah and Lois shared a nervous glance but knew they had to play the part. They began to undress, their movements slow and deliberate. Mrs. Freeman watched them with a critical eye, her gaze appraising their figures as they revealed more and more of their bare skin. Despite the intimate situation, there was no lechery in her stare, only a sense of professionalism.
Once they were down to their underthings, Mrs. Freeman handed them each a small towel and a tin of oil. “Go on,” she said, her voice gruff yet gentle. “Get yourself nice and shiny. The audience loves a good show.”
Beulah and Lois took the tins, their hearts racing. They had never felt so exposed, but they knew that this was a necessary part of the act. They began to rub the oil into their skin, feeling it warm and slick against their bodies. The smell was faintly sweet, reminiscent of coconuts, and it clung to them like a second skin.
Mrs. Freeman cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to the task at hand. “Alright, now face each other,” she said, her voice firm. “I want to show you the headlock move. It’s a classic, but it’s also a crowd-pleaser.”
Beulah and Lois turned to face each other, their eyes locking for a brief moment before they both dropped into a wrestling stance. Mrs. Freeman stepped behind them, her powerful arms demonstrating the move with ease. “You wrap your arm around their neck,” she said, her words echoing through the tent. “And you lock your hands behind their head. Like this.”
Lois reached out and mimicked the move on Beulah, her hands slipping over her friend’s neck and locking in place. Beulah’s breath hitched, not from the pressure but from the sudden realization of their intimate position. Their bare skin slicked with oil, their bodies close enough to feel each other’s heat. Mrs. Freeman watched, her eyes sharp, making sure they had the move down pat.
Next, she demonstrated the reverse wrist and arm lock move. “This is for when you’re grabbed from behind,” she said, her hands moving in a swift, precise motion. “You twist and pull, using their momentum against them.” Beulah nodded, focusing on the technique. Mrs. Freeman stepped back, allowing them to practice. The women moved in a dance of power and submission, their bodies moving in a rhythm that spoke of trust and determination.
The front chancery move was a showstopper, according to Mrs. Freeman. “You grab their neck with one hand,” she instructed, her own hand mimicking the action, “and use the other to control their arm. It’s all about leverage and keeping your opponent off balance.” They took turns, feeling the power in their grips and the give of their opponent’s flesh. The move was elegant yet brutal, a perfect representation of the kind of finesse needed to survive in Lawless Ridge.
Next, they learned the body hold, or grapevine, as Mrs. Freeman called it. It involved wrapping one’s legs around the opponent’s midsection, entangling them like a vine around a tree. “This move is about controlling your opponent’s center of gravity,” she explained, her eyes shining with the thrill of the fight. “It’s not just about strength, but about knowing where they’re going to go before they do.” Beulah and Lois practiced, their bodies moving in a sensual dance of power and restraint, each trying to outmaneuver the other.
The crab hold was a move that Mrs. Freeman demonstrated with a flourish. “You pin your opponent’s arms with your legs,” she said, her own legs flexing with the motion. “And then you squeeze.” The move was designed to keep the opponent immobile, leaving them open to attack. Beulah and Lois took turns applying it, their muscles straining as they held each other in the intimate embrace of the hold. It was an oddly intimate moment, their bodies entwined in a battle of wills.
The crotch and arm lift was another move that required finesse. Mrs. Freeman showed them how to scoop their opponent’s arm and crotch in one swift motion, hoisting them into the air. It was a move that required both strength and precision, and one that would certainly leave an impression on the audience. They practiced tirelessly, their grunts and groans of effort echoing through the tent.
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