"Ooooh. And Mr. Anderson just hit Mr. Jamason with a chair! That must've hurt!" The announcer exclaimed, "And he's still standing! Oh, my God, that beast of a man is still standing! " The patrons can't believe it either. "Place your bets, people! This fight between the two saloon floor beasts is one for the agess."

The audience was ablaze with excitement as they kept betting on which of the three fighters would fall first. Mr. Jamason just took a chair, which would've downed a grown man, and Mr. Anderson looks shocked, to say the least. He throws the remains of the chair away as he puts his hands up, his cowboy hat long gone, similar to his opponent, who's scratching the remains of the wooden chair off his bald crown. He spits right under the adjacent round table. Good thing the saloon removed the poker table from the arena circle; it would've been awful if it had been destroyed.

Jamason turned to Anderson with a vicious grin that only looked worse by virtue of the long scar running from his forehead to the side of his mouth. Jamason charged at Anderson and tackled him to the ground, just before the edge of the circle. Anderson's head smashed against the wooden floor, almost giving him a concussion. "Now this is what I call fun!" His grin never vanishes as he pummels Anderson. The rules stated that the match only ends if someone surrenders or leaves the circle; what if neither happens?

The pummeling continues, much to the delight of the savage and bored locals.

"What in tarnation is happening here?! Mr. Jamason, what is the meaning of this?" A distinguished-looking gentleman, Mr. Frank, enters the savagely suffused area and shouts, "I could have you all locked for illegally operating fights, so end this farce immediately." The well-connected Mr. Frank orders, and the crowed complies, albeit reluctantly.

"Does that mean Mr. Jamason won?" Someone asks. "The fuck, you mean he won? His opponent didn't surrender or leave the circle" another man interjected. It was obvious who bet for whom. And a brawl is on the cusp of spawning, were it not for Mr. Frank, who went to talk to the saloon owner, and an unconscious Mr. Anderson. A verbal spat starts, however.

Jamason ignores all that in favour of approaching Lady Marry-Ann with her creamy chest, owning to her corset. He leans on the bar with his back, wraps his arm around her shoulder, and she flinches but relents as he grabs the soft, squeezable breast from over the fabric. He squeezes and plays with it before grabbing a bottle that was on the bar with his free hand. He takes a swig and says, "This is what life's about: battling, booze, and bitches." He laughs heartily at that declaration.

"You know, I'd be more into this if you were less of a brute and more of a gentleman like your employer, Mr. Franks." She tries to shove him away, only for him to retaliate by turning around and pressing her against the bar. He uses both hands to fondle her boobs and forcefully pries open her mouth with his boozed-up tongue. He grinds his hip against hers, only to be stopped less than a minute later.

"Keep it in your pants, you filthy beast," his employer says behind him. "You almost killed a man, and now you assault whore. It almost feels like you wish to be imprisoned, and an imprisoned debt collector is worthless to me and my business."

Jamason stops his activity, leaving a breathless marry-ann, and replies, "If he dies, he dies. Weak men shouldn't fight. Besides, I am too good to let rot in a cell."

Marry-Ann quickly escapes, only to be grabbed again for her boobs to be assaulted.

"So," he continues, "you got a job for me?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Frank relents, fully knowing this animal thinks about nothing but violence. "A birtish immigrant, Mr. Birmingham, owes us $40  plus interset that he is yet to pay. He lives north-west of here. He has a wife. Do with that information as you well."

..............

Jamason arrives at the poor couple's house. It's a one-story, 3-room house of modest size.

"MR. BIRMINGHAM, THE DEBT COLLECTION AGENCY IS HERE!" he shouts at the top of his lungs. He hears shuffling behind the door, but he doesn't wait before kicking down the door, breaking off the hinges. The man and his wife, who look worried, are standing behind, barely messing with the shrapnel of the door.

"What manner of nonsense is this?" Mr. Birmingham is fuming, "How dare you knock down the door of an honest working man?!"

"No, no, no, Mr. Birmingham. Can I call you Birmy? You are not an honest man," he says. "An honest man pays his bills on time; you have yet to pay your dues." He enters the house, picks up the door, and puts it back in its place.

Birmingham stammers, realising his folly: I'll have them by Monday; I don't have them on me right now; just give me those couple of  days."

"That's no good, Birmy; we don't work that way," he says menacingly towards the couple. "You either pay now or I extract my payment some other way."

"Stay back," the couple said, retreating from the ogre-looking man. Their backs touch the wall, and they can no longer retreat.

"Say, what about a night of passion with your wife?" He leers at her and says, "I've never had an English woman before."

..........

You can continue from there after discussing the kinks and limits, or we could build something else.

I have other ideas for the debtors, if you wish. This is mostly a one-night stand, unless we click, in which case I'd like to create a long-term plot.

The general themes for sex will be: rough, non-dub con, physical and verbal abuse, etc. The exact details will be sent in DMs.

The plot themes murder (if long-term): murder, kidnapping, and general wild-west shenanigans.

OK, I hope to hear from you.

(This tool longed than I am willing to admit. Same questions as before: is the choreography, idea, and sex potential coherent? And Is the idea actually worth rp-ing?)