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There was the realization that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how all of it worked out after all. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to happen. He knew his geography relatively well, the location of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was wise to be wary and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply meandering around, discovering a couple of stray cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply buy one from a dining establishment. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. When the first snows started to fall his thoughts rested entirely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather condition switching on him the greater he went, however he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather condition modification or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August needed to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another path that apparently led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week passed, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone after for miles by an even pissed off bear. He fell versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and understood that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and became really wary. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself could not see, or at least discover them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and identify for himself what had scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were deadly, vicious, and deadly. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slipped off into the rough, lurking, listening and pausing . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.
There was absolutely nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Laying down vulnerable upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming and so August assumed that the man had been dead there for some time. Carefully August took out of the rough and up to where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. Hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. The young boy's ass muscles flexed as he strove NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and also licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then needed to return to the table and lay on it with her legs widened, hands to her side. Mark then needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their finest to carry and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once more grab a holt of Adam's young head and wrench him upwards ... then in a flash the lad's wool pants were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the young boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing needed stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young kid's anus, sodomizing him well. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and place himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was extraordinary. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so ruthless. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was absolutely nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls versus Arlene's ass made the only noise. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible job of licking Arlene's cum loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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