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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how it all exercised after all. But 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 house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He knew his location relatively well, the location of 2000, the location of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was a good idea to be wary and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and outlaws strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a couple of roaming livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just buy one from a dining establishment. Fishing was better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, also. When the very first snows started to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the higher he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he presumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not approving of the weather change or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting no place quick. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased for miles by an even pissed off bear.
Come the start of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had concerned call Tonto began flipping out. Raising up some and acting extremely silly. August was not amused and ended up being extremely careful. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had spooked Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slipped off into the rough, lurking, listening and stopping briefly . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.
There was nothing to hear however pests buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came across a guy. Putting down susceptible upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming therefore August presumed 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 actually alive. However hardly. He had actually been shot in the chest and had lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for quite longer, August had no chance of reaching any physician. The young boy's ass muscles flexed as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and almost vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and also licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then had 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 stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to once again get a holt of Adam's young head and wrench him upwards ... then in a flash the lad's wool trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the young boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Nothing required saying, 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 rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, forcing him to view as cousin Mark mounted Arlene and entered her. BASING ON Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene. He squeezed her nipples, nipped and bit them, creamed deeply into her pussy and jammed the barrel of the revolver up into her well deflowered fucked cunny, worked it around a bit and then made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and place himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was unbelievable. Dakota was August's type of man if he weren't so ruthless. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was absolutely nothing however still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls against Arlene's ass made the only sound. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pressed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm packed asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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