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Brothels Acton Burnell SY5

 

There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. 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 take place. He was still mystified as to how the Device wound up in his noggin' anyhow! There was nought to deal but do with it, perhaps find some of his old relatives, find his great-great-great granny when she was young and hot and score with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! He understood his location relatively well, the geography of 2000, the location of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was smart to be hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he spent a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out that in the future he would simply order 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 very first snows started to fall his ideas rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather change or the persistence of continuing the useless experience. August needed to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally lost. Another week passed, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased after for miles by an even pissed off bear. He fell against a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and understood that he had a concussion.

August was not entertained and ended up being very wary. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects he himself could not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to identify and listen for himself what had scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were fatal, vicious, and lethal. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, lurking, stopping briefly and listening . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.

August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the male had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any doctor. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to carry and stall on-- forcing Dakota to 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, forcing him to see as cousin Mark mounted Arlene and entered her. STANDING 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 insert his dick into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was quickly odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly till he could go no more. There was nothing but 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible job of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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