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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how all of it worked out after all. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, perhaps mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He was still mystified as to how the Device wound up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do however deal with it, maybe find a few of his old family members, find his great-great-great grandmother when she was young and hot and rating with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! He understood his location fairly 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 wise to be cautious and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he invested a week simply meandering around, finding a few roaming cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would just order one from a dining establishment. Fishing was better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, as well. When the first snows began to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather switching on him the higher he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he presumed 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 authorizing of the weather change or the insistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on forever. So he struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone 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 became very cautious. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or at least detect them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had actually alarmed 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 among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slid off into the rough, prowling, 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 guy. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no method of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not precisely complied to rapidly, the two teens did their finest to stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to once again 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. 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 kid's anus, sodomizing him well. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, requiring him to see as cousin Mark installed 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 after that made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was unbelievable. Dakota was August's kind of male if he weren't so callous. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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