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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how everything exercised after all. But he had actually had his fill and it was time to carry on, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that getting back home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He knew 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 a good idea to be careful and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding 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 order one from a restaurant. Fishing was better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, maybe 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 insistence of continuing the futile 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 apparently led downward. Now he was totally lost. Another week went by, 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.
Come the start of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had concerned call Tonto started going crazy. Rearing up some and acting really wacky. August was not amused and became extremely cautious. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself could not see, or a minimum of discover them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and deadly. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, prowling, pausing 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 lastly came upon a guy. Flies were already swarming and so August assumed that the male had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for extremely much longer, August had no method of reaching any physician. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their best to stall and bring 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 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 packed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing required 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 rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to view 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 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 cock into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of man. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was absolutely nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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