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There was the realization that he could 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 carry on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He was still mystified regarding how the Device wound up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to deal however do with it, maybe find a few of his old family members, find his great-great-great grandmother when she was hot and young and score with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He knew his location fairly 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 a good idea to be cautious and leery and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he invested a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of roaming livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would simply purchase 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, too. When the very first snows started to fall his thoughts rested solely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the greater he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or potentially 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 persistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. He struck off on another path that apparently led downward. Now he was totally 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 extremely cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects he himself could not see, or at least discover them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to identify 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 deadly, vicious, and deadly. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slinked 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 pests buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came across a male. Setting susceptible upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for a long time. Thoroughly August stole out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still actually alive. Barely. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. The kid's ass muscles flexed as he aimed NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and almost threw up as she slurped on the two dicks, the balls and too 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 had to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teenagers 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 trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Nothing required stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, requiring him to view as cousin Mark installed 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 position himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so ruthless. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and non-stop up until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only 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 resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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