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There was the realization that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. However he had had his fill and it was time to carry 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 take place. He was still mystified regarding how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyhow! There was nought to do but deal with it, perhaps locate some of his old loved ones, discover his great-great-great grandmother when she was young and hot and score with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! He understood his geography 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 smart to be hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and bandits strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, discovering a few stray livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply buy one from a restaurant. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. When the first snows began to fall his thoughts rested entirely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather turning on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not approving of the weather condition modification or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. 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 actually pertained to call Tonto began going crazy. Raising up some and acting very silly. August was not amused and became extremely wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself could not see, or a minimum of spot them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and detect for himself what had scared Tonto. He desired 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 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 however pests buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came upon a man. Setting vulnerable upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming and so August assumed that the man had actually been dead there for a long time. Carefully August took out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. However barely. He had actually been shot in the chest and had actually lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for quite longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. 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 nearly vomited as she slurped on the two dicks, the balls and also licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then had to go back 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 teens did their finest to stall and bring on-- requiring 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 kid used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Absolutely nothing needed 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 boy's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to watch 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 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 place his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was incredible. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of guy. With the six-shooter, Arlene was promptly odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and non-stop till he could go no more. There was 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 clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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