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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stuck 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 happen. 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 locate some of his old relatives, discover his great-great-great granny when she was young and hot and rating with her! That 'd mess 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 careful and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and outlaws roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply meandering around, discovering a few stray livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would just order one from a restaurant. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, too. When the very first snows began to fall his ideas rested solely on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather turning on him the higher he went, however he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new area he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially 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 change or the persistence of continuing the useless experience. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on forever. So he struck off on another course that supposedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week passed, 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 knew that he had a concussion.
August was not entertained and became very careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself could not see, or at least detect them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to find 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 lethal. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing 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.
There was absolutely nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally encountered a male. Putting down prone upon the ground with a big 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 some time. Thoroughly August took out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still actually alive. Hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any physician. The kid's ass muscles bent as he strove NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, 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 needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teens did their finest to stall and bring 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 young boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely 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 perfectly. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and position himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was incredible. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was promptly odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and relentlessly until he might 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 sound. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden 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 dick up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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