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Lyric , 34 y
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Brothels Articlave BT51

 

There was the realization that he might 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, maybe 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 wound up in his noggin' anyhow! There was nought to do however deal with it, maybe locate some of his old loved ones, discover his great-great-great grandma when she was hot and young and score 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 a good idea to be wary and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a few stray cattle he helped 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 out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, also. 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, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be among 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 condition modification or the insistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that allegedly 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 knew that he had a concussion.

Come the start of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had actually come to call Tonto started freaking out. Rearing up some and acting really wacky. August was not entertained and became very cautious. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself might not see, or a minimum of detect them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and identify for himself what had spooked Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, lurking, listening and stopping briefly . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.

There was nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came across a guy. Setting prone upon the ground with a big 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 some time. Thoroughly August stole out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. But barely. He had been shot in the chest and had lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. The kid's ass muscles bent as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two dicks, the balls and also 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 precisely complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on-- requiring Dakota to once again get 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 wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed 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 weapon deeper into the young kid's anus, sodomizing him well. 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 place his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was incredible. Dakota was August's type of man if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was without delay odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and non-stop up until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls against Arlene's ass made the only noise. 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 resisted to the disgusting 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 pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!

 

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