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There was the realization that he might have just as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He understood his geography fairly well, the location of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was wise to be wary and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week simply meandering around, discovering a couple of roaming livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out that in the future he would simply purchase 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 started to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition switching on him the greater he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he presumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition change or the persistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting no place quickly. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased after for miles by an even pissed off bear.
Come the beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had actually come to call Tonto started going nuts. Rearing up some and acting very silly. August was not entertained and ended up being really wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself could not see, or a minimum of 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 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, 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 nothing to hear but insects buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came across a male. Laying down prone upon the ground with a substantial bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming therefore August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. Carefully August took out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still in fact alive. Barely. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to live for quite longer, August had no chance of reaching any doctor. The kid's ass muscles bent as he aimed 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 as well licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then needed to go back to the table and lay on it with her legs opened wide, hands to her side. Mark then needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to carry and stall on-- forcing 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 kid used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Nothing required saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young kid's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, requiring him to see as cousin Mark mounted Arlene and entered her. BASING 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 needed to come and place himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was amazing. Dakota was August's kind of man if he weren't so ruthless. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. 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 noise. 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 task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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