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There was the realization that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how all of it exercised after all. However he had actually had his fill and it was time to proceed, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He understood his geography relatively well, the geography of 2000, the geography 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 leery and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a few stray 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 the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. 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 area he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps 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 insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased 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 amused and became very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and discover for himself what had actually scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and deadly. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, lurking, 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 however bugs buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and lastly encountered a guy. Setting prone upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming therefore August presumed that the man had actually 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 really alive. Hardly. He had actually 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 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 almost vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and too licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then needed to return 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 exactly complied to rapidly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on-- requiring Dakota to 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 wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing required stating, 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 boy's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to view as cousin Mark mounted 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 needed to come and place himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was amazing. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so ruthless. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm packed asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!

 

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