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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how all of it exercised after all. But he had actually had his fill and it was time to carry on, perhaps mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do but deal with it, perhaps locate some of his old relatives, find his great-great-great grandmother when she was hot and young and rating with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He knew 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 hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a few roaming cattle he helped 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 dining establishment. 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 entire. When the first snows began to fall his ideas rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the higher he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or perhaps 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 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 start of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto began going nuts. Rearing up some and acting very silly. August was not entertained and became really cautious. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself might not see, or a minimum of spot them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slid 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 however pests buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Setting susceptible upon the ground with a substantial bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had 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 actually alive. Barely. He had been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any doctor. The kid's ass muscles flexed 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 dicks, the balls and too licked up Mark's fracture. 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 teenagers 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 trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the young boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. Absolutely nothing needed saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young kid's anus, sodomizing him nicely. 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 experience was amazing. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and non-stop till he might go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just 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 clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible task of licking Arlene's cum packed 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 cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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