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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 exercised 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 getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He understood his location fairly 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 wise to be cautious and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply meandering around, discovering a few roaming cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply purchase one from a restaurant. Fishing was 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 thoughts rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather switching on him the higher he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly 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 adventure. August needed to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So 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, 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 beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto began flipping out. Raising up some and acting extremely silly. August was not entertained and ended up being really cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself could not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and identify for himself what had actually startled Tonto. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slipped 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.
August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a guy. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the guy had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their best to carry and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once more 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. 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 boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, requiring him to enjoy as cousin Mark installed 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 then made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. Dakota was August's kind of male if he weren't so callous. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely nothing however still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls against Arlene's ass made the only sound. 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 resisted to the disgusting task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then simply 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 young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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