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There was the realization that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. However he had had his fill and it was time to carry on, possibly 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 happen. 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 smart to be hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and bandits strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he invested a week just meandering around, discovering a couple of roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would just order 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 entire. When the very first snows began to fall his thoughts rested entirely on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather condition turning on him the higher he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he presumed 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 authorizing of the weather change or the insistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. He struck off on another course that apparently 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 versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and became extremely cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself could not see, or at least discover them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and find for himself what had scared Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slid off into the rough, lurking, pausing 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 few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came upon a male. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the male had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. Compliance was not precisely complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their best to bring and stall on-- forcing Dakota to once again grab 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 kid wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Nothing needed 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 perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, 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 place his dick into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of male. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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