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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all exercised after all. However he had actually had his fill and it was time to proceed, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly 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 geography of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was smart to be wary and leery and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of stray cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined 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 entire. When the first snows began to fall his ideas rested solely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. 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 presumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather change or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that allegedly led downward. Now he was absolutely lost. Another week passed, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone after for miles by an even pissed off bear. He fell versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and understood that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and ended up being really careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects he himself might not see, or at least detect them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to listen and detect for himself what had startled Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and lethal. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting 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 finally came upon a male. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the man had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for extremely much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to bring and stall 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 young boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. 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 perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, forcing him to enjoy 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 then made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and place himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The experience was amazing. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of man. 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 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the disgusting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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