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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how all of it worked out after all. However he had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He understood his geography 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 a good idea to be wary and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent uncertain and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of 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 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. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition 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 one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not approving of the weather condition modification or the insistence 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 for miles by an even pissed off bear.
August was not entertained and ended up being extremely careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself might not see, or at least identify them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to identify and listen for himself what had spooked Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, prowling, 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.
August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came upon a man. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no method of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not precisely complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their best to stall and bring on-- forcing Dakota to once more 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 boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. 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 place himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was incredible. Dakota was August's type of guy if he weren't so callous. She was further sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was nothing however still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 job of licking Arlene's orgasm packed asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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