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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. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe 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 take place. He understood his geography relatively 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 wise to be cautious and leery and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week simply meandering around, discovering a few roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would just buy one from a dining establishment. 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, too. When the very first snows started to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather condition switching on him the greater he went, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather condition change or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week passed, 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 understood that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and ended up being really cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself could not see, or at least discover them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to discover and listen for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were deadly, vicious, and deadly. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slid off into the rough, prowling, 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.
There was nothing to hear however insects buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came across a male. Laying down susceptible upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the man had actually been dead there for a long time. Carefully August took out of the rough and up to where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. But hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for quite longer, August had no other way of reaching any doctor. The kid's ass muscles bent as he strove NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and too licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then had to go back to the table and lay on it with her legs opened wide, hands to her side. Mark then had to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not precisely complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to again grab 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 packed into the lad's hole. 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 gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, requiring him to enjoy as cousin Mark installed 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 after that 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. Dakota was August's type of man if he weren't so callous. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was absolutely nothing however 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 orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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