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There was the realization that he could have just as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, 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 knew his geography fairly well, the location of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was a good idea to be hesitant and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and outlaws roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a couple of stray livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would just order 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. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, possibly even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition change or the persistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another course that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally 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 against a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.
August was not entertained and became very careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself might not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were fatal, vicious, and lethal. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slipped off into the rough, lurking, listening and pausing . 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 already swarming and so August assumed that the male had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for extremely much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their best to carry and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once 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 used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Nothing needed stating, 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 anus, sodomizing him nicely. 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 position himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was incredible. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of man. With the six-shooter, Arlene was promptly odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's dick. He slammed her deeply and relentlessly until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls versus Arlene's ass made the only noise. 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 revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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