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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how all of it worked out after all. 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 house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He understood his location relatively well, the geography 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 wary 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, discovering a couple of stray livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply order 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. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially 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 condition change or the insistence 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 apparently led downward. Now he was absolutely 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 knew that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and became really careful. 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 actually alarmed Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slid off into the rough, lurking, stopping briefly 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 guy. 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 very much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their finest to stall and carry 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 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. Absolutely nothing required 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 kid's anus, sodomizing him nicely. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, forcing him to watch 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 needed to come and position himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The experience was incredible. Dakota was August's type of guy if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and relentlessly till he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just 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 pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible job of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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