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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 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 take place. He knew his location fairly 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 cautious and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, discovering a couple of roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined 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 entire. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the higher he went, however he desired 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 change or the insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. He struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased 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.
Come the beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto began flipping out. Raising up some and acting very goofy. August was not entertained and ended up being extremely careful. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were deadly, vicious, and deadly. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked 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 couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Flies were already swarming and so August assumed 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 finest to carry and stall 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 kid wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. Nothing required stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, requiring him to view 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 after that made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The experience was incredible. Dakota was August's kind of guy if he weren't so ruthless. With the six-shooter, Arlene was without delay odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and non-stop up until he might go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace balls against 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 clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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