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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how all of it worked out after all. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, perhaps 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 happen. 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 wise to be careful and wary 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, finding a few stray livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out that in the future he would just buy one from a restaurant. 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 whole. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the greater he went, however 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, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly 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 adventure. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another course that supposedly led downward. Now he was absolutely lost. Another week passed, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased 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 concerned call Tonto began flipping out. Rearing up some and acting extremely silly. August was not amused and ended up being very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself could not see, or a minimum of find them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had actually scared 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, prowling, 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.
There was nothing to hear however insects buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and lastly encountered a male. Putting down prone upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his behind. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the man had 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 in fact alive. Barely. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any physician. The young boy's ass muscles bent as he made every effort 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 as well licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then had to go back to the table and lay on it with her legs widened, hands to her side. Mark then needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their finest to carry and stall on-- forcing 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. 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 nicely. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of man. With the six-shooter, Arlene was without delay odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He slammed her deeply and non-stop up 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 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 resisted to the disgusting task of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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