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There was the awareness that he might have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. But he had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to happen. He knew his geography relatively 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 wise to be hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week simply meandering around, finding a few roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just purchase one from a restaurant. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, also. When the first snows began to fall his ideas rested entirely on the Ingalls. A good 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, however he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new area he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather modification or the insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on forever. So he struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally 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 versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.

Come the beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto started going crazy. Raising up some and acting extremely wacky. August was not amused and ended up being very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself might not see, or at least identify them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to identify and listen for himself what had actually startled 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 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.

There was absolutely nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came across a male. Putting down susceptible upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming therefore August assumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. Carefully August took out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still actually alive. But hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any medical professional. The boy's ass muscles bent as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and almost vomited as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and as well licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then had to return to the table and lay on it with her legs opened wide, hands to her side. Mark then needed to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their finest to stall and bring 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 trousers 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 crammed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required stating, 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 kid's anus, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, requiring him to enjoy 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. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of guy. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely 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 noise. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pressed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible job of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!

 

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