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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. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, perhaps mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to happen. He knew his geography relatively well, the geography of 2000, the geography of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was smart to be leery and cautious 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 spent a week simply meandering around, discovering a couple of stray cattle 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 sparse, the weather condition turning on him the higher he went, but 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, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not approving of the weather change or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased for miles by an even pissed off bear.
Come the beginning of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto started flipping out. Rearing up some and acting really silly. August was not entertained and became extremely cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself might not see, or a minimum of detect them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to spot 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 lethal. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slinked 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 man. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the guy had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teens did their best to bring and stall 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 used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required saying, 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 perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, forcing him to watch as cousin Mark mounted Arlene and entered her. STANDING 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 place himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The ordeal was extraordinary. Dakota was August's sort of guy if he weren't so callous. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely 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 sound. 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 resisted to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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