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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out after all. However he had had his fill and it was time to proceed, perhaps mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do however deal with it, maybe find a few of his old family members, discover his great-great-great grandma when she was hot and young and rating with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! He understood 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 wise to be hesitant and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a couple of 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 purchase one from a dining establishment. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a entire. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather turning on him the greater he went, but he desired to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, possibly even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather change or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain path 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 passed, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone 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.

August was not entertained and ended up being very careful. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see objects he himself could not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had startled Tonto. He desired no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, prowling, 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 male. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no method of reaching any doctor. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teens did their finest to bring and stall 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 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 stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. 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. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.

Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and place himself on the table and place his dick into her mouth. The experience was incredible. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of male. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was absolutely nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls against 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 fought back to the disgusting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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