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There was the realization that he could have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. However he had actually 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 home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He knew his location fairly 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 a good idea to be hesitant and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he invested a week just meandering around, discovering a couple of roaming cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply purchase one from a restaurant. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, also. When the very first snows began to fall his thoughts rested entirely on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the higher he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new area he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition modification or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August needed to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. He struck off on another course that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally lost. Another week went by, he contravened 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.
August was not amused and ended up being very wary. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself might not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and discover for himself what had actually alarmed Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slipped 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.
August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the male had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to stall and bring 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 wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Absolutely 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 nicely. 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 cock into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of guy. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and non-stop till 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 sound. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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