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There was the realization that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how everything exercised after all. However 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 take place. 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 a good idea to be wary and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent uncertain and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week just meandering around, discovering a few roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified 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 the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. When the first snows started to fall his thoughts rested solely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather switching on him the greater he went, however 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, 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 persistence of continuing the useless adventure. August needed to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that allegedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone after 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 from Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto started going nuts. Raising up some and acting very goofy. August was not entertained and became really careful. 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 calm the horse down, August strained to listen and detect for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and lethal. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, prowling, 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 nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly encountered a male. Setting prone upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. Thoroughly August took out of the rough and up to where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. However barely. He had actually been shot in the chest and had lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. The kid's ass muscles flexed as he aimed NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two dicks, the balls and as well licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then had to return to the table and lay on it with her legs opened wide, hands to her side. Mark then had to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to carry and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once again get 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 used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing needed 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 kid's rectum, sodomizing him well. 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 ordeal was incredible. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was quickly odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly up until 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 versus 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 task of licking Arlene's cum loaded asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a brand-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 dick!
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