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There was the realization that he could have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how it all exercised after all. However he had had his fill and it was time to move on, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to happen. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to deal but do with it, perhaps find a few of his old family members, discover his great-great-great grandma when she was young and hot and score with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He understood his location fairly well, the geography of 2000, the location 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 magnificent unclear and outlaws roamed the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week just meandering around, discovering a couple of stray cattle he helped 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 better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, also. 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 sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, however he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he presumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not approving of the weather change or the insistence of continuing the futile experience. August had to concur-- he was getting no place quickly. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased after for miles by an even pissed off bear.

Come the start of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had actually concerned call Tonto began flipping out. Raising up some and acting really goofy. August was not entertained and ended up being very wary. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself could not see, or a minimum of find them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and find for himself what had actually startled Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slid off into the rough, lurking, listening and stopping briefly . 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 couple of more stalwart prowlings and lastly came across a guy. Putting down susceptible upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the man had been dead there for a long time. Thoroughly August stole out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still in fact alive. But hardly. He had actually been shot in the chest and had lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to live for quite longer, August had no other way of reaching any physician. The young boy's ass muscles bent as he aimed 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 also licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then had to go back 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 best to carry and stall on-- forcing 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 young boy wore 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 proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young kid's anus, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, forcing him to view as cousin Mark installed 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 then made her suck on the barrel.

Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and position himself on the table and insert his dick 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 promptly odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and non-stop up until he could go no more. There was 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the revolting job of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!

 

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