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There was the realization that he might have just 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, maybe 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 understood his geography fairly well, the location 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 careful and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unsettled and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested 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 identified that in the future he would simply buy 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. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the greater he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially 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 condition change or the insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week passed, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased 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.

Come the beginning of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had actually concerned call Tonto started going crazy. Rearing up some and acting very goofy. August was not entertained and became really careful. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself could not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had actually alarmed Tonto. He wanted 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, 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 lastly came upon a male. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the guy 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 physician. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to carry 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Absolutely nothing needed stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, requiring 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 after that made her suck on the barrel.

Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and place 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 male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly till he might go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just 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 clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the horrible task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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