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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how everything worked out after all. However he had had his fill and it was time to carry on, maybe 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 happen. He was still mystified as to how the Device wound up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do but deal with it, perhaps locate some of his old family members, find his great-great-great grandmother when she was young and hot and score with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He knew his location 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 smart to be wary and wary and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent uncertain and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent 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 figured out that in the future he would just purchase one from a restaurant. 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. When the first snows began to fall his thoughts rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A good 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, but he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new area he presumed would be among the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition modification or the insistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased for miles by an even pissed off bear.
August was not entertained and became really wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself could not see, or at least discover them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to identify and listen for himself what had actually alarmed Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were deadly, vicious, and lethal. He desired no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slid 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.
There was nothing to hear but bugs buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a male. Laying down prone upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his behind. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. Carefully August took out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still actually alive. But barely. He had been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any doctor. The boy's ass muscles flexed as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and also licked up Mark's crack. Arlene then needed to return to the table and lay on it with her legs widened, 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 finest to stall and carry 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 kid wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required 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 kid's anus, sodomizing him nicely. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, forcing him to watch as cousin Mark installed Arlene and entered her. STANDING 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 place himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so callous. She was further sodomized with Dakota's cock. 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 pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the revolting task of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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