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There was the realization that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. But he had had his fill and it was time to proceed, possibly 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 take place. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do however deal with it, perhaps locate a few of his old family members, find his great-great-great grandma when she was hot and young and score with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! He knew his geography 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 wise to be cautious and hesitant and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain course took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of roaming livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out that in the future he would just buy 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. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather turning on him the higher he went, but he desired 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 approving of the weather condition change or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another course that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally 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 against a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and knew that he had a concussion.

August was not entertained and became very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself could not see, or at least identify them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had actually scared Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slipped 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 absolutely nothing to hear but pests buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly encountered a male. Putting down prone upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming therefore August assumed that the man had actually been dead there for a long time. Carefully August took out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still in fact alive. Hardly. He had actually 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 way of reaching any physician. The kid's ass muscles bent as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and almost threw up as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and too licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then needed 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 rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to bring and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once more grab a holt of Adam's young head and wrench him upwards ... then in a flash the lad's wool trousers 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 said. Nothing required stating, 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 boy's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, forcing him to enjoy as cousin Mark mounted 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 place his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was extraordinary. Dakota was August's type of guy if he weren't so callous. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. There was nothing however still silence in the shack, just 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 resisted to the revolting task of licking Arlene's cum loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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