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There was the realization that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how everything worked out after all. But he had actually had his fill and it was time to proceed, maybe 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 happen. He knew his location relatively well, the location 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 wary and leery and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent uncertain and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he invested a week simply meandering around, discovering 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 purchase one from a dining establishment. 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. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather condition modification or the persistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another course that allegedly led downward. Now he was totally lost. Another week went by, he contravened 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 understood that he had a concussion.
Come the start of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had concerned call Tonto started flipping out. Rearing up some and acting very goofy. August was not entertained and ended up being extremely wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see things he himself might not see, or a minimum of detect them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to listen and find 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 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 however insects buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Setting susceptible 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 been dead there for a long time. Carefully August stole out of the rough and up to where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still in fact alive. However hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no other way of reaching any medical professional. The kid's ass muscles bent as he strove NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly vomited as she slurped on the two dicks, 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 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 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 wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. 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 kid's rectum, sodomizing him nicely. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, 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 after that made her suck on the barrel.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and position himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was unbelievable. Dakota was August's type of man if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace balls against Arlene's ass made the only noise. 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 resisted to the revolting task 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 shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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