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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how everything worked out after all. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, perhaps 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 take place. He understood 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 a good idea to be wary and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and outlaws strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a few stray cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he identified that in the future he would simply purchase one from a dining establishment. Fishing was 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 condition 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. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather condition change or the persistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quick. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another path that allegedly led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week passed, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone after for miles by an even pissed off bear. He fell versus a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and understood that he had a concussion.
August was not amused and became really careful. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see things he himself could not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to find and listen for himself what had actually spooked Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing him to a bush August slipped 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.
August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and lastly came upon a male. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any physician. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best 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 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. Nothing was said. Nothing required stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him nicely. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.
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. If he weren't so ruthless, Dakota was August's kind of guy. With the six-shooter, Arlene was without delay odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly up until he might 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 pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the revolting job of licking Arlene's cum packed 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 dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my cock!
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