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There was the awareness that he might have just as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. However he had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to take place. He knew his geography 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 a good idea to be wary and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unclear and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a few roaming livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out 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 entire. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or possibly Iowa, perhaps 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 insistence of continuing the futile adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on permanently. So he struck off on another path that apparently led downward. Now he was absolutely lost. Another week went by, 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 understood that he had a concussion.

Come the start of his 3rd week out of Walnut Grove his horse he had actually pertained to call Tonto started going crazy. Rearing up some and acting really wacky. August was not amused and ended up being extremely cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects he himself might not see, or a minimum of spot them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to listen and detect for himself what had scared Tonto. He desired 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, 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 bugs buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came across a man. Putting down vulnerable upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his behind. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the man had actually been dead there for some time. Carefully August took out of the rough and approximately where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. Barely. He had actually been shot in the chest and had lost a great deal of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no other way of reaching any medical professional. The kid's ass muscles flexed 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 also licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then needed to return 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 quickly, the two teenagers did their finest to stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to 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 packed into the lad's hole. 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 held on to the lad's hair, holding it up tightly, requiring him to watch as cousin Mark mounted 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 position himself on the table and place his cock into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of guy. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was additional sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed her deeply and non-stop up until he could go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls versus 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 horrible job of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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