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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out after all. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, 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 was still mystified regarding how the Device wound up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do but deal with it, possibly find a few of his old relatives, discover his great-great-great grandma when she was hot and young and rating with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He understood 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 hesitant and careful and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unsettled and outlaws wandered the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week simply 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 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 potentially Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Quickly the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition modification or the insistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain course seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another path that supposedly led downward. Now he was totally 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 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 pertained to call Tonto started freaking out. Raising up some and acting extremely goofy. August was not entertained and ended up being extremely careful. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself could not see, or a minimum of detect them, or something. He was at length able to calm the horse down, August strained to listen and spot for himself what had actually startled Tonto. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked 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.
August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a guy. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the man had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no method of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on-- requiring 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 boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely 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 well. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene.
Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark had to come and place himself on the table and insert his dick into her mouth. The experience was extraordinary. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was quickly odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly until he might go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace 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 tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark fought back to the disgusting task of licking Arlene's orgasm loaded asshole, Dakota then just wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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