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There was the awareness that he might have just as well stuck with the Ingalls, to see how everything worked out after all. However he had had his fill and it was time to carry on, 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 regarding how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to do however deal with it, perhaps find some of his old loved ones, find his great-great-great granny when she was young and hot and score with her! That 'd mess 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 a good idea to be leery and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent uncertain and bandits strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he invested 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 determined that in the future he would just buy 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 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 perhaps 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 modification or the insistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path seemed to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was absolutely lost. Another week passed, 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.
August was not amused and became extremely cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself might not see, or at least identify them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had scared Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were fatal, vicious, and fatal. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and securing 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 absolutely nothing to hear however pests buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and lastly came across a male. Setting prone upon the ground with a huge bloodstain on his backside. 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 up to 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 be alive for quite longer, August had no way of reaching any doctor. The kid's ass muscles flexed as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two dicks, the balls and too licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then had to go back to the table and lay on it with her legs widened, 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 best to bring and stall on-- requiring Dakota to once more get 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 kid used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing required 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 anus, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, 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 place himself on the table and place his dick into her mouth. The ordeal was extraordinary. If he weren't so callous, Dakota was August's kind of man. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was nothing however still silence in the shack, just the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping balls versus Arlene's ass made the only noise. 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 fought back to the horrible task of licking Arlene's cum laden asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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