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There was the awareness that he might have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe 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 happen. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to deal however do with it, perhaps find some of his old loved ones, find his great-great-great grandma when she was hot and young and score with her! That 'd screw up the timeline for sure! 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 leery and careful and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unsettled and outlaws roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough nation, he spent a week just meandering around, discovering a couple of stray cattle he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out 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 out on the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole. When the first snows started to fall his ideas rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather switching on him the higher he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into new territory he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially Iowa, perhaps 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 persistence of continuing the useless experience. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere quickly. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on forever. So he struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was totally lost. Another week went by, 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 entertained and became very careful. 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 listen and find for himself what had spooked 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 one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slinked off into the rough, lurking, 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 male. Flies were currently swarming and so August assumed that the guy had actually been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for extremely much longer, August had no way of reaching any doctor. Compliance was not precisely complied to quickly, the two teenagers did their finest to bring and stall 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 trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young boy's rectum, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, requiring him to enjoy as cousin Mark installed Arlene and entered her. BASING 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 experience was incredible. Dakota was August's kind of guy if he weren't so callous. With the six-shooter, Arlene was immediately odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's dick. He knocked her deeply and non-stop until he might 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 pushed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the horrible job of licking Arlene's cum packed asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole clean-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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