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There was the awareness that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had 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 occur. He understood his location fairly well, the geography 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 hesitant and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits wandered the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, finding a couple of roaming cattle he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he figured out that in the future he would just purchase one from a dining establishment. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, too. When the very first snows began to fall his ideas rested exclusively on the Ingalls. A nice warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sparse, the weather condition turning on him the greater he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new territory he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. 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 no place quick. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased after for miles by an even pissed off bear.

August was not entertained and ended up being really cautious. He wanted his internal Device had some sort of ability to see objects he himself might not see, or at least find them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to listen and find 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 lethal. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slid off into the rough, prowling, listening and pausing . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.

There was nothing to hear however pests buzzing. Absolutely nothing stirred. August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally encountered a guy. Laying down prone upon the ground with a substantial bloodstain on his behind. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were already swarming therefore August presumed that the man had actually been dead there for a long time. Carefully August took out of the rough and as much as where the man lay. To his surprise, the man was still really alive. Hardly. He had been shot in the chest and had actually lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for quite longer, August had no other way of reaching any medical professional. The boy's ass muscles bent as he made every effort NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly vomited 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 had to go to her, on his knees, and lick her. Compliance was not exactly complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to carry and stall on-- forcing Dakota to again get 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 stuffed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Absolutely nothing needed saying, 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 kid's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, forcing him to see as cousin Mark installed 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 after that 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. Dakota was August's type of male if he weren't so ruthless. With the six-shooter, Arlene was promptly odorized. She was further sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and relentlessly till he could 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 pressed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it tidy! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the horrible 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 jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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