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There was the realization that he might have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had actually had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that returning home in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He was still mystified as to how the Device ended up in his noggin' anyways! There was nought to deal but do with it, perhaps locate some of his old family members, find his great-great-great grandma when she was young and hot and rating with her! That 'd mess up the timeline for sure! He understood his geography fairly 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 wise to be wary and cautious and on guard-- Indians were still magnificent unsettled and outlaws strolled the wildlands, too.
A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he invested a week just meandering around, finding a few stray livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would simply order one from a restaurant. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Residing in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a whole, as well. When the very first snows started to fall his ideas rested solely on the Ingalls. A good warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather switching on him the higher he went, but he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he assumed would be one of the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather modification or the persistence of continuing the useless adventure. August had to concur-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain path appeared to wind on and on and on forever. So he struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was absolutely 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 of Walnut Grove his horse he had concerned call Tonto started going crazy. Raising up some and acting very goofy. August was not entertained and became very wary. He wished his internal Device had some sort of ability to see items he himself could not see, or a minimum of identify them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to spot and listen for himself what had startled Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were lethal, vicious, and deadly. He wanted no part of either one of them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting 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.
August made a couple of more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a guy. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the man had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for really much longer, August had no way of reaching any medical professional. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on-- forcing Dakota to once 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 boy wore was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter crammed into the lad's hole. Absolutely nothing was stated. Nothing required stating, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and continued in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the gun deeper into the young boy's anus, sodomizing him perfectly. His other hand he held on to the lad's hair, holding it up firmly, forcing him to enjoy as cousin Mark mounted 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 had to come and place 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 male. With the six-shooter, Arlene was without delay odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. He knocked her deeply and non-stop until he might go no more. There was nothing but still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the fireplace and the slapping 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 fought back to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's cum loaded asshole, Dakota then merely wrench the lad into a brand-new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the kid's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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