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There was the realization that he could have just as well stayed with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out after all. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, possibly mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Strongly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He knew his geography fairly well, the location 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 wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty unclear and bandits roamed the wildlands, too.
A mountain course took him up into some rough country, he spent a week simply meandering around, finding a couple of stray livestock he helped himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just order one from a restaurant. 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. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather turning on him the greater he went, however he wanted to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he presumed would be one of the Dakotas, or potentially Iowa, perhaps even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. His horse was not authorizing of the weather condition modification or the persistence of continuing the futile experience. August had to concur-- he was getting no place quick. Another week went by, he ran afoul of a one pissed off territorial badger, gone after for miles by an even pissed off bear.
August was not entertained and ended up being really cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see items he himself might not see, or at least spot them, or something. He was at length able to soothe the horse down, August strained to detect and listen for himself what had actually alarmed Tonto. 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, 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.
There was nothing to hear however bugs buzzing. Nothing stirred. August made a few more stalwart prowlings and finally came upon a man. Putting down vulnerable upon the ground with a big bloodstain on his behind. He didn't have any boots on, either. Flies were currently swarming and so August presumed 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 been shot in the chest and had lost a lot of blood. He wasn't going to live for very much longer, August had no chance of reaching any physician. The young boy's ass muscles bent as he aimed NOT to pump into his cousin's mouth. Arlene retched, gagged, choked, and nearly threw up as she slurped on the two cocks, the balls and also licked up Mark's fracture. Arlene then had to return 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 precisely complied to rapidly, the two teenagers did their finest to stall and carry 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 used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter stuffed into the lad's hole. Nothing was said. Absolutely nothing required saying, 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 kid'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 place his dick into her mouth. The experience was incredible. Dakota was August's sort of man if he weren't so ruthless. With the six-shooter, Arlene was promptly odorized. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. He slammed 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 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 job of licking Arlene's orgasm laden asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he mocked and shoved his gangly ultra-funky cock up against the boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!
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