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Orwell’s was the only bar for fifty miles, north, south, or otherwise out of Dubbo. Anyone who needed a beer bad enough to drink there, which was ev...ryone who worked the sheep stations, lived with the patter of Fred’s ideas. ‘Transportation’s the thing, mate’ was his customary refrain. He had not coined this idea, but had liked the sound of it when an impressively mustachioed stranger had espoused it one night, None of the drinkers paid much attention. No one thought that ‘Birdie Fred’ would. I can only hope that they aren't given a chance to do something.Once again I hear Alys whimper, she recognizes something in the room. I follow her gaze to the end of the room where a dais has been set up. The gold inlay on the platform gleams in the heavy candle light. The hardwood platform holds up what looks like a gold painted throne.The thing that gets my attention is the man sitting on the throne. He is short. Even with the throne to prop him up his feet dangle down like a child's. He has. Her fingers loosened his tie and he unbuttoned the top one on his shirt and took off his suit jacket. Dan slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor. He smiled taking in the beauty of her naked chocolate coloured skin.“I guess it’s a little too late to ask if you have any objections to fucking an Afro-Canadian woman.”“When it comes to loving a woman I am not prejudiced about her skin colour or her size. I’ve had the pleasure of sharing a bed with several. I wanted to watch them fuck. I wanted to see Carol in the throes of lust.The three of us moaned.John slowly sank his cock into Carol's sopping cunt. When he hit bottom he froze and looked over at me. His face was contorted with pleasure so intense it was almost pain.My eyes were glazed over with lust, my body trembling and my cock was vibrating. All I could do was lay there and stare at their joined bodies. John pulled back until his cock was almost out of Carol's cunt. It was glistening.
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