Posts Tagged ‘australian’

Maria woke early the next morning, she looked over to Harry still asleep, quiet and still. ‘It’s a long time since I woke up with a man in my bed,’ she thought with a smile; spontaneously she leant over and kissed him very gently, Harry did not stir and Maria thought again, “Look at him he’s so peaceful, no one would ever guess what he is like in bed.”



She got up showered in the second bathroom to avoid disturbing Harry and made herself a coffee. On returning, Harry was still fast asleep, so she took her coffee onto the small balcony which led from her bedroom. Maria sat down; her view looked out over her property towards the river and the centre of Hawksworth beyond. She felt totally relaxed in the relative cool of the early morning, and as she sipped her coffee, she fell back into her earlier daydreams.



What had he called her? “Priceless,” it was silly, she smiled to herself, but at the time it was perfect, and then Harry had made love to her; they had kissed, they had rolled around on the blanket next to the pool, then he had sucked her nipples. Rock hard nipples Maria remembered, touching herself for a moment as a reminder, she smiled, and then he had moved down inexorably, to eat her out again. In the cool of the morning it seemed in one sense like a blur to Maria, but the pleasure, the tormenting pleasure of his probing searching tongue went on and on looping through her mind, again and again to a relived climax.



What Harry had wanted had been a little unexpected: Maria bit her lip pensively as she remembered, Harry had turned her over onto her hands and knees and fucked her, it was no longer lovemaking, he had taken her, ‘he fucked me,’ reflected Maria. To call it rough sex was not enough, the sheer energy, the urgency with which he plunged into her without regard for anything electrified her, she gloried in it, and when his climax came he fell on her back biting hard into her shoulder as his semen flooded her womb. Maria remembered no pain or hurt only a surge of complete joy, a joy of giving herself completely.



“Day dreaming?” Harry had woken up and padded quietly over.



“Mmmm, you could call it that” she replied as he kissed the top of her head. Then Maria woke up properly, “You had better hop in the shower and get dressed if you are working today, time’s marching on, it must be almost eight already.”



“Yes you’re right, I had better get moving.”



“Be downstairs in ten minutes for some breakfast.”



Harry met the deadline with a minute to spare. “Porridge with fruit on the side and a huge mug of tea, what’s this about Maria, porridge oats in the morning and pasta in the evening, are you trying to build me up?”



“No,” she laughed “it’s carbohydrates for energy, oats, slow release in the morning, wheat pasta for quick energy in the evening, I’m optimising your performance, and looking after my own best interests at the same time.”



“I’m partial to my favourite sweetmeat myself” responded Harry, putting an arm around her playfully.



“Don’t I know it,” retorted Maria brushing him off, “And if last nights last performance is a guide, you prefer your sweetmeat to be steaming in a sticky marinade.”



“Maybe,” grinned Harry pausing between mouthfuls, “I was a bit carried away, I put it down to the pheromones, your body heat and yes, maybe it was the marinade, as you so decorously put it.”



“I’m not complaining, I’m just wondering what you’re going to come up with to top it.”



“Ah ha,” said Harry “Well I do have designs on…hello who’s this?”



A small truck had turned into the driveway, and as it straightened to proceed down the track to the old house, the sign on its side was clear, “Salt’s Engineering:” the Bruton brothers had bought the firm but retained the old name.



“That’ll be old George with one of Cory’s men bringing back the new tyres for the tractor, I’ll have to rush, I want them to give me a hand with those trunks.”



Harry grabbed a banana and made hastily for the door. “Hey wait a moment,” cried Maria “designs on what exactly?”



Harry hesitated for no more than a second and answered with a huge grin “But your ass of course…your wonderful magnificent ass.” And then he was gone.



Maria was left talking to herself for a moment. “Surely not, he can’t mean, no of course not, he couldn’t possibly…could he?”



Harry arrived just as George and his workmate had started to unload the first of the wheels. “Ah good,” George greeted him “we’ve got the hoist on the truck but an extra pair of hands would be handy manoeuvring these big wheels, especially,” he added “seeing as the only help I’ve got is this useless article.” The useless article old George referred to was a large affable young man about Harry’s age, he grinned “G’day I’m Pete, don’t mind George, the truth is the poor old sod’s a bit past it, so we could do with a bit of help.”



Old George and Pete continued to bicker and abuse each other, in a way that only the very best of mates can, while Harry observed that both of them were in fact, very competent and sure in their work. In what seemed to Harry a surprisingly short time they had the massive wheels unloaded and re-fitted.



“Now I s’pose,” observed old George accurately, “You’ve got something you want us to do for you.”



“Right,” confirmed Harry “I want Pete to give me a hand to carry a couple of steel trunks and a chest down from upstairs. The trunks in particular are too awkward and heavy for one person. If Pete could give me a hand to load them onto my ute I can then take them up to Maria’s house for her.”



“We can do better than that,” suggested Pete, “We’ll use our truck because we’ve got the hoist and it’ll be much easier to load and unload.”



The two young men made their way upstairs to the tune of George telling them to get on with it because he didn’t have all day.



“What’s the camera for?”



“Oh my aunt is interested in the history of this place and asked me to photograph everything before it was moved. I was going to get Maria to take them, but perhaps you could help. Harry quickly took a dozen pictures and asked Pete to take a few more with him in them as his aunt Diane had requested. They soon had more than enough



“What’s this?” asked Pete, noticing the chest in the back corner



“Only an old chest of drawers.”



“No… I don’t think so, look at these brass handles, two on each side, one above the other, and also the fancy brass work on the corners. The top half probably lifts off.”



“What is it then?”



“I’m not absolutely certain,” replied Pete, “But it might be a campaign chest.”



Harry was none the wiser for being told that, and was conscious of keeping old George waiting; “Come on, we had better get it all shifted.”



Harry and Pete soon had both trunks, and the chest on the truck and as Pete had guessed the chest separated into two equal parts quite readily. “Just as well” Harry exclaimed “it must be stacked full it weighs so much.”



“Pete you take the truck up to Mrs Bunce’s house,” instructed George, “Harry and I’ll follow you.”



“Now young Harry, I wondered why you took the tin work off the tractor when you cleaned up, was there a possum, or something like that nesting under it.



“Yes there had been, though what it was I don’t know, but it was a real mess.”



“Well thanks; it saved me a bit of time you thinkin’ of that.”



Conscious that any thanks from old George was hard earned, Harry changed the subject, “you were giving Pete a hard time back there, he’s not that bad surely?”



“Course he ain’t,” George cackled, “Young bugger’s the best bloody apprentice I’ve trained for years, but apprentices are all the same; cuss ‘em and kick em up the ass, whether they need it or not, that’s my method, keeps their mind on the job, otherwise all they think about is football and girls.”



“Well, I’m glad I’m not your apprentice.”



“Mighta done you good,” grinned the old man toothlessly, I’ve turned some unpromising lummoxes into pretty fair mechanics, so maybe there might be hope for you yet.”



They lurched to a halt, and George got out of the ute well pleased with himself for coming out ahead in the exchange.



Maria came out to greet them and directed Harry and Pete to her study where the trunks were to be stowed. That was soon done. “I think I’ll leave the chest out here in the conservatory then I can wash it down and decide what to do with it.”



“Oh no,” exclaimed Pete, “You mustn’t do that,” but then he turned bright red embarrassed at his outburst.



“Who are you to be telling Mrs Bunce what to do, you cheeky varmint,” protested old George.



Harry interrupted, “Hang on a moment, Pete was telling me something about this chest, and he probably has a good reason for what he was saying.”



“Well yes,” replied Pete collecting himself, “First Mrs Bunce, the chest appears to be full of something and it’s very heavy so it’s probably papers, second the timber has been in the dark for ninety odd years and though it’s not cracked it must be very dry, so if you washed it, some of the water is bound to get through to the contents and they would be damaged, and if the chest was left in the sun in a hot conservatory it would crack up in no time.”



“You have a good point about the possibility of damaging the papers,” agreed Maria, “But I’m not bothered about the chest of drawers itself, so it can just go in the conservatory.”



“But I think perhaps you should be bothered Mrs Bunce,” persisted Pete, “Because it’s not a chest of drawers, it’s a campaign chest, at least I think it is.”



“What’s a campaign chest, and why should this be one?”



“Well Mrs Bunce, campaign chests were very popular for officers in the British Army, in fact most armies a hundred and fifty years ago. They served as a piece of furniture that the officers could also use as trunks when they travelled, overseas or on campaign, that’s why they’ve got the handles on the side. If you look closely, the top two levels of drawers are split into three but the middle one is probably a false drawer, and when you unlock it my guess is that will fold out as a small writing desk. If it’s what I think, it will be worth restoring.”



“I’m impressed Pete, where did you learn all this.”



“My girlfriend Tracey, her uncle restores old furniture for a hobby, he even makes it from scratch, his house is full of it.



Old George interrupted, “So you’re goin’ out with Billy Thompson’s niece, and I thought young Tracey had a bit of sense, but you’re right about Billy, he’s a pretty good builder but he’s a much better joiner, does some really top class work.”



“Coming from you George, that’s a really big wrap,” observed Harry.



“Well I ain’t one to praise too much, but Billy’s a top tradesman, we had an expert up here from Sydney a few years back, and he swore some chairs Billy had made were genuine antiques. He was a bit flummoxed when Billy told ‘im they was only six months old, but then he said, ‘damnit if they fooled me they’ll fool anyone else,’ and he offered to buy anything Billy could make. Billy wouldn’t be in it though, said he didn’t want to make a business out of it.”



Once started, Maria knew that old George would take some stopping, so she brought the discussion to a halt, “That settles it then, Harry and Pete can you put it into the study with the other things and Pete” she added, “Thank you for you advice, and you too George; I will ask Mr Thompson what I should do with it.”



Their task was soon completed, Pete and old George left and as both Harry and Maria observed they were arguing again before the truck even turned onto the road. “Do you reckon those two ever stop squabbling,” grinned Harry.



“Not a chance,” laughed Maria, “If they did they would have to admit how much they liked each other, so it won’t happen. Now I suppose, you will be getting off to work too.”



“Yes I have a few things to do, but I’ll be back this afternoon, will I see you here then?”



“Only if you are a bit later than usual, I won’t be back until about seven thirty.”



“Ok I’ll see you then.”



As things turned out although Harry only had a couple of jobs planned, the phone started ringing almost as soon as he had left Maria’s, he was flat out all day and by mid afternoon had decided to give the old house a miss for the day. He finished his last job at seven in the evening just giving him time for a shower and a burger before arriving at Maria’s just before eight. Maria had arrived only seconds before and was removing what appeared to be the spoils of a major shopping expedition from her car.



“Can I give you a hand with that?”



“Thanks.”



“It looks as though you have bought up the entire shop.”



“No I haven’t” retorted Maria, “it’s nearly all clothes, I have to get a lot made to measure, mainly because of my height. I go to a little Italian tailor who makes suits for men; I suspect I’m his only female client.”



“That’d be Mr Iemma, but you’re not his only female client, his daughter has an internet based business selling wedding dresses and special event dresses for formals, proms and such like. She obtains the orders and deals with the business side, whilst he and a group of ladies actually make the clothes.”



“Is that right, he’s such a sweetie, a real gentleman but very shy, he always makes sure his daughter is there when I go for an appointment, she does most of the fitting and takes measurements and afterwards he likes to talk about what he is going to do and we sit down and have coffee with lovely Italian cakes that his wife makes. It’s all very civilized.”



“Crikey, I never got that treatment when he made me a suit.”



“Of course not, Mr Iemma may be shy but he’s a gentleman and an Italian, so he knows how to treat a lady… and,” added Maria, “He’s a superb tailor and dressmaker.”



“Well, I know I’m not a tailor or dressmaker and certainly not Italian but hopefully” he suggested, putting an arm around Maria, “Maybe I can be a gentleman.”



“Mmmm,’ not to sure about that,” replied Maria responding quickly “Think of yourself as a work in progress, I would have thought a real gentleman lover would have had me half undressed and on the way to bed by now.”



A little more than forty minutes later Maria was becoming rapidly convinced of Harry’s progress, as she bucked furiously out of control, in the throes of her second orgasm. “Oh God don’t ever let it stop” she cried as Harry burst inside her, a river of cum flooding, penetrating deep into her womb. She was silent for a few seconds just twitching and heaving slightly, involuntarily, as she came down.



“Oh my God,” she repeated, “Now I feel all warm and mushy, it’s like I’m in a dream and I don’t want to wake up.” Harry knew from experience that he wasn’t expected to say anything, he had got used to Maria taking a long time to come down from her climax. He knew instinctively that she just wanted him to hold her close, while she chattered about how she felt. “That was so good, just so good, now just hold me,” she said as though reading his thoughts. He did so and she mumbled an incoherent contentment, “Your cock in me, I so love it, and when you come, mmmm” she trailed off, “It’s so lovely.”



Then after some time Maria quite suddenly spoke up, she giggled, “You have got yourself a couple of new champions, at least one of them is new anyway.”



“What do you mean?”



“Well today before my visit to Mr Iemma I had a lunch date, half a dozen of us, women of a certain age I suppose, we try to get together every couple of months or so. Me, Susan Tremaine, Carol Johnson and her partner Lois, Frances Gear, the doctor and Bella Mason the High School Principal. Trixie the rector’s wife was invited but couldn’t come.



“Anyway Bella was telling us all, that she was taking you on a trip up to Armidale for a conference. She got Carol’s back up a bit, I think it was because Bella was talking about you as a representative of her school, in a way that implied credit to Bella rather than the people who actually taught you — like Carol of course.”



“Oh, Mrs Mason’s just an ambitious woman, there’s no harm in that.”



“Maybe not, but Carol was pretty quick to tell her that you weren’t someone who could be led by the nose.”



Harry laughed, but then Maria added, “Susan then jumped in and told Bella, that someone she knew very well had told her that you had a knack for working out exactly what a woman wanted and taking your own initiative. I suppose she was referring to Alice because I hadn’t told her anything like that.



“Now what are you laughing about,” said Maria turning over to face him, “It isn’t that funny.”



“No it isn’t,” replied Harry, “Except for the fact, that it’s the second time someone has alerted me to Mrs Mason.



“What do you mean?”



Harry told her what his aunt had said ,of which Maria promptly concluded, “So Carol and Susan were right, she is manipulating you.”



“No she’s not, organising me a bit perhaps, but that’s all, and you can hardly blame her for wanting to promote her own school.”



“I suppose not,” smiled Maria sweetly, “In any case with Carol, Susan and your aunt looking out for you you’ll be alright.”



“I don’t need anyone to look out for me, though Carol doesn’t surprise me, she’s pretty assertive herself, Susan, Mrs Tremaine though, it surprised me that she got involved.”



“Susan does surprise people, most of them just see a stunningly beautiful woman who is just too nice to be true, but she is also very smart and determined, neither of which are quite so obvious. She’s sometimes slow to make her mind up but once Susan has decided on something it’s very hard to stop her. Anyway, I guess that all we are saying is, do not let Bella manipulate you.”



“Oh I shan’t, there’s only one woman who is allowed to do that and she has been very neglectful of her duties these past few minutes.”



“Is that so, in that case I had better take you in hand.” Harry felt her long fingers wind themselves around his cock. “Mmmm you’re paying attention now; in fact you’re like a sentry standing to attention, stiff straight and ready for action.”



And action commenced.



The next few days were uneventful, Harry continued to be fully occupied, working all day and making love with Maria in the evening. Harry’s aunt emailed to say her research had gone particularly well and she was going to extend her stay in Sydney for a couple more days. Towards the end of the week Harry’s phone rang; “G’day mate ‘ow er yer goin,” it was the unmistakeable voice of Billy Thompson.



“Hi, what can I do for you?”



“Well Harry,” Billy explained, I checked this morning’ how many bricks you had ready and I was hopin’ you could get out another three full pallets by Friday arvo. Reason is,” he continued “Is that I’ve got two extra brickies who have agreed to work right through the weekend, it’ll let us catch up after that bad weather we had a couple of weeks back. That should be enough for ‘em to finish the job.”



Harry thought for a second or two “Yes I reckon I can do that, I’ll just put in a long session on Thursday.”



“Good lad, oh and by the way, Mrs Bunce dropped by my place. We had a yarn about renovating the old house, I’m gunna give her a quote, hope she goes ahead, because it would be a real interestin’ job.”



“Ok then Billy, if you don’t hear from me, you can assume the bricks will be ready for you.”



Thursday, however, dawned cloudy and threatening and it looked ever more ominous as time went on, the forecast said heavy rain, and thunderstorms for the afternoon and evening. It was hot and seemed even hotter when black clouds started to move in bringing oppressive humidity with them.



“Looks as though I am going to get wet,” said Harry to himself “But can’t be helped, I promised Billy I would get the job done.” Harry threw several towels and another change of clothing into his ute as he set out. When he got to Maria’s he decided not to take his ute down to the old House. ‘Might be difficult to get back up the steep slope if it rains hard’.

(Disclaimer: This story is a work of fantasy; names and places are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.)



Rose Byrne: XXX-Men



Goddess In Hellfire




It was almost six in the morning when they resumed filming, the star of the show enjoying a steamy shower and quick nap before coming back to the set and shucking her robe. The Las Vegas streets were still busy when she hurried from the Lincoln Continental in her black bra and panties, matching pumps clicking rhythmically on the pavement, but were just empty enough that they could apply a little CG and make the 2011 summer season appear as if it was October of 1962.



“Whoa there,” the bouncer at the door of Sebastian Shaw’s Hellfire Club said when she tried to follow the group of strippers and whores inside. “Just hang on a minute, baby. You got some ID?”



Rose Byrne laughed. “Are you serious? Look at me. Where would I keep it?”



The man smirked, already rubbing his crotch while he looked her over. “I can think of a couple of places.”



“Real funny.” Rose sighed, then crossed her arms across her perky chest while tapping her foot. “You gonna let me in or not?”



“That depends, honey.”



“Yeah, on what?”



“On how quickly you’re gonna see the light and suck my dick.”


<><><>

Colin was a large man, in every way. He was over six foot tall and weighed over two hundred pounds, all of it muscle. His job in the Australian outback was a tough one, and you had to be fit to survive.



Now, however, he was on holiday, visiting Japan and enjoying the sites, just another tourist in that busy city.



One of the things that Colin was going to experience was the Japanese train system. Coming from an area where the human population was measured in square miles per person rather than people per square mile the idea of trains crowded the way the Japanese system was supposed to be was a novel attraction to him.



Colin asked at the hotel for directions to a station and headed on down. The platform wasn’t too crowded and when the train arrived Colin found that it wasn’t as crowded as he had been led to expect. He shrugged to himself and boarded anyway, noted that there were no seats available and took up a position near the door. The next station and more passengers, and Colin noted that the train was starting to get a little crowded. Then another station, and oh, my god, it seemed a thousand women were trying to board his carriage. Office staff, secretaries, typists and shop assistants, dozens of young women were suddenly surrounding him, hemming him in.



Colin stood there bemused, totally unused to being surrounded by young women who were pressing close to him. There was a general lurch to the side as the train took a bend, and Colin felt a tender young bottom press firmly against his groin, with what he considered perfectly natural results. His cock promptly stirred and struggled to stand erect, prodding hard at the bottom next to him.



Without even looking the woman gave a small grunt of annoyance and her hand came around to push his cock away from her behind. Fortunately for Colin her hand came around at an angle and upward, effectively helping his cock into an upright position where it stood tall and proud. The hand seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then it ran down to the base of his erection and then very quickly up to the top before withdrawing.



The woman then said something to the girls which obviously startled them. Very shortly there were comments flying back and forth, sounding to Colin like the chattering of a flock of budgerigars. He smiled at the thought; he was surrounded by a flock of colourful little birds like budgies.



The chatter stopped for a moment and Colin received a shock when another hand darted in front of him and ran up the length of his erection. Then a third hand slipped in, tested and withdrew. The chattering started again, with Colin wondering what the hell was going on. He’d heard that women got groped on the trains, but men?



A few more hands darted around, and whether Colin turned to one side or the other it just seemed to give a different set of groping hands access. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.



The chattering stopped and a voice replied, “Ah. You are American.”



“Not me,” said Colin. “Australian.”



“Ah, Aussie,” said the voice and added something in Japanese that set the twittering off again.



“You are very big, Aussie,” said the voice. “How big do you be?”



“About six foot, six,” replied Colin. “That would be about two metres.”



The answer was relayed to the girls, evoking shrieks of laughter. The voice continued, “We do not mean how tall you are. We mean how tall you are here?” and a hand again reached out to touch him.



“Never mind,” said Colin, shocked.



“You tell or we have to measure,” giggled the voice. “Better you tell.”



Colin swore to himself. Just what had he gotten into. “OK, um, let’s see, in metric I’m about 25 centimetres.”



The information was passed on to the crowd, with a lot of chattering following in its wake. After a while the general talk seemed to fade and a couple of specific points were obviously being discussed. Then the crush around him seemed to lessen slightly, and suddenly Colin found himself with free space around him. He felt slightly insulted. Did they think he was going to attack them or something. It turned out to be slightly worse than that.



“Aussie, some of the women say you might be lying,” said the woman who appeared to be the accepted speaker. “They insist you show.”



“Show?” said an indignant Colin. “What do they mean show.”



“Take it out. Show us.” There was a giggle, and the woman continued, “You show or we look anyway.”



“No way,” stated Colin. “I’m not taking it out just so you can look at me and laugh.”



His reply was met by a brisk spate of Japanese, and to Colin’s horror hands promptly reached around and started tugging down his zip. While he was pushing the first few hands away others darted past his arms and swiftly unzipped him. Trying to brush away the fluttering hands and also trying to pull his zip back up he quickly realised it was a losing battle as a hand slipped into his fly and seized the prize, pulling it into view.



Now the hands around him were clinging to his arms, preventing from tidying himself up, and he watched in frustration as the crowd around him seemed to eddy and flow as the women all made sure that they got a good look at him.



A mocking voice reached his ears. “It seems you tell fibs, Aussie,” he was informed. “You more than 25 centimetre. There’re penalties for telling fibs.”



The woman started speaking to the crowd, evidently making some sort of point as discussions quickly broke out amongst the women. Eventually some sort of consensus was reached.



“OK, Aussie, a couple of things you need to know. One, this train pulls up before the next station and waits for ten minutes until other trains go. Two, Japanese are gamblers. We love to bet. We are going to take it in turns to give you a hand job. Each person has a minute to play with you. The one who makes you come takes the money. Enjoy.”



“Wait,” yelled Colin, only to gasp as a firm little hand seized his cock and started stroking it. He didn’t believe this. This sort of thing just did not happen.



Colin watched as his cock was gently but firmly stroked, the hand staring at the base of his erection and making its way steadily to the top where it wrapped itself around his head and massaged it, manipulating his cock as though changing gears on a truck.



Colin was sweating, feeling every impulse going straight to his groin, and didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when a voice snapped what he assumed was the Japanese of time, and the hand withdrew.



As the next hot little hand latched onto him he realised that relief or disappointment would be premature. They were going to keep going until he came. He gasped and gritted his teeth as the hand danced lightly around his cock. A touch completely different to the first, but just as much appreciated by his eager shaft.



Again the call of time, and again the change of hands. “How,” he wondered, “could each new hand be so completely different while still doing the same basic job?”



Colin sweated through the third exploration, to the obvious approval of the crowd. He could hear chatter in the background and realised that various wagers were being placed on exactly when he would come.



The fourth and fifth hands came along to help accumulate the torment. Colin found that little break between hands was letting him settle a little, resulting in the next woman having to build him back up to the previous point before taking him nearer to the finishing point.



On the sixth round there was a change of pace. Instead of the next hand greedily clutching his member, a thin piece of silk was dropped over his straining head. There were a few shouts of protests but they were apparently overruled as the woman who owned the silk reached down and, taking either side of it, began to run it back and forth across his swollen cock. The sensitive nerves in the tip of his cock came to screaming life, and Colin almost bit his tongue to prevent himself from yelling.



The scrape of the silk seemed to last an eternity and Colin found himself desperately listening for the call of time. It came, and Colin almost sagged, wondering what was next. The next woman posed a question to the group, while lightly holding his weapon, gently stroking and comforting it while she waited for the group decision. On getting the go ahead, the woman knelt down and her mouth closed gently over his cock.



Colin looked towards the time keeper and English speaker. “What?” he managed to gasp?



“The woman laughed at him. “She prefers to give blow job, and we agreed. Having fun yet?”



His cock was enclosed in a warm, wet mouth, a tongue was doing wicked things to him and teeth were gently scraping against his head. Colin was lost. He ejaculated, his hand coming down automatically to hold the woman in place while he relieved himself of the load that the women had built up inside him. Gasping in his relief, he could hear the women cheering and could see money changing hands.



Then his final tormenter was rising, smiling, hand out for her winnings, leaving Colin standing there, exhausted.



“Hey Aussie,” said his interpreter. “You catch train again tomorrow. We have another contest, yes?”



Colin said nothing. He tidied his clothes and considered the outback. One man per square mile, and the women even scarcer. Maybe he should ship some of these ones home with him. Especially that one with the silk scarf.

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