'Oh dear, how much money did you lose?' I enquired. He answered sheepishly: 'About seventy-five pounds, and they also stole my gold watch.'
'The scoundrels! You really should lay an information against the girls at the police station,' I said warmly.
But Antonio demurred: 'I don't think that would be a good idea, Andrew. Listen, my friend, the fact is that its my word against theirs and even if the police believed me, the case would come to trial. Besides causing embarrassment to my father, I would also hate to see my name plastered over the pages of the popular newspapers.'
I slowly nodded my head and mulled over his predicament. Finally I sighed: 'Yes, I'm sorry to say that it would probably do you no good to go to the police. So it would be best to enter the incident into the ledger of experience and then forget about the-whole sorry business.'
'That's precisely what I plan to do,' he agreed and clapped me on the shoulder. 'So finish your drink and let's finish the evening at the Jim Jam Club. There's a special French cafe-conc ' evening tonight which should be quite fun.'
I hesitated as Doctor Elstree's advice to rest my wedding tackle crossed my mind, but Antonio would not take no for an answer. So I allowed myself to be bundled into a cab which less than ten minutes later had deposited us outside the doors of the Jim Jam Club in Great Windmill Street.
'Do you know, I'm rather worried that they'll not let us in as I've forgotten to pay this year's subscription,' I remarked. But Antonio waved aside this objection and produced his own membership card for the duty supervisor to inspect. Coincidentally, this evening this official happened to be Colonel Aspis, the Club secretary, who sat at his rosewood desk in the hallway flanked by two burly doormen who were always on hand to escort would be gate- crashers off the premises. This happened quite frequently these days as rumours about the raffish goings-on at the Jim Jam had recently begun to circulate amongst the hoipolloi and the Club had been forced to operate a strict policy of admitting only members and their guests at all times.
'Good evening, Andrew, are you keeping well?' he greeted me whilst Antonio signed me in as his guest. 'Forgive me mentioning it, but you must send me a cheque soon or I'll have to suspend your membership. We've a long waiting-list of gentlemen who are eager to take your place if you want to resign.'
'I'll post you a cheque first thing tomorrow,' I promised him. The Colonel gave a wan little smile and said: 'I've heard that phrase so many times, Andrew. As Harry Tate — joked at a gentlemen-only cabaret here only last week, that's one of the three greatest lies ever told.'
In spite of his stricture, I chuckled: 'And what are the other two, sir?'
'Both very simple, my boy,' he answered promptly. 'Specifically, at the dentist's when he says: “This won't hurt at all,” and in general terms whenever a young man swears: “I promise I won't cum in your mouth”!'
Nevertheless, Antonio and I were ushered into the Club. In the large restaurant area the cafe-cone' was in full swing. To a roar of applause from the audience, a line of scantily-dressed chorus girls had just finished their routine as the head waiter came up and managed to find us a free table for two at the back of the room. He took Antonio's order for two large cognacs whilst the chairman stood up and, rapping his gavel on his table for silence, announced that for our entertainment, the Jim Jam Club was proud to present a performance by two leading members of the Nouveau Ballet Parisienne, Monsieur Leon Chauvineau and Mademoiselle Juliette Lebrun.
We joined in the polite round of applause as the lights were lowered and the orchestra struck up a romantic air although, to be frank, I must confess that Antonio and I were a mite disappointed at this news. However, little did we know just how enthralled we would soon be by the sensual performance of these magnificent young dancers.
We watched with growing interest as a spotlight shone on the lissome young ballerina as, dressed in a skimpy silver top and matching tutu skirt, she gracefully moved around the stationary figure of the gleaming, bronzed body of her partner who was bare-chested and wore only a pair of white tights. At first he stood facing the side of the room. But when he turned face on towards the audience, a lady sitting at a nearby table muttered: 'Good gracious! Either that young man has stuffed something down between his legs or else he must be hung like a donkey.'
She was soon to discover that Leon Chauvineau was guiltless of any deception. But my attention was principally drawn to his partner who was now sensually divesting herself of all her clothes to a ripple of appreciative applause before finally standing totally naked in the spotlight. Juliette's haughty high-cheekboned face and slim figure were ravishingly beautiful: naturally, my cock started to swell as I goggled unashamedly at her small but splendidly firm breasts with their perky berry-like nipples which stood out so firmly as she tweaked them up to erection between her long fingers.
My eyes now dropped to her snow-white tummy and dimpled navel below which lay a curly bush of chestnut pussey hair. I heard a collective drawing in of breath as Juliette ran her hand suggestively along Leon's hairless chest before rolling down his tights to expose his enormous thick prick. I could see it spring up and quiver stiffly against his belly before he skipped behind her and slid his arms around her sides and fondled her bare breasts in his hands.
Then Leon moved round and dropped to his knees between her parted legs. He pressed his face into her thatch of glossy pussey hair: she threw back her head and moaned with joy as his tongue found the crack of her cunney. However, he quickly raised himself up and sucked on Juliette's firm titties whilst he dipped his forefinger in and out of her moistening quim.
She used both her hands to hold his huge cock which was truly of an awesome girth. Her own elongated nipples appeared to jut out even more stiffly as her eager companion caressed each of her jiggling breasts in turn.
To the rhythm of the soulful music, they moved towards the side of the stage. Juliette placed herself with her back against the wall and a wide smile lit up Leon's boyish features when she opened her legs and pulled his thick prick towards the waiting wet haven of her cunney, easing the purple knob between her pouting pussey lips and drawing it in inch by inch until their pubic muffs were matted together.
It occurred to me that his colossal cock might cause the slimly built girl some discomfort. But Juliette showed no signs of unease when Leon began fucking her with powerful strokes of his enormous todger. Indeed, she urged him on by throwing her arms around his neck, clasping her legs together around his waist to force even more of his huge prick inside her snatch.
Antonio and I were not the only spectators to be excited by this grand exhibition and behind me I heard a familiar fruity voice declare: 'Go on, you lucky lad! Crash your cock into her juicy cunt and rattle your balls against her bum!'
I turned my head and smiled when I saw that this encouraging comment had come from none other than Lord Philip Pelham, standing against a pillar with a tall fluted glass of champagne in his hand. However, I was more interested in what was happening on the stage where Leon had now increased the pace of the poke, sliding his tool to and fro faster and faster whilst Juliette threshed wildly from side to side, panting with passion as she clung to him, humping the lower half of her body upwards to meet the violent pounding of her lover's rampant red rod.
Leon bore down on her one final time, his youthful torso now shining with perspiration. Then his body tensed and he slammed his shaft into her, jetting his emission inside her juicy cunt as Juliette squeezed her thighs tightly around him. She did not release her grip until she had milked every drop of sticky seed from his spurting length.
A mighty roar of applause broke out as the couple disengaged themselves and slipped on red silk robes before taking a well-deserved bow to a standing ovation. Lord Philip Pelham went round the tables with a small china bowl to make a silver collection which he then presented to the artistes as they left the stage.
After the lights came up, Philip strolled over to our table. As he was chatting to Antonio, I plucked at his sleeve and pointed to a small group of men clustered around a thick-set older gentleman-whose face seemed curiously familiar-as they hurried past our table on their way to the exit. My eyebrows shot up and I turned to Philip and said: 'Am I suffering from an hallucination or did I just see-'
'Yes, you did,' he confirmed with a chuckle, it was no mirage, that portly chap with a neat grey beard is our sovereign lord, His Majesty Edward VII. I'm surprised you haven't seen the king in here before. He often comes to the Jim Jam with some friends to see a risque cabaret. Now unless I'm very much mistaken, His Majesty has gone upstairs to a private room for an assignment with Mademoiselle Juliette or one of his favourite girls from Mrs. Sylvano's establishment across the street.'
