so invitingly inside the thin covering of her taffeta blouse.
Claire slurped on her fleshy lollipop and wave after wave of exquisite pleasure crashed through my body as I thrust my shaft forward, pressing the crown against the roof of her warm, wet mouth. No cock could resist such a wickedly clever stimulation and just as Phil had notified Becky when he was about to cum, so I called out hoarsely that I would be unable to hold back my spend for much longer.
(In reply to readers who may ask why I bothered to do so, my answer is that I deem it to be a necessary courtesy. For there are some girls, admittedly few in number, who enjoy sucking pricks but do not wish to swallow their boyfriends' spunk. I find this difficult to understand as it can do them no harm. Indeed, masculine seed contains a highly nutritious mix of minerals and vitamins. But, of course, a partner's wishes must always be respected. Only a cad would try to bully his lover into doing something she wasn't happy about but there is absolutely nothing wrong in asking your amorata whether she would be willing to pleasure you in a particular way.)
Happily, I had no need to make any such enquiry of Claire. She clearly adored the taste of sperm for she nodded as she squeezed my balls inside their wrinkled pink sack. With a loud groan I expelled down her throat a torrent of creamy jism which she swallowed with evident enjoyment. She continued to suck my cock with great skill until it had been milked dry and then she lifted her head and smacked her lips in satisfaction.
'Now how about a proper fuck, Andrew? I'm dying for a good poke,' she brazenly declared as she kept my cock stiff by slicking her hand up and down the quivering shaft.
'So am I, but let's wait till we get back to Phil's flat,' I smiled as I gently moved the voracious girl off my legs, it will be far more comfortable because we'll be able to take off all our clothes and won't have to be on the look-out for any Peeping Toms!'
'Quite right, old boy,' interjected Phil with a grin. 'With a bit of luck my chopper will have recovered and if you and the girls are willing we could have a smashing whoresome foursome.'
Naturally, I was all in favour of this idea which also found favour with Becky and Claire so we gathered up the detritus of our picnic and walked briskly back to the car. After the incident with the police in Hyde Park, Phil kept strictly to the speed limit on our journey home but despite some heavy traffic, less than three-quarters of an hour later my chum was ushering us in to his apartment.
'What can I offer anyone?' he asked us as we settled ourselves down in the living room. 'Ladies, how about a liqueur to refresh you after our journey? There's cognac, cherry brandy, chartreuse, creme de menthe, kummel, drambuie. Andrew, I dare say you'll join me in a whisky and soda?'
'By all means,' I replied genially but Claire thought hard for a moment and said: 'Phil, I might have a creme de menthe later, if I may, but what I would really like now is a nice cup of tea.'
'Me too,' piped up Becky which caused Phil to frown and pull his hand slowly down his cheek as he said: 'Ah, now I'm afraid that tea might be a bit of a problem. You see, Mrs. Angel and Mutkin have the afternoon off today so we would have to make it ourselves.'
Becky gave a broad chuckle and wagged her finger at him. 'Blimey, it looks as if my Dad was right after all. He says that toffs like you don't know their arses from their elbows which is why they always need so many servants hanging about around them.'
'He's probably right at that,' grinned Phil as he opened a bottle of Martell's V.S.O. P cognac. 'Nevertheless, you can tell your father that I can tie my shoelaces without any assistance, find my way to and from the bathroom and, believe it or not, my dears, I'll be pleased to prove to the pair of you that I can make a very good cup of tea. So is your liking for Indian or for Chinese?'
'We both prefer Indian, thank you,' Becky replied and Phil winked at me as he asked: 'Darjeeling, or a blend of Ceylon and Congou?'
'Darjeeling will be fine,' said Claire, who had not yet cottoned on that her host was gently teasing them, although she furrowed her brow when Phil continued: 'Lemon or milk?'
'Milk, please,' she replied sweetly, and still keeping a straight face, Phil enquired: 'Jersey, Hereford or Shortthorn?'
The puzzled girl shrugged her shoulders and was about to reply when Becky caught sight of the smile playing on my lips. She threw a cushion at Phil as she called out: 'You rotten beast! Just for that I've a good mind to pull your cock!'
However, Claire and Becky were both good sports and neither of them were really annoyed with Phil, especially when a few minutes later he wheeled in a tea trolley loaded with plates of plum cake and shortbread biscuits and cups, saucers, tea-pot and hot water jug in the new French fire-proof china.
'Here we are, honoured guests,' Phil commented as he sat down on the sofa next to Becky. 'Now all we have to do is wait for a minute or two to let the tea brew.
'Well done, sir! If you don't mind, I'll join the girls and have that cognac with you afterwards. There's no doubt about it, Phil, you'll make a good housekeeper should there ever be a Revolution in England which sweeps away the aristocracy,' I remarked. But my old chum shook his head and said: 'No chance of that, Andrew. Remember what poor old Oscar Wilde said: “In England, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.”'
'Oscar Wilde, did you say? Wasn't he the poofy writer who picked up nancy boys in Piccadilly?' enquired Becky. This caused Phil to frown and say: 'That's the man, but you really shouldn't disparage the fellow simply because he was a pansy.
'Let me ask you something, Becky. Do you eat meat?'
'Of course I do,' she answered promptly. Phil said: 'Very good, so at the table you wouldn't turn away a beefsteak or an escalope of veal?'
'No, I like them both,' said Becky. He nodded: 'Exactly so! Well, if I may take this analogy a little further, Oscar Wilde didn't really enjoy eating beef or veal. He only liked pork and always paid handsomely for his dinners. Therefore I don't believe Wilde should have been sent to jail because in my opinion this is not a question of morality but a simple matter of taste.'
'I agree with you,' said Claire warmly, it's nothing to do with anyone else what anyone wants to do in private.
'So long as their partners are happy about what's happening and children are protected,' she added hastily and then tuttutted when she saw Phil pouring tea into the cups.
'Aren't you supposed to pour in the milk first?' she asked, a view with which Claire and I concurred.
However, my chum would have none of it. 'That's just an old wives' tale,' he scoffed, it doesn't make a scrap of difference either way, although it's true that everyone has their own way of making a “cuppa”. It's quite extraordinary how the preparation and drinking of tea is very much ritualized all over the world. When I went out to India last year, I could see that the tea stall is a veritable institution in every town and village and each chai wallah has his own way of making tea, though it usually comes ready mixed with milk and sugar.'
'Ugh! I don't like the sound of that,' remarked Becky but Phil gave a throaty chuckle as he went on: 'Come to think of it, the best cup of tea I ever had was in India. By Gad, I won't forget that afternoon in a hurry. My brother Cuthbert and I were staying in Agra with General Sir Barnett and Lady Hazel Meade, who are very good friends of my parents. Naturally the first trip on our itinerary was a walk around the Taj Mahal.
'Well, I was so fascinated by the building that the next day I returned for a second visit whilst Cuthbert went off with General Meade to a polo match in Delhi. After a couple of hours sauntering through the magnificent gardens I was feeling thirsty so I bought a cup of tea from an elderly man who had set up his stall on a wooden pallet underneath an awning.
'Now I had been told by Sir Barnett that many of these were great characters and were often the founts of local gossip so I was not entirely surprised when he said to me in that inimitable Indian sing-song fashion: “Sahib, please do not take offence at my asking you this question, but are you not the young lordship from England who is staying with his young brother at the home of General Meade?”
'“Yes, that's right,” I replied in an amused tone, feeling slightly flattered that my arrival in Agra was deemed worthy of talk amongst the local inhabitants.
'What did surprise me, though, was that a gleam appeared in the old chap's eyes and he shouted some words in Hindi to a wiry youth who was lounging against the wall before turning back to me in great excitement and saying: “Lordship, I have been a chai wallah here for many years and am well known to all the highest-ranking officers and their families who are stationed at Fort Vedgama. Often I carry messages for them and I have one for
