tagNovels and NovellasThe Hogarth Club Ch. 04

The Hogarth Club Ch. 04


Roger had spent the whole morning helping Georgina tidy up Richard's things they found little of his. They ploughed through the material detritus of two vibrant but criminally shortened lives.

"He obviously kept his stuff at the airfield. I'll deliver this stuff to his Commanding Officer so he can forward it to his family with his other possessions. What are you going to do with Fiona's?"

"She was estranged from her family. I was her closest friend. I'll donate it all to charity except her full skirts, there is so much material in them I could make a couple of pencil skirts and even a blouse."

"Beautiful and capable?" he said with a smile.

"Only one of those, my governess in China was a seamstress she taught me a lot."

He took her hand, "Clearly beauty is in the eye of the beholder then."

"You've already had an invitation to titillate my body, there is no need to blather like a bubbly-jock."

"I never talk rubbish, particularly about you. Is the invitation still open?"

She looked at him frankly, "I would truly like to enjoy the pleasure outlined in your story but would it be the rake throwing crumbs to the poor sexually impoverished waif-"

Roger interrupted, "Georgina, do NOT underestimate yourself. Choosing to offer your true love an unsullied body does not imply impoverishment just restraint."

"Roger, your words are so polished they hardly adhere before they drip to the floor. Please stop or we'll end up tripping over them."

"OK, just one more slippery sentence. You are the most attractive women I have ever met. You are right you are not stunningly beautiful but your prettiness beguiles me. You are not sexually active, yet I desire you like no other. I will not allow someone who enjoys my high esteem to belittle herself."

She was flushed by his hungry gaze and flustered by the sincerity of his comment. This was too much for her to handle she resorted to humor, the standard way of avoiding embarrassment.

"That was three sentences, you poor thing, you sound smitten."

He kissed the back of her hand, "It appears so."

She was surprised to find herself in his arms, and even more surprised that she had thrown herself in them. He held her while she dampened his shirt again. She pushed herself back, too soon, she could have stayed there for ever but the contact raised feeling she couldn't handle.

He brushed a tear from her cheek, "We need to find you a plumber, you always seem to be leaking."

Her mind went to other bodily secretions she blushed. His smile indicated his mind had traveled a similar path.

"In answer to your previous question, the invitation is still open."

"Georgina, I can't. In your retelling of Richard's story you said he should not bring filth to your bed. Until I finish this assignment that is exactly what I would do. That is unacceptable for you and abhorrent for me. Had I met you a few weeks earlier, I would not be in this position but I must honor my commitments."

"Do you really feel that way about me?"


"Me too."

She was in his arms again but this time she was the innocent party. He put her head on his other shoulder. When the tension of their embrace demanded more they pushed apart.

"Now I am symmetrically moist."

They laughed, he grabbed her hand again. His stare allowed her to understand what ardent meant she had never seen so much longing in a look.

"Georgina, despite what I may be doing for this assignment, may I court you formally... Please."

Still holding his hand, she courtesied, "Why Sir, I have come over all faint with your rash proposal. You will need to make a formal proposal listing your prospects. If I am to spurn your opposition I need to ensure I am kept in a manner in which I have become accustomed."

"Well, I am-"

He was interrupted by a kiss.

Reluctantly releasing his lips she said, "Roger, humor is waisted on some people. I would be delighted to be formally courted."

"... and the assignment?"

"Make sure you hone your skills, I will need the most capable, edacious, esurient of lovers, for with you I suspect I will be insatiable. Just give them no more than your flattery and your fluids. Everything else you keep for me."

"So your invitation is officially off the table, can I kiss you?"

She stepped in and tasted his lips.

"No," she managed.

Before the kiss moved from a just touching of lips to a passionate exchange.


Roger had completed all his tasks and despite a desire to be in Georgina's company, he pushed himself out on the streets. He didn't know anyone else with Lola's rapacious appetites so he would have to recruit some professionals.

He was planning a high class escort service. He would need girls who were stunning, well spoken, with gentle dispositions and versed in etiquette. On top of all this they would need to actually enjoy sex.

Roger saw an attractive girl, who met the physical side of the brief.

"Good evening."

"Ev'nin guv, you wanna play wiv me tits?" she said, thrusting her adequate bosom forward.

"No thank you, but best of luck for the evening."

This conversation or facsimiles of it were repeated all evening. Roger became discouraged and headed home. Out of Soho's bright lights near to his home, he stumbled over a girl in an alcove.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," her speech was slurred.

He assumed she was drunk and new to the game, hidden from the bright lights she was unclaimed by any pimp.

"Is your place is warm?" she mumbled.

The strange question caused him to focus fully on the girl. She was dirty, her clothes were poor and ripped and totally inappropriate for the weather, she must have been freezing. He offered her his hand, hers felt like a block of ice. She relied heavily on his help to rise and groaned as if in pain. He couldn't leave her on the street, and the Metropolitan Police was paying.

She was disoriented and seemed unable to walk so he pulled her into to his arms and carried her like an infant. She was vibrating like a motor with a faulty bearing her shivering was so intense.

By the time he got her home she was even less coherent than before. It was the fact that her shivering had stopped, that prompted Roger to suspect she was suffering from hypothermia.

He thought of a bath but remembered that her body had closed off the cold blood retuning from her appendages in an attempt to maintain her core temperature. External heat would only open the capillary restrictions flooding her core with cold blood which would kill her. He did the only thing he knew. He stripped her clothing although with its poor condition he would have been better ripping it off. She stood naked, she was painfully thin and bruised.

He picked her up and carried her to his bed, he stripped himself and wrapped them together in a warm cocoon of blankets. He held her close to share his heat, she clung to him like a magnet her cold hands seeking warmth where ever it could be found.

He was woken many hours later by a harsh cough. She made him so cold he was puzzled that he had managed to sleep.

She looked at him in amazement as she was was trying to understand why she was there.

"You had hypothermia, you would have died tonight."

"That was the intention, maybe I'll manage it tomorrow."

She was still frozen, maybe now was the time for a bath.

He wriggled out of the blankets. Chasing the heat, she rolled over onto his side and shut her eyes and was asleep as if someone had flicked a switch.

Roger returned fifteen minutes later and extracted her from the jumble of blankets. Not fully awake she cuddled him like a child, as he carried her into the steamy bathroom and immersed her slowly into a warm bath. Her eyes flew open when her buttocks touched the water.

"Why are you touching me?"

Her diction, now clear of the effects of hypothermia, was polished. His act of charity may well turn out to be serendipitous.

"Just lay back and I'll wash you."

Roger just wanted an excuse to look at her body, it was badly bruised, he needed to determine if she needed any medical attention.

"Hair first."

He helped her dip her head back into the water, he foamed her hair and lathered her scalp, her moans of pleasure were quite erotic. He was able to discern contusions and bruising beneath her hair and at least two big knots. When he had finished he dunked her head again and washed off all the soap.

"Where next?" he asked.

She looked at him suspiciously but offered her nearest foot. He lathered his hands and worked on the grime on the base of her foot and between her toes. She seemed to resist his movement forcing his touch to be harder. He was about to dunk her foot.

"Don't stop, harder," she croaked.

Realizing the issue, he dunked her foot, to a groan of disappointment. He then pulled it from the water and sucked her toes. Her hand flew to her genitals and she stroked herself groaning with pleasure.

"Can I?" he asked.

"She took his hand and guided it so he could achieve the touch she needed. She focused his attention on her clitoris he followed her motion circling her hard nub with his finger. He seemed to get more reaction from running his finger up and down her sole while still sucking her toes.

He used his thumb on her clit with much firmer pressure and sucked her toe hard. Her orgasm echoed through her whole body, her face twitched her abdominal muscles undulated. She pushed his thumb into her and then tried to break it with her pelvic contractions. He continued to lightly graze her clit as her orgasm subsided.

She looked at him as if waiting for something else to happen, he waited with her. Finally she nodded as if she had resolved something, she said simply, "Thank you."

He laughed, "Dare I wash the other foot?"

She held it up without comment. By the time he had washed off all the grime she was panting again. He sucked her toe.

"God!" she screamed.

This time he dipped his long finger into her passage and stroked her upper wall, Lola had liked it. He held his thumb stiff and with the motion of his hand it caressed her clit.

"She pulled her toe from his mouth.

"Just that," she said.

So he continued with his pincer grip. She was squirming with pleasure making it difficult to maintain the desired contact. He soon realized she was too far gone for it to matter. Maintaining his pincer hold with more aggression than precision he moved up the bath and caressed her breast, her nipple hardened and demanded attention, so he leaned over and drew it into his mouth. This orgasm was stronger, as was her reaction. He found her show of unmitigated pleasure to be very arousing. He felt quite proud that he could bring a woman such demonstrative pleasure.

She sighed, "I'd better do the rest myself, or I'll be waking your neighbors."

Ignoring her, he lathered his hands and washed her breasts. Her nipples hardened immediately demanding the deliberate attention of his fingers. She was panting in moments.

"Again?" he said.

He caught a slight nod.

Her breasts were full and firm, her nipples were not very prominent but were rock hard. So hard their protrusion seemed to pucker the skin on her areola. He enjoyed his play, he was definitely a breast man.

The soap seemed to dictate the type of contact, he cupped her mounds, squeezing lightly until his hand slipped up to her nipples. He did his best to tweak them but the soap defeated much of the pressure. His motion was pleasing, her reaction more so. Her threat to waken the neighbors was not an idle one. She was keening, somewhere between a moan and a scream.

"Touch yourself," he said.


Her hand flew to her clit and she punished it with gusto. He had noticed before the closeness of pleasure and pain, what she was doing to herself must surly be at the pain end of the spectrum.

His thoughts were shattered by her scream. Her whole body undulated, she was riding two fingers she had inserted leaving her clit in peace. He continued to caress her tits as much because he enjoyed it than to continue her pleasure.

She eventually subsided into the water washing the soap from his hands.

"I'm so embarrassed, I'm sorry, you should have left me on the streets. I'm a freak."

He leaned over and kissed her it was meant as a peck but she bit his bottom lip and sucked it into her mouth. He shuddered but escaped as soon as he could, watching her erotic pleasure had him on the edge, it would be unseemly to cream his trousers. He looked at her, tears were rolling down her cheeks, he knew not whether she was sad or happy. He could deal with neither so he chose to escape.

"Finish off," he said, "use that robe on the back of the door. We'll chat in the kitchen"

She watched his back disappear around the door. Her tears were tears of disappointment and shame. She had sought help when she was so close to her goal, she had allowed herself to be pleasured and she had reacted to a man, when she had vowed to treat them all as poison.


She followed the noise and found him in the kitchen.

"Hello," she said.

She entered hesitantly, the spare robe that she was wearing seemed to go around her twice.

"Oh!" she said.

There was a monster bowl of broth cooling on the table and a feast of crusty bread, cheese and honey.

"Is that really honey?"

He nodded, she dipped her finger and blissfully licked it clean. Then she recoiled, as if she had done something wrong.

"Can I have some... please?"

"It's all for you."

She grabbed a spoon and attacked the broth, her tears which had started again were mingling with the food. Whatever emotion was causing the tears failed to effect her appetite, Roger had never seen food disappear so quickly.


Her hungry look said more than words, he stood.

"Stop," she said.

He stopped and turned. She looked like a different person. There was a strength to her features which had previously been absent.

"Why did you abduct me?"

"I thought that I'd saved you."

"From what?"

"Certain death."

"Yet, instead of that desired outcome. I have been humiliated again."

He ignored her, grabbing her bowl he sloshed in another serve of broth and placed in front of her. He turned his back and cut some more bread and cheese which he placed in front of her.

"I'm sorry I don't have more variety," he said.

Despite her obvious annoyance at him daring to save her life, hunger beat her righteous anger. Again Roger was treated to an example of how to devour food, he thought she could teach the Lions at Regent Park a thing or two.

When her eating slowed to merely ravenous he felt he could dare a comment, but before he could utter a syllable she said, "Just because I'm a freak and can orgasm at the drop of a hat doesn't mean you have any claim over my body."

"I agree."

"An orgasm doesn't mean I'm enjoying it... What did you say?"

"I agree, I have no rights over your body. Other than wanting it to be warm and well fed."

She was not who Roger thought she would be. After her performance in the bath he hoped she would be his star recruit that didn't seem likely now. She had obviously suffered some considerable abuse both physical and mental.

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Yes, men are poison."

"Most men are poison," he amended.

"Where are my clothes?"

This was not a logical debate, Roger was out of his depths, so he retrieved her clothing and placed it on a chair beside her. She picked them up, they were so threadbare that had not survived Roger's hurried attempt at removal.

"I can't wear these, you've ruined them."

"Yes, they were ruined."

She cried again burying her face in her hands.

"You've fucked up everything, I can't afford new clothes and I don't want your charity. I'll take your robe."

She stood and headed for the door, he stood and blocked her. Despite the intimacy they had shared she shunned contact.

"See, you make me come you think you own me."

"I'm sorry, will you stay for a cup of tea... Please."

She knew he was kind, she had seen it in his actions and words, but men were poison. His words bounced around her head... most men.

"OK, one cup and then I'm off."

"OK, what is your name?"

"The last name I used was Queenie but she's dead, so pick anyone you like"

"OK, Regina, it is."

They were still standing, he was surprised at her reaction. She pummeled his chest with her hands, had it not been for her atrocious physical state, it could have been viewed as an attack. He captured her hands.

"Regina is dead too, I'm a freak and I don't exist, or will soon cease to exist. If it hadn't been for your interference I'd be dead already."

"Regina, I am just a bloke. I do not understand. I know I'm hurting you somehow but I don't know how, therefore I can't stop doing it. I get the message that you want nothing to do with men. Can I arrange for you to stay with a female friend?"

She saw the concern in his eyes, she pretended that he had no ulterior motive and that he was just a nice man. She walked into his embrace. He held her gently as if she was fragile.

"I'm sorry. I know you'll turn out to be poison like everyone else but I am treating you badly. I would like a cup of tea and I would like to stay, temporally, with your friend."

She looked down at her ruined clothing.

"What else can I do?"

He gripped her forearm, she didn't resist. He guided her back to the table, she sat.

"Call me Reggie," she said, "Regina reminds me of the orphanage, and Queenie is dead. Let see if Reggie survives this shit world."

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