Within the next week or two several important events happened to our Republican College of Art friends. Hockney had introduced Blake to Kitaj. Hockney did not venture to inquire for a day or two how the two hit it off together. When he began cautiously to approach the subject, he was glad to find that Kitaj liked Blake.
"Blake is a first class fuck,” Kitaj informed Hockney, “and very able as both a dom and sub. But he really needs to find his path in the BDSM scene and develop in a single direction only…”
Then the BDSM training begun in earnest. It was Kitaj's contention that to really enjoy BDSM and get the most out of it, practitioners of this wonderful sexual deviation needed to take themselves to a peak of physical fitness. So he took Hockney and some others along to a gym. They worked out for two or three hours a day, and participated in their fair share of bad locker room jokes about women, faggots and the like - and laughed just as much as the others at these inanities. Every night in the shower Hockney had to fight with himself so as not to look at the other men in way that would seem suspicious. Kitaj apparantly had no difficulties with this and told Hockney he was looking for someone at the gym who was a little on the shy side and who hardly ever got their end away, but mostly satisfied their needs by masturbating.
Kitaj eventually hit on a small guy called Mike who was at the gym every single night. Kitaj used his charming smile and manner to match on this closet case. It was obvious that Mike had lusted after Kitaj from the minute he first laid eyes on him. Kitaj pretended not to notice and acted as if Mike was just one of the guys. Hockney became insanely jealous but said nothing, since he knew it would be out of place for him to do so.
That was until one evening after working out, when Kitaj approached Mike. It was a cold night and there was no one around but Hockney, as Kitaj went up to the pint sized muscle man and said: "Say boy, how about you and me go get ourselves a drink?" Mike who was smitten agreed immediately. To Mike’s great surprise Kitaj took him to a gay bar, and had Hockney tag along silently behind them. Kitaj ordered two beers and sat down with Mike in a private booth at the back of the drinking den. Hockney was on all fours lapping water from a bowl that had been placed under their table
After a few general remarks, Kitaj cut to the chase: "You're gay right? I mean, you're good at pretending not to check a guy’s arse or cock out, but it can be spotted. I mean, it takes one to know one."
“Yes.” Mike replied. "I'm as gay as the next man and I fantasise about butt fucking and cock sucking all day long..."
Kitaj smiled at Mike and clasped his hand. There wasn’t much that needed saying after that and once they finished their beers – and Hockney his bowl of water – they all went on their way to Mike’s place. As Mike closed the door behind them, Kitaj told Hockney to be a good dog and ordered him to curl up in a corner of the room. He then turned around and kissed Mike. The pint sized muscle man kissed him back and it was the kiss this lonely bodybuilder had been waiting for since he'd first laid eyes on Kitaj. From Hockney’s point of view, it was from there that things went wrong. As Mike and Kitaj kissed he thought he felt something like a needle sting his butt. As Hockney yelped in surprise and pain, he saw that Kitaj was holding a syringe. Hockney started to ask was going on, but he felt dizzy and as if his mouth was full of cotton. As darkness closed in around him, Hockney could still see Kitaj holding the syringe as he laughed uproariously. Mike disappeared and the scene in the room somehow changed.
When Hockney woke up he couldn't move. He was tied to a hospital bed, with straps around his legs, his hips, his arms and across his chest. He tried very hard to break free, but all his muscle power accomplished was a weak shaking of the bed, which was obviously bolted to the floor. Hockney tried to yell, but his mouth was filled with what he later learnt was a penis gag. Not long after Hockney woke up, Kitaj appeared by the side of the bed. He was accompanied by Peter Blake in a doctor's outfit and what looked like some kind of nurse but was in fact Pauline Boty. She was dressed in tight-fitting white rubber. She wore platform shoes with very high heels and she looked very afraid of the "Doctor' Blake.
"So this is the useless specimen you want transformed, R.B.?" the doctor said to Kitaj as he flung away the sheet that covered the sub. Hockney was stark naked underneath and his bulging muscles stood out against his bindings.
"Yes, Dr. Blake," Kitaj confirmed, "This is the one."
"And you want only the surgery and the hormone treatment?"
"Yes. All the conditioning and training I'll handle. After all that’s where all the fun is."
At this both Kitaj and Blake laughed.
"Yes you are certainly right about that." Blake agreed.
Hockney was getting very scared. Transformation? Surgery? Hormones? What were they talking about? Hockney tried to yell and break his bonds once again. This pathetic show seemed to amuse Kitaj.
"There, there, my little slut. I'll soon give you something real to yell about. In the mean time let's see what an excitable little slapper you are." Kitaj minced as he brought his face to within an inch of Hockney’s visage.
Kitaj touched Hockney’s dick and began to stroke it gently. To Hockney’s eternal shame it quickly became rock hard. Hockney tried to look away but Kitaj grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes as he continued with the hand job. In a few minutes Hockney was ready to explode. His yelling had turned into moaning and his attempts to get free had turned into sexually charged squirming. All he cared about was cuming. And just as he was about to cum, Kitaj removed his hand. Hockney yelled with frustration as Kitaj laughed at his twitching cock. He left him like that with a remark to the Blake about picking Hockney up in a month. When Kitaj had left the doctor turned to Hockney.
"Let's get started, shall we?" Blake bellowed as he plunged a syringe into Hockney’s arm and everything went black.
Waking up Hockney felt weak. It took him forever just to open his eyes and even longer trying to move. When he finally tried to shift around, he found he was still tied up. Hockney didn’t really care so much about this. He was drugged and all he really wanted to do was sleep. This went on for what seemed like eternity. He woke up, found that he was still strapped to the bed and then went back to sleep. Hockney didn't know how long this went on, but he guessed it was for well over a week.
When Hockney finally began to come around for real he noticed his hands and feet were covered in thick bandages and that these appendages were completely unresponsive when he attempted to move them. His face and throat were also covered in dressings. Hockney also felt a tightness in the skin on his chest and a weight there that was unfamiliar. What had happened to him?
After a while Peter Blake came to check him. Hockney tried to make disgruntled noises behind his gag, but no sound came. Blake made the bandaged parts of Hockney’s body the main focus of his attention. A rubber nurse called Ida Kar who had received instructions from Blake carried out various operations once the English pop painter had left – changing Hockney's bandages and the IV drip going into his arm. As Kar performed these duties she removed the sheet covering Hockney and he saw what caused the tightness and weight on his chest. He had tits! They were nowhere near the size of those the rubber nurses sported, but they were definitely large. Hockney tried fighting and yelling again, but he was too weak and still no sound came from his throat.
Then Kar gave Hockney something to eat. This was done by inserting a tube into a hole in his gag and feeding him a liquid mush. Then she saw to his other needs. Kar started most unpleasantly by inserting a catheter into his cock and draining urine from his bladder. She left the catheter in and attached a new bag to the end of the tube, leaving him no bladder control. His piss just dribbled into the bag whenever the need arose.
The last thing Kar had been instructed to do was to clean out Hockney’s bowels. To do this she raised the bed until she could kneel down under it. Then she removed the piece of the bed directly beneath Hockney’s arse and proceeded to stick a tube up his jacksee. Hockney clenched his buttocks as hard as he could and the rubber nurse was unable to stick the tube up his shit-chute.
"Please allow me to give you the enemas," Kar's voice had a strong lisping quality as if her huge lips prevented her from speaking properly, "If you don't allow me to give you the enemas, I'll be forced to call someone to punish you. Believe me, you don't want that to happen."
Although the rubber nurse said this with an imploring tone, Hockney didn't give in. Nobody was going to stick a tube up his bum. When Kar realised her efforts to convince Hockney to cooperate had failed, she turned around with a sigh and left. Thirty minutes later Kar returned with Peter Blake who was still dressed up as a doctor - and looked furious.
"Stupid slut!" he yelled into Hockney’s face as he slapped the submission bitch hard, "You are nothing but property. But don't worry cunt, I'll teach you. Just you wait and see."
He fetched some wires with large alligator clips at the ends. One was attached to Hockney’s cock and although painful it was nothing when compared to the attachment of the next two clips. These were placed so they engulfed a whole testicle and squeezed it hard. The pressure on Hockney’s testicles made him want to scream, but no sound came. Hockney thrashed in his bonds but all to no avail.
Blake had an evil smile on his face and it turned into a huge grin as he applied current to the wires. Hockney’s crotch exploded with pain as Blake pulsed the current and soon the sub was prepared to do anything to have the current stopped. But just to make a point Blake continued the torture for a good while longer.
"Are you going to be good little girl now?" Blake asked. Not caring that Hockney didn't like being called a girl,
Hockney nodded vigorously. Blake seemed satisfied with this and turned to the rubber nurse: "She won't give you any more problems, but just to make sure give her ten enemas instead of the usual five."
With that Peter Blake turned and walked away.
Although not as painful as the electric current, the enemas were very painful and very humiliating. By the third, Hockney was crying and wanted desperately to plead though his gag for the session to end. But no sound came from his mouth. By enema number six the she-male was exhausted, and would have done anything to avoid any more pain. But of course there was no mercy and by the time it was all over, Hockney had no fight left in him and just lay limply as the rubber nurse replaced the section of bed under his arse and covered him with a sheet.
Left alone Hockney gradually gathered his thoughts and pondered his situation. Was he being turned into a girl? And if so, why? And how come they’d left his cock intact if that was the case? He understood nothing as he fell asleep.
The next few weeks passed in much the same way, except that Hockney was determined not to get punished again, so he willingly allowed various rubber nurses to give him enemas. His bandages were changed once a day and he was fed via the tube in his gag twice every 24 hours. Other than that the only thing he had to do was to watch his tits grow. And did they ever grow! They grew so fast that he was afraid they were going to burst and after about three weeks Hockney had 40DD tits. Then the bandages came off his feet, his hands and his face. His appendages had shrunk and were now small and very feminine.
Then gradually Hockney’s body returned to normal and he realised he was in Kitaj’s room. His friend was there, and explained to Hockney that he hadn’t been strapped to a hospital bed for weeks, instead Kitaj had spiked his bowl of water in the bar with a new mind bending drug called LSD. The CIA were using it in mind control experiments and Kitaj had used suggestion techniques and hypnotism to fool Hockney into believing he’d been imprisoned and transformed into a chick with a dick! The LSD ‘trip’ had lasted about eight hours, not the weeks that Hockney had believed had elapsed.
“Wow!” Hockney said, “that’s the most muscular piece of BDSM drama we’ve ever engaged in and all you used was a drug and a few suggestive phrases!”
“It was a little more than that,” Kitaj responded proudly. I did tie you down and I also blindfolded you. That way I knew whatever was whispered in your ear would have maximum effect. If you’d been able to see I don’t think my little experiment would have worked nearly so well… I've been studying the technique one of the CIA's top researchers - Dr Ewen Cameron - calls psychic driving....”
"Cool!" Hockney replied. "Those that are familiar with modern day torture techniques will also practice the most advanced forms of BDSM!"
"Right!" Kitaj shouted back while simultaneously clapping his hands. "So aren't you a lucky boy!"