Sunday, 10 June 2012

DAVID HOCKNEY’S ART SCHOOL DAZE Part 12

GANG BANGED AND PISSED ON IN A WEST LONDON TORTURE DUNGEON

"What's the time Hamilton?"

"Half-past three old fellow," answered Richard looking at his watch.

"I never knew a day go so slowly," said Hockney, "isn't it time to go down to the torture dungeon?"

"Not by two hours and more, old fellow - can't you take a book, or something to keep you quiet? You won't be fit for a good whipping at six o'clock if you go on worrying like this."

And so Richard turned himself to his flute, and blew away to all appearances as composedly as if he had just come back from the torture dungeon, though, if the truth must be told, it was all he could do not to get up and wander about in a feverish and distracted state, for Hockney's restlessness infected him.

Richard Hamilton's whole heart was in the torture dungeon; and so, though he had pulled dozens of gang bang chains in his time, he was almost as nervous as Hockney over who would fuck who tonight. Hockney, all unconscious of the secret discomposure of the other, threw himself into a chair and looked at him with wonder and envy. The flute went "toot, toot, toot," till he could stand it no longer. So he got up and went to the window, and, leaning out, looked up and down the street for some minutes in a purposeless sort of fashion, staring hard at everybody and everything, but unconscious all the time that he was doing so. He was not able to answer Richard when his friend enquired of him what he had seen, after he'd drawn in his head and returned to his fidgety ramblings about the room.

"How hot the sun is! But there's a stiff breeze from the south-east. I hope it will go down before the evening, don't you?"

"No need to worry about that when we’re down in the torture dungeon. It is so well insulated that not even the candles will flicker should we chose to light some."

"I hope to goodness you’re right," said Hockney.

"Don't think about it old fellow; that's your best plan."

"But I can't think of anything but having my arse whipped and fucked," said Hockney. "What the deuce is the good of telling a fellow not to think about it?"

Richard apparently had nothing particular to reply, for he put his flute to his mouth again; and at the sound of the "toot, toot" Hockney pulled on his coat and fled into the street.

The BDSM gang bangers often ate an early dinner of steaks and chops, stale bread, and a glass and a half of old beer a piece. The predominant theory about group gropes and collective torture was at that time - as much meat as you could eat, the more underdone the better, and the smallest amount of drink upon which you could manage to live. Two pints in the twenty-four hours was all that most of these sex maniacs imbibed. The discomfort of such a diet in the hot summer months, when you were at the same time taking regular and violent sexual exercise, was something very serious. Outraged human nature rebelled against it; and though they did not admit it in public, there were very few men who did not rush to their water bottles for relief, more or less often, according to the development of their bumps of conscientiousness and obstinacy. To keep to the diet at all strictly involved a very respectable amount of physical endurance. It was a sadism directed inwards rather than against a slave – and it made everyone that much more vicious when they were having sex.

Hockney appreciated the honour of being invited to the torture dungeon gang bang so keenly that he had almost managed to keep to his training allowance, and consequently, now that the eventful day had arrived, was in a most uncomfortable frame of body and disagreeable frame of mind.

He fled away from Richard Hamilton’s flute, but found no rest. He tried Boshier. That hero was lying on his back on his sofa playing with himself, and this only increased Hockney's thirst and soured his temper by the viciousness of Boshier's remarks on Hockney’s sexual performance when the latter declined a request from the former to give him some head.

By way of compensation Hockney tried to sit down and read, first a novel, then a play of Oscar Wilde, with no success whatever, so he wandered away, and found himself in five minutes in the torture dungeon belonging to an aristocrat who Kitaj had met through a sex contact advert.

There were half a dozen men tied up already, with three guys either whipping them listlessly or getting the subs to suck dom cock. Having taken in the scene, Hockney walked up to the kitchen - which was on the floor above - where he grabbed a beer. There was no way Hockney was going to get drunk. He walked through to the living room and sat down on his own. When Hockney stood up about 10 minutes later he had a little head rush. He attributed it to the fact that he was still a little apprehensive about the big gang bang he’d been promised that night - and also that it was pretty hot in the room he'd been sitting in. He plonked himself down again and soon found he was starting to get a little drowsy. Sometime later Kitaj entered the room and sat down next to Hockney. He had a big smile on his face. He said it was time for everyone to have some fun. It finally dawned on Hockney that he’d been drugged. He tried to get up but couldn’t control his body. Kitaj laughed and then put his hand on Hockney’s crotch. He told Hockney his cock felt pretty nice but he wouldn't need it today or ever again. Then Kitaj started rubbing Hockney’s thigh and soon they both knew the sub was completely blanked out.

When Hockney woke up there was a blindfold over his eyes. To be more precise it was a pair of swimming goggles that had been blacked out. Hockney tried to stand but quickly ascertained that his hands were chained to the floor, as were his legs. All he could do was get onto his hands and knees. When he did so he heard some laughter and then Kitaj spoke.

“I’m sick of half-arsed rubber slaves who waste my time with their failure to fully submit to my will.” Kitaj spat. “That’s why I told you you’d be getting gang banged tonight. I knew you’d assume it would be all fun with a load of different guys. But I’m not going to give you the pleasure of seeing what they look like. I’ve got twenty geezers in this room who all want to fuck your brains out. Not only will they shag you so hard that you won’t be able to walk - but you’re going to beg them to cum in your mouth after they’ve been up your bum!”

Hockney was in shock. He’d imagined there'd be some foreplay before the gang bang. He struggled a little and everyone laughed. Kitaj then pointed out that Hockney’s cock was not only rock hard - but this was going to be twenty times better than when they had sex together because there were twenty more men to fuck the rubber slave.

Kitaj told everyone to let Hockney know they were there. One at a time each man walked behind Hockney and whacked their hands against his arse. They didn't yet penetrate Hockney’s dark rim but by the fourth whack, the sub was starting to push back against these strangers' fingers. About half way through the spanking KItaj told Hockney to start begging for cock.

“Please fuck me.” Hockney squeaked.

Everyone laughed. When Hockney repeated the same three words several more times there was even more tittering. When all those present had given Hockney a slap or two on the backside, Kitaj spoke again:

“It doesn’t look like anyone here thinks Hockney is good enough to gang bang since you’ve all ignored his request. You know what slave? You’ll really have to beg if you want to get laid!”

Kitaj then started to rug Hockney’s anal rim with a finger. Hockney felt incredibly horny and pleaded to be rogered.

“I’ve a really tight arse. It will feel like heaven if you all plumb my depths. I really want all your cocks up my jacksee. And I want them down my throat too! I really love cum and I need to feel it spurting inside my mouth!”

Meanwhile Kitaj continued to work Hockney’s arse with a finger - so that the sub felt hornier than a bitch mongrel on heat. After several minutes of Hockney's begging for cock, Kitaj stopped rubbing his arse.

“I think this pathetic submissive is ready for some anal abuse!” Kitaj announced to cheers.

Hockney felt some cool gel being rubbed into his rim of dark pleasures, then a man stepped up behind him. He felt the head of a cock press against his buttocks. Hockney tried to relax but he wasn't doing a good job of it. Next he felt a hard slap on his bum just as the pork sword broke into his sphincter. It hurt and yet the dick was but inching in and not even half of the shaft had disappeared!

“I can’t hear you begging!” KItaj screamed at Hockney. “If you don’t plead for throbbing gristle that prick will be pulled out and you’ll have to wait.”

“I'm prepared to die for the pleasure of a huge cock plumbing my depths! I like men who are so big they could split me apart! Please, please, please shove that huge blood sausage up my shit-chute and make me scream with pleasure and pain!” Hockney bellowed.

Slowly the cock was worked back and forth and with each thrust it inched further into Hockney's taut bum. It hurt but nonetheless Hockney kept begging for more pain and punishment. The throbbing protrusion drilled faster and faster as it worked it's way down into the veritable depths of Hockney's being. The pain was still there but so was something else. The anal abuse was starting to feel like a pleasurable treat. Hockney was pushing back against the thrusts that bore down on him. He was really turned on and was desperate to play with his his own ding-a-ling. The fact that he couldn’t reach his magic wand was a delicious frustration.

Hockney was really getting into the butt fucking when the massive tool was pulled out of his sphincter. At first, the art student didn't know what was going on or what to do. He thrust his posterior back a few times. Everyone was laughing and jeering. The man who had been butt fucking the sub moved around to the student's front. Hockney felt another man behind him. A glans smoothly penetrated the rubber slaves tail. The butt fucker reached over, grabbed Hockney’s hair, and pulled the sub's head back. Hockney felt a warm stream of cum hit his face. He instinctively stuck his tongue out and licked up the spunk that had hit him on the lips.

After this, Hockney focused his attention on the mandrake root that was being rammed deep into his pelvic floor. When he felt it pulled out he knew what was going to happen next. Hockney’s anus was ready for another cock and he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out for the liquid genetics he knew were coming. He wasn't disappointed. Another meat puppet smashed into his backside and more cum was directed at his mouth. Hockney pushed his neck forward in the hope he might give some head. His mouth found a cock and he sucked on it until it was pulled away. The love muscle in Hockney’s arse was still banging away and the rubber slave was simultaneously licking up cum from his lips.

This same scenario was repeated time after time. Once ten men had gang banged him, Hockney’s bottom felt really sore. He was no longer as enthusiastic about either thrusting back to meet rock hard manhood or about milking those love poles with his lips, teeth and tongue. All Hockney really wanted to do was play with his own length. He knew it would have only taken a few strokes with his right hand before he shot his load.

Finally the last guy pulled out of Hockney’s sore booty. The art student thought it felt good when the arse fucking stopped after twenty-one men had been right up inside him. The last prick was shoved rudely into the rubber slave’s mouth and he sucked it dry of every last drop of cum. All those present cheered as the now limp dick slipped from Hockney’s pallid lips.

“Hockney,” Kitaj announced, “you’re a piece of shit for thinking you could ever be a real sub. You’re just a piss toy and nothing else.”

Moments later Hockney felt the first stream of urine hit him. Soon everyone was pissing on the rubber slave. Hockney felt pint after pint of piss coat his body. It was warm and felt really good. There were yellow torrents of urine gushing over Hockney’s arse and face and every other area of his body. The rubber slave moved himself back and forth - making sure that he was being completely soaked with piss and that his hair was dripping wet.

Twenty-one men were laughing and calling Hockney a piss slut, a cum whore and a fuck toy. When the BDSM gang bangers had all done urinating, Hockney listened to them leave. Finally he was left all alone in a pool of piss.

A long time passed. Hockney was still very horny and tried to jerk himself off by rubbing his widget on the piss covered dungeon floor. Eventually Kitaj returned and tittered at Hockney as he tried to get himself off. Kitaj placed a finger on Hockney’s sore bum. Hockney pulled away and Kitaj slapped his arse hard.

“Never to pull away from someone playing with your booty!”

Kitaj then made a point of torturing Hockney’s sore hole before pushing a butt plug into it. When the rubber master unchained Hockney, the sub rolled over onto his back. Hockney didn't care that that he was lying in a puddle of cold piss.

“Don't you dare take that plug out of your arse!” Kitaj hissed. “And now I want you to get up and take a shower before you get dressed. Then mop up this floor before you go home.”

2 comments:

  1. I was invited to a torture dungeon gang bang once, although the organizers called it a grad seminar in postmodern aesthetics.

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    Replies
    1. Never turn down an invitation to a grad seminar in postmodern aesthetics, it will always be more fun than you imagine!

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