Sunday, 12 August 2012



My readers have now been hearing of David Hockney's BDSM shenanigans in London steadily for more than six months without knowing anything of his artistic development. Most people find such an endless litany of sexual perversion without a change quite as much as they care to take; perhaps too, it may do our hero good to lay off being flogged for a while, that he may have time to look steadily into the pit which he has been so near falling down, which is still yawning awkwardly in his path; moreover, the exigencies of a story teller must lead him away from sexual perversion now and then. Like the rest of us, occasionally he must have a change of air, or else he has to go off to a tutorial, or at least to the studio to do a bit of work; to wear a French artist's beret with or for some one, carrying such aesthetic conviction as he can with him, so that he may come back from every journey into his imagination, however short, with a wider horizon. Yes; to come back home after every stage of life's imaginative journeying with a wider horizon - more in sympathy with men and nature, knowing ever more of the righteous and eternal laws which govern them, and of the righteous and loving will which is above all, and around all, and beneath all - this must be the end and aim of all of us, or we shall be wandering about blindfold, and spending time and labour and journey-money on that which profiteth nothing. So now I must ask my readers to forget the whips and fetters of the bondage dungeon for a short space, and take a flight with me to other scenes and pastures new.

Of all Hockney's tutors Ceri Richards was his favourite because the Welshman was - like our hero - a horny-handed son of toil. Richards was born in 1903 in the village of Dunvant, near Swansea, the son of Thomas Coslett Richards and Sarah Richards (born Jones). He and his younger brother and sister, Owen and Esther, were brought up in a highly cultured, working-class environment. His mother came from a family of craftsmen; his father, an employee of a tinplate foundry in Gowerton, was active in the local church, wrote poetry in Welsh and English and for many years conducted the Dunvant Excelsior Male Voice Choir. All three children were taught to play the piano, and became familiar with the works of Bach and Handel in the cycle of Christian celebration. In later years music would be an important stimulus to Richards' painting - as would his youthful sensitivity to the landscapes of Gower and the cycles of nature.

At Gowerton Intermediate School Richards drew constantly and won local competitions. When he left school to become apprenticed to a firm of electricians in Swansea, he devoted his evenings to studying engineering draughtsmanship at Swansea College of Technology and drawing at the Swansea College of Art.

In 1921, at the age of 18, Richards enrolled full-time at the Swansea College of Art, then under the direction of William Grant Murray. During his time at the College he spent less time in painting than in drawing from classical casts and studying industrial design and graphics. The strongest impact on him during these years appears to have been a week's summer school in 1923, which he spent under the direction of Hugh Blaker at Gregynog Hall, the country house of Gwendoline and Margaret Davies, where he first saw the canvases of Renoir, Van Gogh, Monet, C├ęzanne, Corot and Daumier, the sculpture of Rodin and sheets of old-master and modern drawings. The experience confirmed him in his vocation; and in the same year he applied for, and won, a scholarship to study in London at the Republican College of Art.

Richards entered the Republican College of Art in 1924. Afterwards Richards spent most of his life in London, apart from a period teaching art in Cardiff. In 1929 he married Frances Clayton, a fellow artist. He and Frances had two daughters - Rachel (born 1932) and Rhiannon (born 1945). But having a wife and family didn’t mean that Richards was incapable of swinging the other way! His work gradually moved towards surrealism after exposure to the work of Picasso and Kandinsky. He was also a talented musician, and music is a theme for much of his artwork. When Hockney encountered Richards as an RCA tutor, his teacher had just begun making prints for the Curwen Press.

"So what's this all about then?" Richards asked as he examined a self-portrait Hockney had made of himself bound and being whipped by Kitaj - as he simultaneously gave his rubber master a blow job.

"Well,” Hockney replied, "I don't want to do away with representation all together, but at the same time I wish to bring some elements of expressionism and even abstraction into my work."

"That's very good aesthetically,” Richards admitted, “but I want to know what you’re doing in this picture."

"Oh, I'm giving my friend Kitaj oral sex while he beats me."

"Does your friend come in your mouth?"

"Sometimes,” Hockney admitted, "but more often he likes to pull out at the last moment and shoot his jism all over my face."

"Very good, very good!” Richards enthused as the rubbed his hands together in excitement.

"Yes it is very good.” Hockney conceded. "Although I love drawing and painting I believe that BDSM sex is even better than either."

"And do you just do this BDSM stuff with Kitaj, or do you do it with other men too?" Richards probed.

"Oh I'm Kitaj’s rubber slave, so I need his permission to do this sort of thing with other people. But if he's okay with it then I'll fuck virtually anyone."

"But surely you don't need Kitaj's permission to develop your art practice by having sex with your tutors?"

"I suppose not but I'll have to check with Kitaj first..."

"Very good! Now take your clothes off! No sex involved I just want to see what you look like naked!"

Hockney did as he was instructed and as soon as he was naked Richards ordered him to get dressed again. He told Hockney he had a piece of work for him to do in his own studio, where he was building a set as a film and photographic backdrop.

Richards led Hockney from the student studio to where the tutors had their spaces. When they reached Richards' studio, the tutor ushered Hockney inside and locked the door behind them. The RCA was busy in the middle of a weekday but Richards knew there was respect for even the strangest of artistic practices and so no one would disturb them once they'd locked the door, no matter what noises were heard coming from behind it.

Hockney looked around apprehensively wondering what Richards might have hidden in the depths of his space, despite the fact it looked quite empty aside from a lot of props and a few paintings leaning against one wall.

"As you can see, Hockney, I have got started on a set design that I want to use as a backdrop for some film and photo shoots – this is private stuff circulated under the counter, not for consumption by the general public. This main part of the set I've had for quite some time, very solid; I spared no expense in making it. It does not move at all, but this is my private studio used only for my most favourite of sexual masterpieces. I want to add more elements to heighten the dungeon feel that I have going on here, that is where you come in."

Then pointing to a stack of heavy beams that looked like they might have belonged to a railroad track at one time, Richard's continued, "I was thinking a stockade and maybe a small wooden cage from those pieces would suffice for now. Do you think you can handle the job?" Richard’s studied the boy's every expression and movement carefully.

"Yes, sir, I think I can manage that," Hockney smiled; it seemed to be almost too easy a job to be true. The tools that he would need were out and he went to work in building what his tutor had roughly drawn out on paper - not noticing that as he was building Richards was busy adding new props by securing heavy chains to the wall, as well as hauling out various whips and floggers that had been hidden in the depths of the space.

Hockney took off his shirt as he started to sweat while hammering together the small cage - this was after he'd finished sawing out the stockade and piecing it together. He had never built such things before, but found it was second nature to him, how he loved to work with wood – it made such a change from painting. Richards admired the boy's body, plotting his next move, urging his desires to be patient.

"Well, Hockney, I must admit I'm eager to see shots from this set design," Richards announced as Hockney was finishing up the cage. "Perhaps you’d act as my model for the tableaux I wish to bring to life here."

"Uh well yes Sir, I have never modelled before but I'd be willing to try," Hockney was a bit nervous and yet pleased that he could be considered for a modelling job.

"I'm willing to take that chance, Hockney, sometimes one finds new talent and you definitely have the look I want for these shots, know now though it is a serious shoot and I will expect full cooperation."

Hockney looked around at the dark scene - a fake stone wall back piece, complete with heavy chains and instruments of torture - then nodded in agreement to his tutor. Still, Hockney felt a bit nervous as to what the shoot would entail.

"This is your costume" Richards said as he picked up the garments.  "Here’s some oil too, so please oil up well. I want a shiny look for the photos."

Hockney nodded nervously as he took the oil and costume. The outfit was tight leather slacks and a leather harness. The leather was snug against his tight muscles and his cock was clearly outlined against the slacks; he had to admit even if leather wasn't his usual thing, he looked extremely hot in it. He really was curious now as to what kind of photo shoot this was going to be.

Richards couldn't help but think to himself what a perfect boy he had found this time and knew he had better not to reveal his scheme to the rubber slave right away. He directed Hockney to the wall, first locking his wrists securely into the cuffs attached to the chains. He could see a question in Hockney's eyes but he said nothing.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need to redden your chest a bit for the picture I'm going for, Hockney. It will sting, but I think you'll be surprised what a pleasant sting it can be."

The alarms in the back of Hockney's head started to sound – Kitaj wasn't going to like this - but he only nodded as he really wanted please his tutor too - and how bad could a light flogging be?

Richards grinned and continued to hide his hand as he went to a small chest and pulled out a leather flogger. Before starting he opted to secure the boy's ankles just in case a struggle was to ensue. With the flogger in hand, Richards showed little mercy bringing it down repeatedly in hard blows over Hockney's chest - until tears rolled from the young man silently begging him to stop. But Richards did not stop till the skin was a deep crimson – and when it was he stood back to admire it.

"Yes, good Hockney, just the look I want, such a wonderful glow your skin has," Richards smiled as He snapped pictures from many angles.

This one would be easy Richards thought to himself. He’d suspected Hockney would invoke the name of his master and swear he could not be unfaithful to him. He hadn’t yet but Richards still knew he must tread carefully.

Hockney stood stunned by the fire in his chest, the flogging had been more then he bargained for and had he not been chained up he'd have sat down. He fought back his tears embarrassed to be seen crying over a beating. He just kept telling himself he needed to please his tutor, and for a reason he didn't want to understand his cock was hard and throbbing, wanting relief from the tight leather that encased it.

"You are doing splendid, Hockney,” Richards announced. "I have an add on to your outfit for the next shots. Don't worry, it won't be that bad."

Richards winked at the so far compliant post-graduate student. He had expected getting him this far into the game would have been more difficult, but Hockney had been a push-over. Richards took two adjustable nipple clamps and carefully attached them to Hockney's hard nipples. He was careful not to put them on too tight knowing he shouldn't push things too far. It took all of Richards' self-control not to bite and pull on the delicious looking nipples.

Richards snapped the flogger harshly over the clamped nipples - quickly and swiftly bringing the colour back to the flesh before capturing more shots of the boy on his camera. Richards couldn't help but notice the rock hard bulge in Hockney's pants. Excellent, the boy enjoys this treatment Richards thought to himself.

With the camera flashing rapidly, Richards' passion for the boy was now raging almost out of control. His loose pants were hiding his own excitement as he went to light candles in preparation for wax shots. Richards dripped the hot wax expertly over Hockney's chest watching with great pleasure as the muscles tensed and the chains grew taut. There were also delicious low groans from Hockney's clenched lips.

Richards leaned in close to Hockney and whispered into his ear, "I lied, boy, there was never a shoot, just a great desire for you, Any objection, any struggle will only increase my thirst and drive me harder, I'm going to have you. I'm going to take you away from Kitaj!"

"Please, Richards, take me, I don't care about Kitaj!" Hockney could hardly believe he was speaking the words that came out of his mouth.

Hockney's chest was pulsing in pain, his cock throbbing in lust, his mind was confused and he yearned for relief.

"All in good time, boy," Richards taunted as he sank his teeth into the Hockney's shoulder and drew blood.

Richards unchained Hockney's ankles just long enough to take off the student's leather pants, then placed him back in the shackles.

Hockney had a lovely cock. Long and thick with a set of low hung balls, it was most magnificent! And it was also drizzling pre-cum! Richards took the flogger and began an assault on Hockney's groin and thighs. The post-graduate was unable to hold in his howling screams and they drove Richardson on to bring the flogger down harder and harder.

Richards pulled out a padded riding horse from behind a curtain. He unchained Hockney from the wall and bound his wrists and ankles to the four legs of the horse. Hockney's arse was wide open and vulnerable to Richards. The painting tutor picked up his leather flogger and bought out fresh bruises on the flesh. The heavy thwacks echoing about the room followed by the Hockney's agonising cries, were sweet music to Richards' ears as he snapped the leather down harder and harder and watched the student’s flesh pulses turning a dark crimson.

Hockney was sweating profusely, his was cock dripping pre-cum onto the floor. His cock throbbed against the padded sawhorse. Richards too was soaked in sweat and he eventually became so exhausted he had to stop his assault on the boy. The deep dark crimson pulsing crimson welts he’d inflicted on his victim were driving him out of his mind with lust. Stepping up to Hockney, Richards undid his pants. He gave no mercy with his huge rock hard shaft as he slammed it into Hockney's tight crack. His victim’s screams only serving to make him thrust deeper and harder. He slammed away until – yes, yes, yes – he shot his genetic wealth right up Hockney's rim of dark pleasure! Hockney came too and finally achieve release from the lust that had chained him down since he'd entered Richards’ studio.