Monday, 24 March 2014



The master and slave having got back together, they were at first a good deal embarrassed and confused; but before long, though not without putting considerable force on himself, Hockney got back into something like his old familiar way of unbosoming himself to his re-found fuck buddy, and Kitaj showed more than his old anxiety to meet him half-way with some really hardcore BDSM discipline! His ready and undisguised sex play soon dispersed the remaining clouds which were hanging between them; and Hockney found it a pleasure, instead of a dreary task, to try new sexual kicks or revisit old ones with his master.

The approach of summer hung over south Kensington like dirty laundry that had mistakenly been put out to dry before being washed. The air was fetid, hot and stale, sapping the vegetation of moisture and making the grass in Hyde Park grind underfoot like old mouse bones. Clothing stuck to the skin the way that chewing gum sticks to the sole of a shoe. Hockney disliked the feel of the damp fabric as he pried the layers from his body with slick fingers. Truthfully, bare skin wasn't much better, but it was a vast improvement to the stink of sweat that burrowed into the fibers of his clothes. Besides, Kitaj tended to enjoy looking at him when he was shiny with sweat and would let him lounge on the bed and nap while he sat next to him and watched. It was a little odd, at least at first, but like everything in Hockney's student life at the Republican College of Art in London, he'd learned to accept it.

Hockney wasn't thinking of any of that - or anything else really – as we catch up with him, because he was immersed to his chin in the over-sized bathtub that dominated Kitaj's large washroom. The water was freezing, magically chilled to exactly replicate the paralyzing cold of freshly melted snow. He'd been there for ten minutes. As always, the first 120 seconds had been excruciatingly painful. Kitaj had bound his hands and his feet and forcibly held him down in the tub. As he first sunk into the icy wetness. Kitaj wanted Hockney to feel the pain - intense and unmistakable - his every nerve ending aflame with a burn that ripped his thoughts to shreds and became the focus of his world. The process was slow and agonizing; the chill of the water sliced into his veins, as sharp as any shard of glass.

Hockney felt as if the cold were slowly crystallizing his blood. It sapped the warmth and strength from his bulk straight through his skin pores and his body reacted violently, jerking as if an icicle had been punched through his chest. Despite this, he wished to experience the pain, just as Kitaj wanted. Hockney loved torment because suffering was both exquisite and necessary to anyone who wished to make great art. The particular brand of BDSM torture they two men were indulging in that day – which would end in pseudo-necrophila - was brutal in manner that wouldn’t leave the art student painted in blood and bruises. It was unlike anything Hockney had ever felt, each time was like a new experience. It was awful. It was amazing.

The cold froze its memory into the slave’s every tendon, lingering with him like a wintry kiss on the back of his neck. And later there would be pleasure as warmth spread through his belly and chest, culminating in the prickle of reawakened nerve-endings in fingers and toes as Kitaj fucked him from corpse-cold to reanimated but submissive zombie. The contrast of immense pain, so keen and rough, with a love that went beyond death, was almost too much to bear. Hockney wasn't really thinking of pleasure, or anything in particular, for his lips were blue and his thoughts were heavy and sluggish. He felt drowsy and might well have fallen asleep if it wasn't for the press of the leather collar against his throat, a comforting weight that held the glossy threads of his attention as he slid towards total oblivion.

It took a massive effort  on Hockney’s part to lift his eyes and look up towards Kitaj, who sat on a stool near the tub monitoring him closely. "B-Kitaj," he stuttered, his voice thick and stupid with cold, "B-brr." The pervading chill in his veins chased his thoughts away with the snap of icy teeth. His limbs were lead, sunken like anchors below the surface of the water. He had no feeling in his rigid digits; he forgot what having fingers and toes felt like. It was just how Kitaj liked it. Hockney's head lolled back, peaceful drowsiness pushing down hard on his skull. He was ready to submit to it. He was ready to let it seize him. Hockney wanted to purr with contentment, in satisfaction, in acceptance to the offer of eternal peace. His eyes were sliding shut. At that moment Kitaj stood and hooked his arms underneath Hockney's own. He lifted him from the tub with little effort and pulled him against his chest - back-to-front, heel-to-toe. Hockney was as yet unable to feel the warmth of Kitaj's bare skin against his back as he was lifted and cradled against his body.

Kitaj was gentle, his touch as soft and caring as a mother cradling her baby. Hockney twitched feebly, his feet dragging unhelpfully on the thick carpeting as Kitaj carried him to the bed. Hockney was dropped carelessly atop the plush covers and he lay motionless where he'd been dumped, still paralyzed by the freezing cold that had locked his joints. Hockney let his mind drift as Kitaj arranged him on the bed. The slave was silent as Kitaj arranged his limbs in a display that was pleasing to him. It reminded Hockney of times past when Kitaj had trussed him up and fucked him when his head was slippery and his body was thrumming with drugs. He'd been unable to string together coherent sentences, let alone fight him.

A wave of gratitude engulfed the submarine as Kitaj cut the leather bindings on his wrists and ankles. His mouth cracked open as Kitaj rubbed the MA student’s hands. The blood was slow to return to his mitts, Hockney could barely feel a thing. The warmth in Kitaj's paws felt like a weak ray of sunlight that struggled to break through a thick bank of clouds. Hockney drew in a tight breath, his lungs still uncooperative, as Kitaj blew a hot puff of air onto his scrotum and up his limp, wet length. A dull heat - only dimly felt - began to swelter beneath the submissive's chest. His breath lagged a little faster and his heart beat a little quicker. The blood dripping through his body felt like molasses. There was a tingle in his nether region. Then Kitaj, his skin hot and sleek with sweat, lay his body flush to Hockney's cold, frozen flesh. The dom pressed a kiss to the slave’s blue lips, and then the underside of his damp jaw. Hockney felt a brief, pleasant tingle of warmth where Kitaj's mouth brushed over his skin.

As Hockney began to thaw out, he felt like a parasite leeching the warmth from Kitaj's body. A surge of disgust threatened to rise up and consume the sub, who had to force it away. Hockney always had moments like this when Kitaj forced him to play at pseudo-necrophilia - a game where the slave was rendered cold and incapacitated and lay on the bed like a stiff in a mortuary, while Kitaj fucked the warmth back into his body. He'd protested violently the first time Kitaj had wanted to do this, thoroughly repulsed by the idea of role playing a corpse. Kitaj, of course, got his way after insisting that stiffs got him stiff. Eventually Hockney had to admit that if he didn't think about the reasons Kitaj liked this fantasy scene, it was immensely erotic. Depraved, yes; but super-sexy, just the same.

Hockney felt the pressure of Kitaj's fingers probing his entrance, coated and slick with lubricant. He let go of his disgust, swallowing it down and burying it way beneath his six pack in his pelvic floor muscles. Kitaj pushed into him after scant preparation since the slave’s body was still numb. Hockney scarcely registered Kitaj's thick cock inside him, but he knew later he would be sore. At that moment he barely registered he was engaged in sex. The real knowledge of what was being done to him would come later, after he’d thawed out!

Tuesday, 18 March 2014



There are moments in the life of the most self-contained and sober of us all, when we fairly bubble over, like a full bottle of champagne with the cork out; and this was one of them for our Hockney who however, be it remarked, was neither self-contained nor sober by nature. He really hardly knew what to do to give vent to his lightness of heart; and Kitaj, though self-contained and sober enough in general, was on this occasion almost as bad as his friend. They rattled on, talked out the thing which came uppermost, whatever the subject might chance to be; but whether grave or gay, it always ended after a minute or two in jokes not always good, and chaff, and laughter.

The spirits of the two friends seemed inexhaustible. They ate a shit load of food and lasted out the bottle of sherry which Hockney had uncorked, and the remains of a bottle of port. Then they went out and wandered the streets, eventually falling asleep on some park benches. They were woken by a couple of drunk women who introduced themselves as Tara and Chloe and who said they were looking for some fun. Kitaj invited them back to his place and they readily agreed. Hockney wasn’t much interested in the two girls, but Kitaj was desperate for some bicycle action. Once they got to Kitaj’s and uncorked a bottle of wine, the conversation quickly became fast and loose and soon got onto the subject of the puke fetish.

"So what don't you like about vomiting," Kitaj asked.

The three guests were sitting in one of Kitaj rooms. Their chairs were arranged in a circle and they were all looking at each other.

Hockney went first, "Well, I don't like the feeling. Feeling all that food in your stomach trying to come out."

"No one likes feeling sick," Kitaj said. "But why are you afraid of being sick?"

"Well," Hockney shrugged. "I just get so embarrassed. It's so disgusting, losing control like that... people seeing what you ate earlier... It's just so embarrassing."

Tara and Chloe nodded along.

"Have you ever made yourself throw up on purpose?" Kitaj asked.

"No, of course not," Tara chimed in, and Hockney mumbled in agreement.

"That's a classic sign of vomit phobia," Kitaj said. "Hockney, why don't you tell us about the last time you threw up?"

"Oh... I can't. I don't even want to talk about it." The sub said, shifting in his chair. He looked down at the floor. "It was last year... I got food poisoning from some shrimp. I was out shopping with some friends when I started feeling it, so of course I left quickly. I knew I had to get home if I was going to get sick. I was walking so fast, but I felt so awful... it started trying to come up while I was still walking, when I’d almost got home. I was gagging a little bit and burping... I kept swallowing it down, until I finally got to my front door. I ran inside and slammed the door, and tried to make it to the bathroom, but I couldn't... I just had to get it out of my stomach, there was nothing I could do. So I..."

"Come on Hockney. You have to say it if you want to get over your fear." Kitaj said.

"I ran inside, closed the door and... vomited all over the floor." Hockney said, lowering his face in shame. "It was so humiliating even though no one saw... I got the first wave up - the shrimp that made me sick. But it just kept coming. I couldn't stop until everything inside my stomach was splattered on the lino."

"Why did you hate it so much?" Kitaj asked.

"Because I was ashamed that I had done something so disgusting." Hockney said bitterly.

"How about a little bondage?" Kitaj suggested.

"Ooh," Hockney said, grinning happily at the change of subject. "Let’s do it."

"Take your clothes off and lay on your stomach on the bed," Kitaj instructed. Hockney complied, and Kitaj guided the student’s arms behind his back, and bound his wrists to his ankles, so he was hogtied.

"What do you have in store for me now?" Hockney asked, expecting the usual beating and handjob. But he was in for a huge shock.

"Listen Hockney," Kitaj said seriously. "I think tonight would be a good night for you to try to cope with your phobia."

"What? What do you mean?"

"The best way to overcome a fear, is to face it. You need to face your fear of vomiting."

"But I don't need to vomit. I don't feel sick at all." The student replied.

"You can't just wait until the next time you feel sick and try to be less afraid whenever that happens. That's not facing a fear. You need to accept that this terrifying thing is going to happen to you right now, and cope with it. I knew you would never do it on your own, so I'm going to help you. I'm going to put my fingers down your throat and make you vomit several times, and you will see that nothing bad happens. It's not the end of the world."

Hockney looked panicked. "No! Please don't. You can't!"

"Yes, Hockney. This will help you."

“And it will be fun and educational for us to watch too!” Tara and Chloe chimed in.

"Please! Any other night! Not tonight. I ate so much at dinner... Please don't. It's going to be disgusting. I can't let you see me do this! Please. I can't do something so disgusting."

Kitaj chided Hockney, "This is why you have this phobia - you are terrified of doing something so disgusting, and you spend your whole life trying to control it and make sure it doesn't happen. But tonight, you can't control it. I picked tonight on purpose; I know you ate a lot at dinner. I picked a time when you would be most afraid of throwing up, because you'll be stronger when you get through it."

"Please!" The student begged, tears running out of his eyes. "It's too disgusting... the food wont be digested..."

"I know, Hockney. I'm going to force you to do something disgusting. You're going to make disgusting faces, and noises... and worst of all, that food sitting in your stomach is going to come up out of your mouth. I put you in the middle of the bed because I want you to vomit all over the quilt and see how much was inside you. Normally, you are a beautiful, refined boy, but tonight you are going to get really sick and make a disgusting mess. But when it's done, you'll see that you're okay."

Hockney sobbed and clenched his mouth shut.

"I knew you would try to fight this," Kitaj said. "It is to be expected of someone with your phobia."

“C’mon Hockney, puke for kicks!” Tara and Chloe chanted.

Kitaj gently forced the sub’s jaw open, and pushed two fingers into his mouth. Hockney tried to struggle, but with his arms and legs bound behind him, it wasn't much use. Kitaj began thrusting his fingers into the slave’s throat.

"Relax and get ready," Kitaj instructed. "This is going to make you throw up. Just accept what your body does."

Hockney coughed and sputtered.

"Good boy," Kitaj said. "Your throat is trying to get my fingers out. Soon your body will try to clear your throat by vomiting. It may take a while though. It's always hard to get started at first."

Kitaj patiently thrust his fingers deeper into the bound boy's moist throat as tears streamed down his face. Hockney’s slick muscles contracted every time Kitaj’s fingers pushed deeper into his throat.

"Are you feeling nauseous yet?" Kitaj asked, and paused briefly for Hockney to answer.

"Please stop!" The submarine begged.

"No, Hockney. You know I'm not going to stop until your stomach is empty. Just try to calm down and answer the question."

Hockney whimpered, and said quietly. "Yes, I'm getting very nauseous."

"That's good," Kitaj said. He put his fingers back down Hockney's throat, and this time the bottom coughed and gave in to a violent gag. Inspired by his progress, Kitaj forced his fingers deeper, in and out, making the boy convulse, gag, and dry heave. He slid his digits in once more, forcing the sub to gag and belch loudly.

"See?" Kitaj said. "Look how disgusting I can make you be. I stuck my fingers down your throat, and you tried to burp them out. I wonder what other sick things you'll do while you try to empty your stomach?"

You’re ugly, pug ugly!” Tara and Chloe sang in unison.

Once again Kitaj forced his pinkies down the bottom’s throat and Hockney involuntarily extended his tongue and belched loudly, "URRRRRRRRRRRRP." Then he heaved and retched. Hockney could feel the contents of his stomach being pushed up into his throat.

"Pay attention to your body," Kitaj said. "Can you feel your stomach expelling your food? You're about to start vomiting. I want you to feel the whole experience and enjoy it the way Tara, Chloe and I will enjoy it."

Hockney sputtered again, and Kitaj knew one more plunge would be more than the submarine could take. "Ready?" He asked. "Here it comes..."

The top stuck his pinkies deep down into the slave’s mouth, blocking his airway. For a moment the bottom was frozen, his open mouth stretched around Kitaj’s hand, the art student’s terrified eyes staring at his dominator. Then Hockney clenched his pelvic floor muscles, and his transverse abdominis, and his six pack muscles, so that his stomach forced up the liquid inside. The bottom gagged repeatedly, "REPPP... REPPPPP... REEEEPPPP... REEEUUUUUUUUURRRRP" And finally the last gag was taken over by a gassy gurgling as he expelled up the first wave of vomit.

As he spat it out, Hockney cried uncontrollably, and tried to speak, still begging Kitaj to stop. There was a sense of burning humiliation, since the top had forced Hockney’s stomach to do something so vile... it was too much. Hockney was not in control of his body anymore; Kitaj was. And the top could make Hockney regurgitate all the things he had swallowed that night. Other than cocks of course, since they’d only gone into his throat and come out again. All Kitaj had to do was put his fingers down Hockney’s throat, and he could force out everything that was inside his slave's stomach.

"STOPPPPP!" The masochistic art student sobbed.

"But Hockney, you're doing so well," Kitaj said, wiping a bit of vomit off the boy's parted lips. He gagged the sub again, and Hockney tried to resist.

"Please! STOOO-URRRRRRRUGHHHHH." The submarine couldn't even finish speaking. All that came out of his mouth was an enormous heave of barf that flowed down his chin and onto the bed.

Hockney gasped, and Kitaj rammed his fingers back in. "BLERRRRRRRRRUGHHHHHHH." The next heave was impressive; the bottom kept his lips open and let the vomit gush out of him.

"Doesn't it feel good?" Kitaj asked, gently teasing Hockney’s throat with his fingers. "Pay attention to your throat closing around my fingers... and how you gag and retch... pay attention to how your stomach muscles tighten... Face your fear!”

“You’re so gross! You’re so ugly!” Tara and Chloe trilled.

When Kitaj gagged Hockney again, the submarine chocked and belched and then gasped. The top speared his digits through Hockney’s gob and into the boy's wind pipe yet again, and once more the masochist retched without bringing anything up.

"Come on, Hockney," Kitaj said, pushing his digits into the back of the bottom’s throat. "I know you've got more than air in there. Puke it all out..."

Hockney gagged and coughed again as Tara and Chloe screamed: “If you don’t put on a decent show for us we’re gonna be sick on you!”

"Alright, it looks like you need more help," Kitaj announced. He untied Hockney’s legs so that the submarine could lie back comfortably, but the master kept the slave’s hands tied behind his back. He climbed up behind the bottom, and slid a hand under the masochist and pressed it against his bulging belly, still packed with all the food he'd eaten earlier.

"See how much is still in there!" Kitaj observed, applying gentle pressure to Hockney’s full gut. "I know you have more for me. We're going to get it all out. Open your mouth."

Defeated, Hockney weakly opened his gob. Kitaj stuck his thick masculine digits back down into the submarine’s wind pipe, and Hockney heaved. As he brought up a wave of vomit, Kitaj pressed his other hand into the boy's belly, and it forced the masochistic post-graduate art student to vomit up even more. He was literally pushing the puke out of Hockney’s stomach.

"Good boy," Kitaj said, clasping Hockney’s belly. "That made you puke a lot didn't it? Do you like it when I force your vomit to come out?"

Hockney sniffled, and didn't say anything. He was too exhausted to fight.

"Look how disgusting you are," Kitaj said. "Look at all that puke, all over the bed. And you're not even done. You're going to make even more of a mess."

“Make a spectacle of yourself, entertain us with your filthy ugliness!” Tara and Chloe demanded.

Hockney obediently opened his mouth, and let Kitaj gag him once more. The masochist sniffled as he let out the most vulgar gagging noises, "ERRRRUP ERRRRRUP ERRRRRUP." It was so painful, that in his humiliation Hockney was actually trying to make himself vomit as well - pushing with his stomach muscles, engaging the pelvic floor from front and back as well as the transverse abdominis and six pack, trying to force out the contents of his gut, effluent that so desperately wanted to escape its belly prison. Finally Hockeny brought up a decent sized gush by pushing out a hearty belch.

“Gross!” Tara and Chloe shouted together.

"Ugh," Kitaj said. "Disgusting. Look how sick I made you. You don't even care what you look like anymore - belching on purpose to try to get your puke out... Let's make you really disgusting; push out another loud one!"

At the next gag, Hockney burped loudly and up came another thick heave of puke, all over the bed.

"Perfect. You're not even ashamed anymore, are you?" Kitaj teased.

"I am," Hockney said quietly. "But I've already done everything embarrassing that I can... so what's the point of resisting..."

Kitaj rested his hand on the submarine’s belly and said, "Okay, I'm going to make you vomit up a lot this time by pressing on your stomach. Are you ready?"

Hockney complied, and Kitaj stuck his digits down the masochists throat, and the submarine barfed up a thick gush. When Hockney was almost done, Kitaj gave him a firm push on the belly. Another gush flowed out of the bottom’s mouth. Then, with a second firm push, Kitaj forced the RCA MA Fine Art student to vomit up yet another tidal wave of puke, all without even taking a breath - three continuous projectile vomits.

"Good boy. Puke up as much as you can. You might almost be done." Kitaj cooed.

"Good..." Hockney said weakly. "I can't take much more of this."

Kitaj knelt over Hockney's back, straddling him with one leg on either side, forcing the submarine down into the mattress. He inserted his fingers into Hockney’s mouth, and the masochist began retching, "ACK...ACK... ACK...ACK..."

“I’m a bug!” Tara and Chloe screamed, then the two of them fell about laughing.

As Hockney struggled and gagged, Kitaj began speaking. "For the last part of the exercise, I want you to completely lose control. I'm going to hold you down and force you to keep vomiting without stopping, until your stomach is empty. Understand?"

Hockney tensed, and, "BLERRRRRRRRRRUGHHHHHHH..." spewed out an enormous stream of vomit. Kitaj kept his fingers lodged in the submarine's throat.

"Good boy. Oh fuck yeah. Keep puking. Spread that vomit all over the bed..."

Hockney struggled for air, and when he couldn't get any down into his lungs, he just kept barfing instead. "ERRRUP... BLERRRRRRRRUGHHHHHHHHHH....... BLERRRRUGHHHH." The sub heaved with his front and back pelvic floor muscles and his transverse abdominis and his six pack, trying to force out as much puke as he could. Wave after wave of stinking vomit...

"Nice... you're fucking disgusting. Look at you, barfing as hard as you can. You're not embarrassed anymore are you?"

“He’s a shameless hussie!” Tara and Chloe giggled.

Still struggling for air, Hockney clenched again, and braced himself against another geyser of vomit. He choked, aswallowed air, and struggled to burp it back up "...URRRRRRRP." The belch did the trick and was followed by a forceful, "HERRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPP" as the submarine violently heaved up everything remaining in his stomach. Hockney knew he was empty, but Kitaj made sure by keeping his fingers in place, and indulged himself with his enjoyment of his slave's pain. "HERRRRRRUUP HERRRRUUUPPP," were the sounds the young art student emitted as this rubber slave dry heaved uncontrollably.

Hockney gasped for breath, his face beet red. The bottom looked at the swamp of vomit in front of him, ashamed, but not as ashamed as he thought he would be.

"You see?" Kitaj said. "You’ve lost all your shame, and you're completely fine. You threw up more than I've ever seen anyone retch before... It’s a rare sight to see someone as beautiful as you, tied up, letting vomit gush out of their mouth."

Hockney looked completely stunned. Like he didn't know what to think. Like once he left, maybe this horrible incident could just be erased from his mind. But it couldn’t be erased because Tara and Chloe had been there to witness it. That was why Kitaj had invited them back, and he proceeded to further humiliate Hockney by indulging in a threesome with them in the pool of vomit the bottom had thrown up!