"Are you engaged tonight, Hockney?" Kitaj demanded of his slave through a glory hole in one of the Republican College of Art’s male toilets. Hockney answered in the negative.
"Come to me then" Kitaj went on. "I’ve got something new for you to try and I don’t think we’d get away with doing it in one of the studios here. Although it would be very funny to see what was made of it should someone walk in."
What Hockney experienced that night was complete darkness and silence... there was virtually no stimulation for his senses. His entire world was blacked out, he couldn't see, hear, feel, or smell anything. But stranger than that his heart rate was slow, and he was at peace. The sub totally trusted Kitaj. Hockney knew Kitaj would not allow any real harm to come to him, just the pleasure of pain that hurt but wouldn’t kill him. That night after a hard day’s painting at the RCA was their first attempt at total sensory deprivation and it proved to be a groove sensation! The trust between the two art students was total. The dom knew his slave would tell him if he felt too much pain and the sub was secure in the knowledge that if he but said the safety word ‘merkin’ he would be released with no second thoughts or hesitation. If, on the other hand, Hockney merely muttered ‘pubic wigs in England are thought to date from the middle of the fifteenth-century’ then Kitaj would know things were getting a bit intense for the sub and if the bottom was lucky might ease up a bit!
Hockney lay covered from head to toe in gauze; his hands were encased in thin gloves, both his arms had been individually bound before being swaddled again to his body. Kitaj had been very careful not to cut off any circulation by binding the sub too tightly. Before he mummified the slave’s face the dom had dropped a light kiss on his lips and told the masochist how proud he was of him, and how humbled to be trusted so much. Kitaj had gently wiped the tears from Hockney’s eyes and covered them with cotton patches before wrapping the postgraduate art student’s head with bandages. Hockney found this strange at first, but he had gradually settled into that special place in his mind where Kitaj taught him to go to when he thought he could handle no more. The sadist was right; Hockney could take a lot more pain than he had ever dreamt of accepting in the dominance and submission game.
Hockney felt totally safe and secure, knowing he was just as much wrapped in Kitaj’s hatred and alienation as the gauze.
The young masochists felt a faint touch to his arm, or at least thought he did, and he found himself straining to meet it. His skin was devoid of sensation so he figured that it was just a phantom caress. Hockney had no idea how long he’d been lying still wrapped in the gauze. It could have been only moments or it might have been hours. Suddenly he felt the scissors cutting a layer of gauze from his lips. Hockney had been able to breath perfectly well, Kitaj had made sure that the bandage was thin there. Feeling a light puff of wind on his lips raised goose bumps on Hockney’s skin. Picasso, Duchamp and Malevich! Hockney had no idea his lips were so sensitive! Something brushed across them and they tingled in response. Hockney pursed his lips. When he stuck his tongue out to lick them, it was gently tapped with a rock hard cock and he knew not to do that again.
Hockney desperately wanted to suck the dick but it was whipped away from him. Instead he soon felt Kitaj’s lips on his own chops and the dom’s tongue sliding across his mouth gave him a raging hard on! It felt wonderful! He wanted to clench his hands because the feeling was so intense, but the sub couldn’t as they were so tightly bound. More time went by and Hockney’s lips were the only part of the sub that Kitaj was stimulating.
The next thing Hockney knew – and he had no idea if this was hours or seconds later - was that Kitaj was deploying a pair of scissors to cut around the gauze covering his nipples. Hockney’s spine arched up when what felt like a feather brushed across his teats. A low moan escaped from his throat as a sexual induced release of endophins flooded his body. Kitaj’s finger brushed across Hockney’s lips as the dom’s tongue rubbed his nips. The sub knew he was soaking the gauze around his crotch. What he didn’t know was whether he was shooting a load of liquid DNA or pissing himself! There was so much fluid it was hard to believe it was all cum! Hockney knew he wasn’t in any serious trouble when Kitaj made some comment about nappies. It was urine for sure!
"K. K. Kitaj!" Hockney gasped. There was a pause and then Hockney said his master's name correctly: "R. B. Kitaj!" The dom paused for a moment before tapping the slave’s mouth twice. That was their signal; if Hockney wanted Kitaj to release him now all he had to do was say the safety word ‘merkin’. Hockney didn’t even give the signal to ease up: "pubic wigs in England are thought to date from the middle of the fifteenth-century.’ He closed his mouth and the dom knew he could proceed.
For the longest time (or so it seemed to Hockney) the only feeling he had was of something lightly brushing across his nipples. His entire body trembled with desire. He hadn't known that being swaddled like an Egyptian mummy in more bandages than you’d find in a military first aid kit could be so erotic! A jolt that felt like an electric shock shot through Hockney when nipple clamps were placed on him. The pleasure factor went up ten fold when Kitaj lightly pulled on them. The small moans and cries coming from Hockney’s throat pleased the dom. As suddenly as the erotic assault began, it stopped and Hockney was once again left to his lonely thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, the swaddled adult baby mummy couldn't get his body to stop shaking. He knew better than to orgasm without Kitaj’s consent but he might have done had he not held back. Before trying it Hockney wouldn't have guessed in a hundred billion years that the sensory deprivation kick was so intense!
Some time later the sub felt the scissors slicing up between his legs. Once freed, his lower limbs were then spread apart and tied down. Then the scissors went back to cutting, baring his cock to the cool air. The instant that his slick dick was bared, Kitaj bent over and ran his tongue along it, licking the sub’s length with two short light strokes. As Hockney screamed a pleased smile lit up the dom’s face. He stepped back and admired the slave’s body. Hockney couldn't see Kitaj and as long as the dom moved slowly and soundlessly the mummified perv didn't know where his master was or what he was doing. Hockney was beautiful, his big pink nipples bare to Kitaj’s eyes, the boy’s mouth open and gasping with pleasure, and his cock all flush and erect. It was a dick that was begging to be sucked or wanked off. Kitaj’s heart was full to bursting. He knew what it had taken to get Hockney to this point. He was proud and humbled that the sub had let him lead him in the exploration of the limits of their sexual boundaries.
With gentle hands Kitaj picked up the thinly woven silver chain that was connected to the nipple clamps and dangled a cock ring over Hockney’s throbbing manhood. The master knew that it was cold; he had wrapped it in an icy cloth for an hour before their ceremony. With each pass of the cock ring Hockney’s body jerked in response. When Kitaj judged Hockney could take no more, he attached the cock ring to his slave’s thrumming length. He stepped back and watched the pork sword swell even more and turn a light shade of purple. Kitaj knew Hockney was now so excited that all he had to do was touch his patriarchal staff and it would make the slave cum.
Kitaj amused himself for hours teasing and gently torturing Hockney as he lay bound and helpless. He knew the sub was fighting off his orgasm with all that he had; his body was one quivering mass of nerves beneath the sadist's magic touch. A mere flick of the lash to the slave’s nipples was enough to make him cry out more in pleasure than in pain. Next Kitaj pulled a ten-foot bullwhip from under the bed. After several practice lashes with it, he turned his attention back on Hockney. He knew that if he wasn’t careful he’d end up cutting into the sub instead of just the gauze.
Kitaj carefully flicked the whip over Hockney’s body, cutting the bandages at the sub’s shoulder down to the skin. At the touch of the whip the slave jerked and then froze. Hockney felt like jumping up and doing dances that had yet to be invented – like the frug, the twist, the boogaloo, the Boston monkey and even the uncle willie (which in the mid-1960s would briefly be all the rage on Chicago’s southside, inspiring such classic tunes as The Daylighter’s Oh Mom Teach Me How To Uncle Willie). Hockney knew that the time had come and that he was not to move. The subtle kiss of the whip across the gauze made his nerves jump like a nymphomaniac with a go go dancing gig. Kitaj moved his whip all over Hockney's body until the sub lay bare to his touch, all that is apart from the slave’s face, hands and feet. The master coiled his whip and picked up his favourite flogger. Kitaj lightly whacked it across Hockney’s exposed skin. He knew that the sub’s shell was sensitive and that if he lashed him hard it would cause immense pain.
Kitaj played Hockney’s body like a fine tuned instrument, like a 1960s Fender Precision bass to be exact, bringing him to the brink of orgasm only to pull back over and over and over again, until the sub simply lay there and cried. These tears brought tears to Kitaj’s own eyes and the dom decided he’d had enough. He used a pair of scissors and cut the bandages hiding Hockney's face. Next he removed the cotton pads from Hockney’s eyes and the plugs from his ears. The slave blinked several times, adjusting to the low light before staring up at the dom in wonder. Kitaj was kneeling between Hockney’s legs and once the sub met the sadist's gaze, the dom licked his slave's cock before raising his head briefly and announcing: "Cum for art young David Hockney! Cum for Francis Picabia, Wassily Kandinsky and Piet Mondrian. Cum for Giacomo Balla, Umberto Boccioni, Carlo Carrà and Gino Severini! Cum for Giorgio de Chirico, Marc Chagall, Jean Arp, Max Ernst and Kurt Schwitters!"
Kitaj then got his mouth around Hockney’s pork sword and sucked it deep into his throat. The force of Hockney’s orgasm was Kitaj’s undoing. The love muscle expanded so greatly and so much liquid spurted from it, that the sadist’s breath caught in his throat. Hockney sobbed when he came; the pleasure was so hard and intense that he couldn't speak at all. Once he’d got over his coughs and splutters and caught his breath, Kitaj held Hockney tightly in his arms, their bodies pulsating with their shared pleasure. Now it was Hockney’s turn to wank Kitaj off. The sadist’s orgasm giving Hockney a fresh erection. Kitaj told the sub he was exhausted but gave his slave permission to jerk off.
After Hockney came a second time, neither of them could speak a word. Kitaj lay back against Hockney, "Tonight you gave me the greatest gift a submissive could ever give their master, your total trust and your heart. You have mine as well, my own dear Hockney."