Sin Street

The submissive acceptance of being tied up with ropes was the part of the day when I relaxed, using my sex slaves as I wanted.

There is more to found in Hell than in Paradise, and it implies pain. No pain, no real life. Holes dug by pain, anger, hate, and violence.

At that time, I initiated heavy bondage on many subjects —probably a dozen at that time, and I started many artworks.

The cleaning services were also running a lucrative side job called “fuck trucks,” mainly in the old port and the red-light quarter.

The first tests of the Sex Pods were unnecessarily painful, and most of the bodies didn’t survive the extended tests.

Putting away the complexity of the sphere pod, we return to a more basic configuration and start to use the hospital beds and pumps.

Body and soul. Heat would pulse in waves from the sex pod. Sometimes we held him so tightly he couldn’t breathe, just tremble and wait.

The sexplorers formed one of those beautiful couples, one having no existence without the other. One took the other’s art to a divine state.

To be a passenger in the sphere sex pods was bizarre and celestial. A cosmic gag reel where all the rules were set in opposition.

When “He” enntered the sphere, it was a play, a perverse opera, an orgasmic performance. Each tests was going deeper, and deeper.

That sphere was a sexual armor, used for sexual battles. Since you were inside, you had to confront yourself and your body possibilities.

That was intense; eight days and seven nights of continuous testing. We were all taking drugs. Inside and out of the sphere. to stay awake.