Sin Street

How to measure sex? When is it pain, or pleasure? The stolen medical devices would help me to produce sex wave images of it.

The intense, suggestive perfume, and texture, of the body fluids. To bath in your own dirt; a delightful, smelly, and unforgettable pleasure.

The so delighfuf Renata. I meet her at the Sun Sun Restaurant. She was adventurous, curious to try my sex pod installation at the old laundry.

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.