I went to bed early and the phone kept ringing. The new cell isn’t letting me answer calls so it is still refering people to the land line.

After calls coming in all through the night and waking me up, I got a call from the Hide Out. It was the last night. Yes, The Hide Out is no more till they find a new location. Every one was there. The sidewalk outside was packed. The walss had been cleared and in the vacant spaces were blank spots amidst the tar and grimmy nicotine stains. The booth in back was gone, the light over the pool table missing, just a gradual fading of one of the most fun bars in town.

Yesterday’s session with the crickets worked to a point. The only problem was many crickets had died. This wasn’t the only activity we played with, but I want to try it again. I had him bound to the exam table with a Shibari rope formation, fully immobilized. This way he couldn’t remove the bag of crickets, or stop the harsh slaps, binder clips, or prevent me from popping his poor sore genitals with a tongue depressor (they are a great torture and in expensive, I have tons, the pop and break when using them, so I have a bunch of them). After I had been done with those tortures I pierced his foreskin closed and pierced a ladder down his cock.

After he was released I had him in breath play. He swallowed a condom full of his own cum he had brought with him, and I ended his torment and humiliation with brown toilet training.

The only hell he cannot endure is nipple play…poor baby (sarcastically). To a sadist, writhing and crying are so beautiful, music to our ears.