The Training of Camille - Session 2

Again I was beating Camille with the rod. But this time around each stroke was full of passion, it was foreplay, as I said, and the session was now the act of love making. And I knew, I knew she was mine and I knew she knew I was hers. That fact was gaining strength as the beating continued.

So this is the way I love women. Savage love, rituallistic, energetic, cruel in a romantic way, and strong. Very strong. A woman is not an object, a man is not an object. People are not objects. And yet we place them in such positions, we place ourselves in such positions. Where does my fantasy ends and her disconfort begins? Where do we go from here? How often can I go on like this?

Every relationship has a clear beginning that carries within itself the clue to its ending. That's a thruth that I learned to recognize a decade or more before Camille. I was having a hard time recognizing it now, even if it was as clear as the ice water that runs down the magestic mountains of the Andes, not far from the room where I was torturing Camille.