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| The
Via Crucis of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 9 |
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Camille's
body, on the floor, a haunting image I will
not be able to get over, ever. I go mad sometimes,
mad with jealousy because I know, I know she's
seeing someone else, or she's interested in
someone else. There's a band of young rockers,
I suspect she likes the drummer.
It's at times like this, when I think hard
about this that I would prefer it was already
over, that she was somewhere else, not in
this room, not on my floor, half naked.
I left the camera on its tripod and approached
her again. I grabbed the rope to pull her
up. I looked down at her, she kept her eyes
half closed, never looking at me, not even
once, which was pretty much what I wanted.
I pulled the rope.
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Lyvia
was crying, her legs shaking, as one of the
soldiers began to release her from her bonds.
They young woman was getting ready to flee again
when the commander approached her and pulled
down the remainder of her garment, exposing
her breasts, shoulders and belly. "You
are a slave, aren't you?" He questioned
her. Are you a runaway?.
Lyvia was silent.
The small crowd began to comment. "A slave,
a runaway slave ... she's in trouble now".
The old man reacted. "You punished her
already, let her go now".
The commander wasn't
appeased. "Take this dirty slave to the
barracks, we'll find her master and we'll find
out if she run away or not. We'll return her
where she belongs. Let's go".
The group parted,
dragging the half naked young slave away. She
was crying but not saying a word as she was
lead away.
The old man, teary
eyed, stood silent and motionless, feeling the
guilt overcome him. As he turned around he noticed
the young girl who benefited from his bread
and fruits. The young girl looked at him with
fear. "Do not fear me" the old man
said. "I made a mistake, I won't make another
one. Come with me. I'll give you food and shelter."
The young girl, cautiously
at first, followed the old man to his stall,
turning back from time to time to look at the
soldiers and Lyvia dissappear around a corner
far up the street.
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I
pulled Camille up the post. One of the new
elements in the sessions was a pulley and
a long rope, which made things easier for
me. I went up to the market, after our return
from New York, to gear up for the work. A
pulley was first on the list.
This work had its own demands, which came
slowly, one at a time. First the pulley, then
a longer rope, before that the post, and so
on. And now the demand was for better camera
and lights... and along with that new demand
other needs would begin to show their hungry
faces.
Camille is light, she's easy to lift and
carry. But still, it took some effort to get
her all the way up the post. I had to pull
more than once.
As I raised Camille up the post, a process
that was fast before seemed to last a long
time, my mind had some time to wander again.
My eyes afixed on her breasts, my thoughts
rushing through the assorted subjects, the
work, the vampire idea, and the job I was
offered.
I was sure I would love to teach at the university,
I learned early on in my life that I love
teaching, passing knowledge to others was
very fulfilling. I was passing knowledge to
Camille, no only by lecturing, explaining,
but by action, by doing. I knew she was paying
close attention to everything I was doing.
She began to make some sugestions, timidly
for now, but I knew she was gaining a lot
of self confidence
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I
pulled harder, Camille was half way up, her
body contorting, like a dance.
As Camille reached the high point of the post,
I positioned her with her back against the wood.
The next part of the session was going to be
a second whipping, this time she would be facing
me.
This is a tipically sadistic session. I was
extending the time of her suffering by making
the actions last longer than they do in real
time. I was also making the story last longer
by whipping her twice, once on her back, a second
time while she was facing me. That was my MO
(modus operandi), so far.
It wasn't going to be that different this time.
Again, the fear of repetition creeped up on
me. But it was different, the action was the
same, but the situation was different each time.
Her performance was diferent as well, her body
movements were diferent..
There's only so many things that can happen
during a crucifixion, and the road from point
A to point B was always the same, but it was
always different.
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