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| The
Via Crucis of Camille - Crux 2 - Page 15 |
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The
whip kept falling and Camille was growing
tired. Her body was covered with the marks
of the lash, her arms were hardly holding
her up. She tensed her legs to keep her body
from pulling her arms, but it didn't last,
soon her body pulled her down as her knees
gave way and bent under her weight.
Still, I was not going to show any mercy.
She was a fantasy, she was not be shown any
mercy, Maricelly, the character in control
of the fantasy, did not allow for a merciful
ending. The whipping had to continue to the
extreme of the saint's capacity to resist.
Camille knew how the character she was interpreting
thought. She knew there was only one way for
me to end this part of the session. She had
to faint and she wasn't doing that, at least
not yet, so I continue striking her body,
increasing her pain, waiting for her to finally
put a stop to this part.
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It
took some time but the soldiers managed to bring
Lyvia back to consciouness. She was made to
get up after she was released from her bonds.
A long wooden trunk was placed under her arms.
She was tied to the wood, her hands were tied
by the wrists in such a way that they were sticking
up, exposing the bloody, broken fingers.
Lyvia was made to
walk through the streets and to the gates of
the city, naked, beaten, her broken hands exposed.
The crowd followed
her painful via crucis, to the outside of the
walls where she was taken to one of the high
posts lining the road, used for crucifixions.
The wood under her
arms was tied to a long rope hanging from one
post and Lyvia was raised up, until her feet
were a meter off the ground. After securing
the rope that held her hanging from the post,
her feet were tied behind it. A soldier placed
a sign on top of the post: "Here hangs
a thief".
As the crowd watched,
some with pity in their eyes, some with curiosity
and some with morbosity, a soldier took a hot
iron with the mark of the thief and burned the
mark over the woman's breast. Lyvia screamed
again and fainted.
The guards set up
a bonfire to stay for the remainer of the day
and the night. The young woman hanged, sometimes
unconscious, sometimes moaning, sometimes screaming,
for all night.
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Suddenly,
Camille let out a moan and her body swang
to the side of the post, her arms stretched,
her legs bent. The saint fainted, she had
taken enough of her suffering, she could no
longer feel her arms, her body, the whip lashing
her. A dark veil covered her eyes, her mind.
Maricelli, the character, allowed the martyr
to faint, this once, before her martyrdom
continued. The character herself was going
through her own mortification, self flagelating
herself for a very long time. So Camille was
free to faint. Her body was in charge, of
course, dictating for how long she would take
the punishment.
I stopped whipping Camille, I saw her body,
twisted in pain, marked by the whip, hanging
with a bit of motion, Camille's feet still
on the sharp edge of the pedestal. She was
a sight, of course, the sight of the fantasy
as well as the reality. |
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I
went to Camille's side to release the rope from
the post and to lower her. I could feel the
warmth of her body, I could smell her sweet,
sweaty body fragance, and I'm sure she could
smell me as well. The lights were warm, 500
watts of warm, so I was sweating. Mi arm was
in pain.
Whipping someone is a hard task, as I learned
early on that day, way back in the past, when
I first whipped someone for a very long time.
I didn't expect to get so tired doing it.
So, this time, I was tired too. I kept whipping
Camille hoping she would take a hint, one of
may hints I gave her, by slowing down the whipping,
coughing, so she would finally faint amd make
both of us happy. But she didn't take the hint.
She wanted to be true to her character's fantasy
and resist for as long as a true martyr would.
And she did but now it was over and she was
ready to rest on the cold floor of my room.
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