I have kept my body and at first glance it is not much changed from that of the world class swimmer I once was, though I do not pretend that closer inspection does not reveal a harsher truth about the passage of time. She says, ‘You are beautiful.’ I say, ‘So are you.’ Unlike California women, her skin is untanned, white, luminous. Her breasts medium sized and perfectly formed with large dark nipples. Her waist small. Voluptuous flesh on fine bones. She looks about nineteen. I start to lick her, but she grabs my hair and says, ‘Just fuck me.’ I move up, her legs over my arms. She gasps as I slide all the way in with one motion. Usually I take my time, but I just let myself go. She cries out several times. A man never really knows, but she seems to come. Holding her down with my hands against her arms, I keep slamming into her. Her breasts shake violently. Tendons in her neck strain. Her eyes actually roll back, and she tells me later that she thinks she lost consciousness. I let. For Susan it reassured her of her lowly status. The instructions for the evening were short and clear: put out a cigarette on each nipple, each cunt lip, inner thigh and sole of her feet. Susan’s hands trembled as she reached for the pack of cigarettes she always had nearby for these occasions.Halfway through college Susan had started to record her own voice on an mp3-player. It was an hour-long rant about how lowly she was, that she didn’t deserve a Master and yet was made for any kind of torture or humiliation known to men. The rest was a seemingly endless list of ways to torture or degrade herself. She put on the headphones before she tied herself up for the night and let it run all night effectively brainwashing herself. Not that it was really necessary, but she felt as if it gave her a finishing touch. Dreams of men whipping or caning her came to her every night, of being humiliated in public or literarily be trampled on. Every morning Susan got up hot and horny in a large pool.
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