Epilogue: The Awakener
Copyright 1998-2002 by OldTom, all rights reserved.

In time there was another, and she came to briefly call him Master. He placed his memory of her in a story, as was his way. His impression of how it was at the time might well be false... but this story does capture how he viewed things at the time of its writing.

She knew him from his stories. She saw what she wanted, not quite believing she could get it. They talked; they met, his need driving him so very far South.

Soon she was across his knee, being spanked as hard as she ever had been before, and for so much longer. And this just for fun. She bounced around, making it quite clear when she'd had enough.

Some time later, he announced they were halfway through.

It slowly dawned on her that he was not kidding... she settled down and took it, submitting to the pain, there not being much else she could do. He could see how much it was hurting her, but he was having such *fun*.

Finally, it was over. It had not been punishment or brat-play, simply a hard spanking. Pain-play, he called it. Perhaps his inexperience had betrayed him; perhaps he had pushed too far too soon.

She lay there, still across his lap, recovering. And she smiled that secret little smile of hers, the one he will always remember. He knew they had connected; he had found what he sought.

The hardest spanking of her life, and she had liked it.

In those few hours together, he showed her she could reach her tears, and reach her pleasure. He unlocked her potential, awakened the need she had always known to sleep within her. He reached her submission.

In the coming weeks, he took her along the next step, and the next. Sometimes he led; sometimes she ran along ahead. They came to understand that which she wanted the most of all.

But what she wanted more than anything, he was not free to give her. Once again he had awakened the need, but could not meet it.

She stepped beyond him, to be owned by another... one whom she could love, one who could fulfill her.

Perhaps her owner read the stories too... he followed the pattern. Her owner forbade any further contact with him, and the cycle became complete. This time there was no phone call, no independent action... merely the note explaining his instruction, and her wish to obey.

He found himself bound by her wish. Who knew better than he, her need to be obedient, owned? He understood that it was her wish as much as her owner's, that she forsake all others. He knew his remaining power over her; he understood her need to be free of him. He too had read the stories; it was he who had written the endings.

And what of his own need? He placed it in a story, to remember her, as has become his way. Painful experience has taught him to meet the silence and survive it; he can quietly accept the bitter irony that her owner believes he thinks only of himself, of meeting his own needs.

And what of his own need? His need, it seems, is ever to say good bye in silence, and wish her well. The tears, he knows, will take care of themselves.

Good bye, my friend. I wish you well.

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