Prologue: Images
Copyright 1997-2000 by OldTom, all rights reserved.

Here he was, driving down a dark muddy road in southern Iowa. He wasn't exactly lost, he assured himself, though he should have been back to the Interstate by now. It was mid afternoon, but the driving rain had brought an early sunset. The thunderstorm was nothing to worry about, except that it slowed down progress.

He slowed and stopped, carefully choosing a place where he would not get stuck in the mud or fall into the deep drainage ditches filling with water. He turned on the dome light to check the map once again. No, this road was definitely not on the map. It would be best to turn around and retrace his last half-hour's progress, finding his way back to a marked road.

He turned the car about, avoiding the mud as best he could on this gravel road. With his decision made, and his car in motion, he set his mind free to wander. He so enjoyed running the roads, for he could set his mind free to reflect, to ponder, to examine. He could think things through for hours at a time, without interruption.

He most certainly had something to think about, for he was haunted. He was haunted by certain images. That was not the problem; he had expected to remember the event. The trouble was that he remembered the wrong images. It just didn't make sense. Therefore, he continued to think on it.

They had met, and the plan had been to give her a much-needed spanking. She was most certainly not a child, but she felt it would do her some good. It clearly did help her, and she had wanted it... so what was the problem?

He had been curious - obsessed would be closer to the mark - about spanking someone since early childhood. He had finally decided it was time to find out for real, if this was as fun as he had expected. It was.

They had worked out beforehand, exactly how things would proceed. That way, if anything started going wrong, either could recognize this, and call a halt. That, anyway, had been the theory.

He had spanked her for fun, and she smiled. A while later he spanked her for real, and she cried. Just as they had planned. He expected to remember the evening... after all, he'd been hoping for such an event all his life. But he expected that he would remember the spanking itself, or the pointed discussion leading up to it, or the experimenting, or something to do with that. After all, that was why he was there.

But what he remembered was her fighting with herself. He could picture her there, all huddled in on herself, gently rocking back and forth. There is no way to prepare a woman for the reality that spankings hurt, and with five swats of the bare hand, she had met that reality.

Panic took over. She scrambled off his lap without even thinking, to face away from him, all huddled up. He left her alone, giving her time. For the punishment must be her choice, and she knew as well as he that it was far from over.

Suddenly, it clicked. Here he was, fighting to keep his car from hydroplaning in the downpour - he had found a paved road which was on his map - and it clicked.

The images were important, and that was why they were haunting him. His instinct had been screaming at him for weeks, and he just wasn't catching on. But now it came together, and it made sense. Oh my yes, it made sense. In the rain, weeks later, and so many miles away, his need awakened.

The images which haunted him were not of when he was spanking her, but of the moments of her submission. He mentally ran through each scene in his mind. Yes, that was it. Each image was of her choosing to submit.

Had he been mistaken all his life? Well, yes and no. Spanking her was enjoyable... every bit as enjoyable as he had expected. But he now understood that the spanking itself was not responsible for the intensity he had experienced. The intensity came when she gave him power over her.

She had awakened his need. Until then, he'd had no real idea of what he had been seeking. She had called it opening Pandora's Box. She was right; now that he understood, there was no going back. She had played her part, and now she was gone. She left him the need, and the images to haunt.

He never saw her again.

Table of Contents

On to The Witch, part 1

All stories contained herein are property and copyright 1997-2000 OldTom@old-tom.com, all rights reserved. Please don't repost them or make them publicly accessible via FTP, mail server, or archive site without explicit permission. Permission is granted for one hard copy for personal use.

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