Monk's Castle
Part Six
by Jack Lennox

6

I'd been left to put away groceries and not in a good mood. With the last bag folded neatly and placed in the drawer of neatly folded bags, I leaned with my back against the counter with neatly folded arms. I could hear the shower running, imagined Jenna had already forgotten our trip back from an afternoon of shopping and the brooding disposition I'd adopted. At the moment, she was the sole object of my irritation.

She appeared from down the hall roughing up her thick wet hair with a towel, the prospect of her body barely discouraged by a skimpy pair of white panties. I was standing pat at the counter. We'd been together for a couple months, and I knew she didn't walk around the apartment like that unless she expected to end up in the bedroom shortly thereafter. The unspoken signal was always a welcome coercion, and despite the irritation I was feeling, the urge to go to her was strong. I wasn't sure if that urge was to make love to her, or to spank her bare bottom so she couldn't sit down for a week. Well, let's be honest; it was both.

"You're not still mad, are you?"

The expression on my face must have been the clue, and continued as an answer to the question. She tossed her towel over the back of a kitchen chair and came to me.

"Come on. Don't be such a grump." Her insistent hands found their way under my unaccommodating arms as she pressed her ear to my chest. "I've never seen you like this," her voice soft and theatrically dejected.

"I don't like that you're not taking me seriously," I finally offered, realizing the silent treatment wasn't getting us anywhere.

She extracted herself from my still immobile frame to stand opposing me, arms crossed over her chest in disapproval.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," she informed me, her brown eyes a sharp challenge, her mouth a pretty pink slash of derision.

I didn't know what to say. Even at her most vexing, there was no doubt the girl had deep hooks into my heart.

"Just because you drive like an old woman...," she let the implication hang.

"That's bullshit, Jenna. I drive normal...even over the limit sometimes. Over ninety is not responsible driving." We'd already had the argument in the front seat of her recently acquired successor Toyota, Jenna refusing to slow down even as I simmered. She was maybe a little too enthusiastic about the new highway skirting the town.

"The speed limit is 70. That's the suggested limit," she enunciated as if for the hard of hearing. "They haven't been stopping anyone for speeding."

"You think this is about getting a ticket?" I asked with measured incredulity. "It's about your safety, Jenna. You tend to drive too fast, period, and if you ask me, they're too easy-going about it around here." "Well, I'm not asking you."

The temperature in the room went up ...or maybe it was just me.

"I would think after that accident in Palm Springs, you'd be a little more cautious. Were you driving too fast then, too?" I didn't know if that was a fair question, but by then I was going on the offensive.

Her arms were still crossed defensively and her expression indignant. "That..was..not..my..fault!" she intoned. "I'm not going to live scared because somebody else fucked up."

It was a standoff alright. "You're not going to be reasonable about this, are you?" I asked reasonably after forcing myself to calm down.

"Oh, and you're the reasonable one?"

Apparently, she could read my mind. I wonder now if she could predict the future.

There are moments in life where you have to make hard decisions. When it came to risk assessment involving Jenna, she was too precious to me not to calculate that risk very carefully. Despite a reasonable confidence that I was about to do the right thing, I feared the unknown. I wasn't quite so confident about the consequences of my righteous decision. "What are you doing?" she asked as I marched directly to the cupboard and took a paint stirrer down from a shelf. I held the narrow foot-long strip of wood in my hand remembering the day we'd stopped at the local home improvement store to pick up some picture hangers. For some reason we'd ended up down a quiet aisle in the paint section. I had been busy counting the seemingly unending variety of shades designed to cover a boring range of white when my preoccupation was interrupted by a sharp sting in the ass and a lot of giggling. "Look what I found," she'd whispered with conspiracy. We'd reached a point in the bedroom where playful spanking had become a common event and favored game -- I favored giving, she receiving. We had no paint to stir, but grabbed a stick for a possible stirring of a different kind. It had yet to be taken down from where I'd stored it that day.

"Don't even think it," she warned, having put two and two together. Whether or not she'd come up with four really didn't matter. I was going to give her a spanking, and it wasn't going to be of the playful variety. Grasping her upper left arm, I headed for the couch in the adjacent living room. I felt the resistance of her weight, but she didn't fight me. I don't think she knew exactly what to expect, but the no-nonsense way she was propelled to meet her fate must have caused her at least some concern. Without formality, she was hauled face-down over my lap where she lay motionless. I found her lack of involvement disconcerting. It was as if she had already chosen to play the martyr, and the price was going to be a cold disapproval, and perhaps without forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, baby." My words were not an apology. I wanted her to know my regret. I wanted to know that we were going to be okay. She said nothing, looked straight ahead as a disinterested bystander. I'd had my fill of it, and pulled her little pants down to below her knees.

I raised the stick above my head and contemplated the delicate pale skin that I was about to injure. I was immediately filled with doubt, wasn't at all sure I could do it. I wasn't even sure what "it" was. How does one know how hard to spank so as to cause the least damage, yet make the point that has to be made? I'd never spanked her with anything but a restrained hand. Although it couldn't do as much damage as the potential in my right palm, the light stick was as hard as she was soft. She was a girl who had never really been disciplined like this. I had no doubt that it was going to hurt her. From somewhere I found enough resolve to bring the paint-stick down with minimum arm-strength but a healthy snap of my wrist. There was a small brittle crack as the wood made ripe contact with a narrow band of flesh across her lower buttocks. I must have stung, but except for a subtle shift of weight she continued to lay there as if unaffected.

There seemed no acceptable alternative but to continue, and I brought the stick down several more times in a similar fashion. I was desperate for her to at least show some sign of giving in, but the only indication of her having been spanked were the bright pink stripes layered across the underside of her bottom. I must admit, I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this. I placed my left hand on the back of her neck ...kneaded gently, hoping I might loosen the stiffness there.

"Baby, I need you to listen to me." I wanted it to be a plea, but I kept the firmness in my voice.

She finally turned to meet my gaze. "I've already heard you. Do you really think you can force me to agree with you?"

"No. I know I can't do that. But I think you're being stubborn. I think you know I'm right about this. Explain to me how getting where you're going a few minutes faster is worth risking a terrible accident."

"I'm not just being stubborn, and I don't have to explain my driving to you."

Okay, I did feel hurt by that. I really thought she would have more respect for my concern.

"I don't know what's gotten into you today, my love, but your attitude stinks. I think what you need is a real spanking, the kind bad girls get."

Her head twisted to face me, her jaw set firm. She peered directly into my eyes, holding my gaze for several pregnant moments. Her response was clearly calculated, a challenge that I believe she expected me to accept. "I dare you."

I dared.

Shifting her prone body, I pulled my right leg out from under and clamped it over the back of her upper legs, the altered position creating a bottom arched to a point of prominence even more vulnerable. I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally hitting her tailbone. Picking a narrowly defined area just above the crease at her thighs, I wasted no time spanking with some real authority behind it. With still but a fraction of my strength, I nevertheless gave her bottom a stinging that she would not be able to take with stoicism. Where it fell with machine-like repetition, the only pause a moment when I had to grab a wrist to keep her hand out of the way, the stick ignited and quickly built what must have been a blazing little fire. The spankings I'd given her in the past had often been received with a dramatic show of distress, as if offered as a cute display of histrionics. It was actually pretty adorable, but today she was getting an opportunity to make a real honest fuss about things.

I was focused. Only in retrospect did I consider her reaction might cause concern for nearby tenants in the apartment building. Her yelps were louder than the sound of the stick, her body reacting to what was happening to her and not as a conscious decision to act. I felt the strength of her desperate struggle to twist away from the stranglehold under which she was held, her lower legs and feet having to sustain the spirit of her radical protest while a few square inches above was forced to absorb a burning punishment. For all her toughness -- and she is as tough as she needs to be -- her tolerance was short-lived. When she pleaded with me to stop, I stopped. I'd made my point.

"Are you taking this seriously now?" I was a bit shocked by the authority in my own voice.

Body still pinned over my lap, her hands busy rubbing at a remaining sting I hoped wasn't as vivid as the shade of red I'd put there, Jenna wasted no time in answering. "Yes. Okay."

"I can start again if you're not sure."

"No. I'm sure," her voice indicating the change in attitude I'd been looking for. "No more."

"Are you listening to me now?"

"Yes. I'll think about what you're saying and get back to you."

She almost made me smile ...almost. "You'd better consider it very strongly, because unless you can convince me why I should sit by and watch you do something foolishly dangerous, driving like that is going to get you another little session like this ...and don't think you can count on it being over when you ask for it to stop."

"Okay then, let me up." She wasn't asking.

She immediately straddled my lap, sitting with her face inches from mine. She continued to explore with her hands where I'd spanked her, and her mouth formed one of her award-winning pouts. I sensed a relaxation of her opposition, not a complete mental compliance, but the weight of her body seemed laden with a passive acquiescence. It was with a profound sense of relief that I kissed her on the tip of her nose.

Apparently satisfied that her delicate parts had survived the ordeal, she searched out the little stick in my hand that had been her tormentor and held it up to my face.

"I don't like this thing." It was a strong declaration. To emphasize her point, without a turn of head or change of expression, she abruptly flipped it across the room. I heard it land with a clatter on the tile floor in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, angel, but you weren't supposed to like it."

I placed my hands under her, cupping soft, hot mounds of supple flesh. She lifted slightly and I inquired with a gentle brushing of fingertips, tracing where her smooth skin had been raised slightly on its surface. I could feel her breath on my neck, smelled the fresh scent of her hair still strong from her shower.

"Does it hurt, Baby?"

"Yes, it hurts," she stated testily, as if it were a stupid question.

"Is it really uncomfortable?" I pressed, wanting to hear she wasn't suffering.

Her face froze in contemplation. The fact that she had to think about it a moment led me to believe the situation wasn't dire.

"It feels very hot," she decided.

"A good hot, or a bad hot?"

"I don't know. Just hot."

I didn't like the idea of a spanking being a long painful ordeal for her. I was thinking the light stick could be a good attention-getter when she goes too far. If nothing else, it would add some real spice to our sweet domestic bliss.

"I'll make it hotter if there needs to be a next time."

She was pouting again. "I didn't know you could be so bossy."

"I don't want you taking unnecessary risks," I responded, hoping that she was ready to stop fooling around and actually hear my concern. I softened my tone. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

The pout dissipated, and her eyes became windows to the smart woman inside. "Okay, but that doesn't give you the right to run my life."

"I know, baby." I kissed her nose again with an affection profound. "I admit my motivation isn't entirely unselfish. When you're out I worry. I'm just going to worry more if I think you're not driving safely."

"Well...I worry about you, too," she confided softly, as if to reassure.

God, I loved her. "Then you wouldn't want me racing around recklessly, right?"

She managed a nod without undue reluctance, her face as soft as an angel's. I was about to go for her cute fleshy nose again when her lips found mine. I'd never been kissed so sweetly, and I returned passion for passion.

She pulled back, captured me with a probing look. "I hope I don't regret saying this, but I think maybe I like this bossy side to you." She hesitated with eyes averted before whispering guardedly, "You were strict with me, and sometimes I need that."

Her admission was unexpected -- not the truth of it, but that she had spoken the words out loud. The paint-stick was going back in the cupboard, and it would be good that she knew it was there.

"I can be strict, so you'd better behave, young lady." I smiled to lighten the moment, knowing that we both understood an important line had been crossed. In the future, that line would have to stand serious negotiation, but it would be a bond of our relationship, not a division.

She returned my smile, the air in the room immediately lifted by the warmth that is her magic.

"That reminds me of school," she confided. "We had a really popular teacher, at least with the girls anyway. He would address us as, Young Lady ... May I see your homework, Young Lady?" she intoned in as deep a timbre as her voice would allow. "I had one serious crush on him that year."

"Did he keep the naughty girls after class and spank their bottoms?" I asked with tongue planted firmly in cheek ...or foot firmly in mouth, I wasn't sure.

"He did I tell ya," she answered with face straight and a dialect roughly discerned. "He'd take our knickers right down, he would, and when we got home we was in for Mum's cane an' cold porridge for supper." "What accent was that supposed to be?"

"Uh...Cockney?" she asked with head tilted in mock amazement, as if I were looking for an answer known to all but the most tragically ignorant.

"Maybe," I replied unconvinced. "My Fair Lady meets Pippi Longstocking?"

"No way. I'd like to hear you do better."

"Simple, me wee Lassie. As sure as you be born to sing a tune so fair, I be born to grace the stage."

She laughed in my face. "I don't think so, Donny-boy. Was that Scottish or Irish? I hear Sean Connery in a Lucky Charms commercial."

We kissed, and it was magically delicious.

"Going to the bathroom," she announced and stood abruptly. She gave me just enough time to catch her expectant grin before she was gone in a blur of flesh.

I had a few expectations of my own, but felt somehow drained. Content to sit favorably with my thoughts, I wasn't empty or weak, just relieved. An air of resolution seemed to filter easy through the room. It felt like home.

I remembered our first kiss in this room, when time had been trapped in a prophetic moment. The many weeks following had seemed a wonderful blur. Now held in another moment, I had an odd sensation of stepping out of a dream only to realize the dream was real. Jenna was real. We were real.

"Earth calling Donny Boy." Over my shoulder, the soft singing of her voice brought me back from the brink of reality. The couch no longer held me. Up in a flash, I was chasing the dream down the hall and into the bedroom.

*****

Her back to me, Jenna lay curled on her side breathing peacefully. I'd just woken from a shallow drowse, and her pale pink form gave reason to my first urge. I resisted the temptation, giving her a little time to nap before I would encourage her to join me in satisfying my second urge...dinner. We'd been devouring each other for the last several hours. Late afternoon is a great time to make love...right up there with morning, noon, and night.

The drama we'd enacted beforehand certainly added fuel to the fire, but I'm not sure I can explain why. It was as if the confrontational spanking changed the chemistry between us in some way. We share much in common, and that does bring us together. But there's something to be said for differences. By some natural inclination, we had assumed very different roles as man and woman. When we made love afterward, it was like combining two different chemicals that, when mixed together, make an explosion. We made fireworks that late September day.

I sat up in bed, the angle of view drawing my eye to the red still marking the spots where I had spanked her hard with the paint-stick. I wondered if I should feel guilty about it. Certainly, if I left a mark anywhere else, and it would have to be by accident, I'd be sick about it. The sight, though, was oddly arousing, reinforcing the knowledge that it had really happened ...and she had submitted to it. Accepted it. She allowed it because she was mine, and I was hers. It was another one of those moments of mine where I somehow manage to grasp the obvious. We were right for each other. We were committed to each other.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepy-eyed, having rolled over onto her back.

"Not late, baby." I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "I'll get us something to eat. What sounds good?"

"You know what I like," she mumbled and then looked to fall back to sleep. Before I could leave, I sat for long moments studying her face.

By impulse, I went to the window and pulled the curtains. The striking view still managed to capture my attention and imagination. I stood in the small darkening room as a wealthy man surveying his riches. The sun was setting behind mountains to the west, the sky an artist's wash of pale mauve and fiery yellow. The casinos across the dappled expanse of water glowed with light preparing to dominate the night. I thought about life as a river. I'd been in a low valley, had been carried to this place. Deposited at Ol' Monk's doorstep, and due to his generosity, I'd managed to get a foothold, and now stood at the top of a mountain.

Below the river captured the evening in a million magic sparkles, a glittering treasure to be carried south. The animated lights of the casinos played for my attention ...the enduring seduction. I'd found my fortune -- shelter from the howling wilderness. In this room lay the jewel I'd made mine.

From whence the river came, the sun had set behind another mountain to be replaced by the eager moon, a pallid watchful eye to guard the summer's store. In my mind, I soared. Up the river to its source, my lofty view. I floated beneath wisps of benighted clouds, above looming stands of virgin timber. By hoot of owl and bay of wolf, the vast lake shone ...an impassive mirror to the heavens ...yet beneath its glassy surface the fluttered fortunes lay of men where ancient spirits, trapped in a deep wet embrace, dream of a far-off garden in the desert where a river flows with gold.