Monk's Castle
Part Five
by Jack Lennox

5

As the evening slipped into darkness, the summer sun foregone but not forgotten, the night was ours to share.

I lounged on the couch like I'd been born there. I'd moved in only about a week ago, but the apartment was already feeling like home. A basketball game was occupying most of my attention when Jenna unceremoniously charged into the room. The other end of the couch broke the fall of her bottom, and with a sigh, she plopped her feet down hard on my lap, wiggling her toes under her white cotton socks.

"Gawd, we must have walked ten miles today," she informed me without, apparently, the slightest regret for her disruption and with a look demanding attention.

She and Denise had taken the day and driven down to Lake Havasu for "sightseeing", or as I see it, a marathon to test man's limits of shopping endurance. Lake Havasu City is another "Damn Town" south of here behind Parker Dam, the deepest dam in the world. I'd been trapped there as a tourist before and had chosen to stay home in slothful, air-conditioned comfort, enduring no more than a few pushups and sit-ups to relieve the guilt. The basketball game was a show of support for athletics. I flipped it off and set the remote down looking only a little put-out about the interruption.

"Well, it will keep you in good shape," I offered with little sympathy, but started a little massage to her arches. I noticed she was in very fine shape, dressed in a one-piece red cotton-thing cinched across the top of her breasts, hugging her torso, and falling barely over the flare of her hips and, under that scant covering, matching red panties a slim margin for modesty. Her creamy little legs were bare, and I removed her socks to reveal creamy little feet. A massage should start with gentle pressure.

"Mmmm, that feels good." It seemed she appreciated my skills, learned from an old girlfriend who happened to be a masseuse.

I found a spot on the arch of her right foot that caused her leg to jerk, and she groaned.

"Wait a sec...Don't move." I got up and went into the bathroom. Upon returning, I gently rubbed skin moisturizer into and all over her feet: toes, soles, to ankles. We didn't have oil, so it would have to do. "See what a good boyfriend I am? ...interrupting my game to take care of your every need?"

"What can I say...? I'm high maintenance," she sighed with an innocent smile.

"I suppose you're worth it," I winked, my thumbs applying firmer pressure to her soles, slowly working the entire surface with circular motions in steady, even strokes. With a basic knowledge of the anatomy, and where weight is supported when walking or standing, I modified my strokes appropriately for bones, joints, and nerves, and when I found a sore spot eliciting a moan, paid it longer attention with more lotion.

"Oh, my Gawd!" she exclaimed, her leg jerking involuntarily. Where the balls of her feet dipped into the crevices of her toes, she was particularly sensitive, and I had to hold on to keep her from pulling away. I eased up, and gradually increased pressure until her moaning sounded more like ecstasy than agony.

"Did you know that the bottom of the foot, despite being the thickest skin on your body, is also one of the most sensitive areas?"

"I do now," she answered.

"Yep. Lots and lots of nerves. And your brain devotes more space to them than the entire torso. They're very well connected."

"And where did you learn this?" she asked with mock academic interest, then gave a very audible show of appreciation as I began to gently stretch and rub each toe in turn.

"My grandfather was a podiatrist."

"Your grandfather? I didn't know you knew your grandfather."

"An older gentleman visitor ...had an interest in my mother." It was a longer story than needed telling.

"And you and he talked shop, did you?"

"He was very enthusiastic about his work." Applying more lotion, I twisted her foot by rotating both hands around it, each going in opposite directions, a little like an "Indian burn" from school days. "He told me the nerves in the feet, like the hands, are connected to many parts of the brain. They're very smart ...and they're linked to erotic centers, too, which is why some people like having lots of attention paid to them."

"You learned that from a gentleman you called grandfather?"

"I said he was enthusiastic."

We shared a smile, and she captured me with those candid coffee eyes.

"A girl's feet reveal things about her, too." I held her foot up and examined it as I continued the massage. "For example, I can tell you've never had a job where you had to be on your feet all day. You're not an athlete. I can also tell you don't often wear high heels."

"Amazing ...it's Donny Soles, Foot Detective."

"I like that... and...there's a spot, if touched just right..." I held her ankle tightly and, with the tip of my finger, brushed her arch with a feathery stroke. She responded immediately with a scream of laughter and tried to twist away. "Uh huh...just as I thought," I pondered out loud after stopping the torture. "This is most telling."

"What?" she managed after regaining her composure.

"It's well known among Podiatrists, that girls who are ticklish on that spot like to be spanked."

She looked at me, her expression revealing nothing. "On their feet?"

"On their bottom."

"You're sure of that, are you?"

"Yes, I'm sure of that." I grabbed her legs and pulled her towards me. In a moment I had moved to the center of the couch and had her flipped so that she was face-down across my lap. Before she could say a word, I inserted my fingers into the waistband of her little red pants and pulled them down to the hollows of her knees. The bare hillocks of her pale bottom were revealed in all their glory, posed in a position of persuasive prominence. I placed my palm flat across her cheeks and paused, partly because I liked the way she felt, but also waiting to see her reaction to the predicament in which she had been placed.

"Lost your nerve already?" She had turned her head to look at me with the inscrutable expression maintained. I sensed she was more excited than she was letting on.

"I know a little girl who needs a good spanking." I was stroking and squeezing the soft supple flesh under my palm and feeling pretty happy about it.

"Mmmm... if this is a spanking, then I like it," she told me, resting her cheek on the cushion, her body relaxed.

"No, this is a spanking." I gave her several rapid swats with an easy hand, alternating from one cheek to the other with a few across the center. They weren't hard, but brisk enough to sting. Her response was embellished, kicking and yelping as if I had taken off at least a layer of skin. "OUCH! That hurts!" she tried to pout, but her mouth was a betrayal. I was rubbing her where I'd spanked, and she was not complaining.

"What does it feel like now?" I asked.

"Nice and warm," she purred.

"Just what a spanking is supposed to do." I began again, but more slowly, and with plenty of rubbing in between spanks. Her body was alive on my lap, moving in sensual waves, a languid rhythm in sympathy with the stimulation I was providing.

"Have I told you, you have a very cute bottom?"

"Ouch! Yes, many times."

"I haven't decided whether I like it better in white or pink."

"Pink? It feels red."

"I'd call it bright pink." I gave her several more stingers at the crease above her thighs, and while she squirmed, I grabbed the moisturizer and squirted large glops of it on to the areas I'd spanked. She made soft sounds of pleasure as I rubbed the cool lotion into her hot skin, between her cheeks, and down and under to her front where it mixed with a dampness already aroused.

"It looks like you're going to need to be spanked on a regular basis."

"Mmmm...," her breath ragged. "You play rough, lover-boy."

I spanked her glistening skin. She twisted and kicked, but I held her down and without letting up, the spanks meant to take her to an edge where the intensity could take control of her. When I stopped she was panting. I decided she needed more lotion.

"Are you okay, Sweetie?" I checked. My hand had brought a bright red color to the surface, staining the underside of her cheeks. It was her first spanking, and she'd taken a good one.

She wanted up and was insistent about getting my pants off. I was as determined to remove her single covering. When those essential conditions had been met, she turned, but twisting she stumbled and fell seat down in my lap, eliciting a grunt from me as she landed. She apologized with a giggle, and I shared in her amusement as soon as I could breathe again. Her back to me, I felt her bottom still warm and damp, and where it pressed against me I grew. I nuzzled at her neck, traced the lines of her shoulder blades with my hands. She arched and bounced, a deliberate friction, and with ardor peaked, I cupped the satin bounty of her breasts and pulled her against me more tightly.

"I love you, Baby," I declared in her ear. She said she loved me, too.

My hands had ventured down to her lap. She tipped forward and I braced her from falling. Reaching behind with brazen hands, she pulled her scarlet cheeks apart, exposing to me all her most intimate charms. I was gifted with the most glorious woman, every inch of her mine. As I teased her with a free hand, I told her she was a naughty girl, and that naughty girls get spanked.

"Well, I've already been spanked. What happens to naughty girls after that?" she asked, her voice husky.

I answered by lifting her and pivoting, the couch then a tenuously stable platform for our two-car train. "Oh...yes ... God!" Her voice ascended by octaves as I entered her from behind. As we fought for balance, it was quick and hard. Sometimes there are only points 'a' and 'b', and zero tolerance for delay. We sang to each other in the inarticulate tones of delirious passion before collapsing spent in a fleshy heap.

We'd made it to the bathroom. She leaned on me drowsily as I ran water in the shower waiting for it to heat. When the temperature was just right, I lifted her into the tub and then joined her. Hot water fell gently on her shoulders and back. I grabbed a bar of soap and bathed her thoroughly with my hands, her naked wet body thus offered, simple bathing became an intoxicating art. Submissively and without hesitation, she made herself available in any position I required of her. When I finished, she held out her hand for the soap. Her attention to me was effective, but applied with far less sobriety. In case you hadn't noticed, sometimes Jenna has trouble controlling her desire to amuse herself at my expense, and thus get a rise out of me. I made a mental note to self. This was an activity that, after making love, would tend to inspire more making love.

*****

We were lounging in a king-sized bed after our shower, the dark of evening outside our bedroom window. Jenna lay naked in a pose I found particularly attractive, prone on her stomach, legs alternately bent full at the knee and flat. It offered her bare bottom for kisses and pats.

"So what did you think?" I kissed and patted.

"About what?"

"Your first spanking."

"Oh, that." She affected a lack of enthusiasm.

"You didn't like it?" I feigned concern.

She momentarily twisted her neck to grin at me. "Are you feeling guilty?"

I gave her backside a sharp smack. "Yes, it's eating me up inside."

"Ouch! That stings!"

"You haven't answered my question." I kissed where I'd smacked.

"Okay, I liked it ...you seem to know what you're doing."

"I must admit, I liked it, too."

"You're a very kinky man," she reassured me.

"Before me, ever think about a guy spanking you?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What does that mean?"

"It means, yes, I thought about it."

"Wow. I didn't know that. Was it all you thought it would be?"

"You're just full of questions, tonight, Donny-boy."

"Well, I want to know everything about you ...your deepest and most personal secrets."

"Then they won't be secrets ...or private."

"They can be our secrets ...shared as one."

She twisted her head around again to look at me, her face serious. "It was even better than I thought ...if I think of any more secrets, you'll be the only one to know." Her lips formed a kiss that she sent me through the air, then settled to a mouth both lustful and demure.

"Have you thought any more about what we saw at Monk's?"

"What about it?"

"Your reaction was very strong."

She turned onto her side facing me, head propped up with her right arm. "Are you implying some connection between that and what we did tonight?"

"It's about spanking."

She was silent for several moments. "Do you want to punish me?" she asked with clear direct eyes and without accusation.

She'd somehow cut right to the chase. The pointed question took me aback. I thought about it for several moments only to realize the answer was too complex to grasp, much less articulate. I moved alongside her, took her face in my hands. "No, I don't want to punish you. To hurt you is to hurt myself."

"You don't want to, but would you? ...I'm not into whatever it is we saw."

"I know, baby. It works for them only because they want it."

"You've never really explained what you think about it."

I thought...trying to think what I thought about it. My head hurt. "I think that if a situation arises where a girl should be punished, then a spanking is the best course of action." As I spoke, I wondered if it was the truth.

"And what about her feelings about it?"

"She's not a helpless victim. Two people make a relationship of their own choosing."

"You're right. I'm not going to be a victim. I'm curious, though. If this punishment is such a great thing, then why does Traci keep getting in trouble?"

I had to think about that one for a second. "Actually, her life is a lot more stable now than it was before. The difference is that she has to think about things, and know there are consequences. More important, she knows that someone cares."

"Okay... that's nice for her. What does that have to do with us? Do you have the idea that you're going to change me in some way?" she snorted at the absurdity.

"No, but a good spanking could relieve you of the terrible guilt you're feeling when you've been a really bad girl."

Jenna peered over my shoulder, then sniffed as if testing the air. "You've been smoking something, haven't you?"

Maybe it wasn't such a good suggestion.

"What about when a situation arises where you should be punished?" she asked, her mouth then crooked as if the question shoud be a revelation for me. "Or does being bigger and stronger make the rules different?"

"Is that a power you want?"

I could see her thinking about it. "No. I might smack you good just for the fun of it, but not as punishment ... but what if, in the service of equality, I decided I should spank you like that?"

I kissed her forehead. "I don't know, Sweetie... if you believe in something strongly... or you desire something strongly... then it becomes important to me. I wouldn't just dismiss it. The fact is, though, you don't want it; so we can save ourselves the difficulty of making it an issue."

"Okay... and since I never deserve to be punished, we can spare ourselves that issue."

"Is that so?"

"I'm always a perfect angel."

We kissed.

"I'm also hungry."

"For what?"

"Ice cream." She smiled. "There's a new place at the Edgewater, and they have a Dark Chocolate Raspberry that's to die for." She cocked her head prettily. "Take me for ice cream, and I promise to be an especially good girl tonight."

So I took Jenna for ice cream. I wasn't hungry, but drank a coke as I watched her eat, chocolate on her lip and a twinkle in her eye. It occurred to me that I was one very lucky guy. She was an angel, for sure. An angel who, certainly, would never deserve to be punished.

As if reading my mind, she winked at me and continued to enjoy her just dessert.

I smiled and chuckled inside thinking, somewhere, though, there must be a rather hard paddle, and on its blade, in large block letters the words, "For ANGEL", printed in red.