Jane and I have been long-distance spanko friends for several years and only meet rarely for in-person fun. We often discussed my frustration about lack of more local spanking enthusiasts, so she was eager to refer me to a new member of a favorite spanking website. The profile for ’Miss Hurtz’ showed her about my age and - best of all - local. She listed herself as primarily a top but occasionally would submit. I kind of regarded my top/bottom preference similarly and decided to reach-out but with no expectation of a response. To my surprise, the reply came quickly and evolved into a email conversation over the next few days. We discussed all manner of spanking experiences, our preferences and desires for future fun. We also exchanged notes on implements, positions, roles and after-care. I was surprise when she advocated to meet for coffee on Saturday morning. I was giddy with excitement. Even though it was ‘just’ coffee, an actual in-person, local spanko connection was a rare thing.

I was a few minutes early and saw her immediately sitting at a table perusing something on her phone. She had described that she would be wearing a bright pink long-sleeved t-shirt over yoga pants, so very easy to spot in the relatively vacant shop. “Miss Hurtz?” I asked. She looked up and smiled. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked. I returned a few minutes later with our beverages and continued the latest topic from our online discussion - that I felt bad for losing my temper with a subordinate at work and her assertion that such behavior needed to be addressed with a trip over her knee. Her mention of that act in our email thread had gotten me excited and now having her discussing it in person, was even hotter. She parted the top of her bag that hung on her chair to show me the hairbrush inside - one of her preferred implements for administering discipline.

“I see you’re wearing it,” she noted, pointing at my Filson bridle leather belt. Part of our online discussion had been about implements. We both favored domestic items that leant themselves to bottom warming. Candidates were items like a wooden brushes like her hairbrush, wooden spoons, spatulas and belts. She had mentioned that a favorite punishment finale for her was strapping the recipient’s bare and already well-spanked bottom with their own belt. It had been quite a while since my belt had been used for that purpose and it was exciting to think it might happen again soon.

Our cups were nearly empty and she asked, “So, I think you deserve a good spanking.”

I nodded my acceptance, “When and where?”

“No time like the present. Can we go to your place? Starbucks would probably frown on me pulling down your pants and tanning your bare bottom right here,” she suggested with a wry smile.

“Sure,” I replied. “I’m only five minutes from here,” I added and texted her a map link. I made it home first and went inside. A few minutes went by and I worried that perhaps she had a change of heart but then there was a knock and I let her in.

She looked around the living room and took a seat on the sofa, “You losing your temper with an employee is unprofessional,” she scolded. “Going forward, I want you to keep track of your mood and attitude at work in a daily journal. We’re gonna have a weekly session for review and reflection. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. I don’t know exactly why, but the scolding was getting me excited. Perhaps it was the signaling that a spanking was imminent and I worried that my state of arousal would put her off.

“Bring me my brush,” she ordered pointing to her bag that she had dropped in a chair. I fetched the brush and approached her right side, attempting to hand the brush to her. “Hold onto that for now,” she responded and began to unbuckle my belt. She pulled it free and laid it on the floor by her feet. She then unfastened my slacks and pulled them to my knees. “My, my! Aren’t we eager,” she teased looking at the bulge in my boxers. She tugged them down and warned, “You better not cum on my lap.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered again. She guided me over her lap and began to spank me with her bare hand. The sensation of laying over her warm thighs as her hand whacked my butt was exquisite.

“Hand me the brush now,” she ordered and then resumed my punishment. She swung the brush deftly and soon the fiery feeling in cheeks was almost too intense. Per she sensed I was near my limit and paused, her hands lightly caressing my burning cheeks. She tapped the brush against my right cheek and gave five hard swats followed by the same treatment to the left. Again a bit of relief and caressing, followed by a volley of successive swats to each cheek. She repeated that four times and then prompted me to stand. “Bend over with your hands on your knees,” she ordered, picking up the belt. She finished me with a dozen strokes and then came close to inspect the results.

We chatted for a few minutes afterwards, mostly about how hate spanking stacked-up to others I’d received before. She also revealed her name was Heather - acceptable to use in conversation, but she expected me to call her Miss Hurtz in disciplinary scenes.

When she was gone, I hurried into my bedroom to check the condition of my butt in the mirror. I laid down on the bed and stroked myself while I replayed the session and also fantasized about returning the favor and putting her over my knee and reddening her soft, round bottom. I was amazed at the mess I made and then hustled into the shower to clean-up.