“What does this do?”

Grace asked, pointing to the round button on her side of the car’s console. There was an icon of a seat that showed a series of three waves flickering across the front. It was one of those internationally recognized symbols, I supposed, suitable for any language. Except a seat with waves wasn’t as immediately decipherable as the icon for the windshield wipers or the headlights.

“What do you think it does?” I was genuinely curious to learn if she could guess. She wrinkled her brow as she looked at the control, then back at me. “Sends you to a tropical island?” she teased.

I tugged on her ponytail. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Especially on a day like this.” For summer, we were experiencing an unexpected cold snap, a preview of what fall was going to be like.

“Maybe the waves mean you can toast your bread on your seat.”

“How would that be useful?” I asked. I made a left at the light. We were almost to my place.

“Does it heat the seat?” she finally asked.

“Bingo.”

“You have a button in your car that warms your seat? Isn’t that, I don’t know… sort of fancy?”

I shrugged as I pulled into the driveway. “You prefer the old-fashioned way of doing things?” I asked. “Roll up your windows manually with a crank. Stairs instead of elevators.” I paused for emphasis, very interested in how she’d respond to the next thing I said. “Get hot buns from a spanking instead of a push of a button.”

There was silence. I felt the heat between us building. I wanted to add a little kinky kindling to that fire.

“Something like that,” she uttered. I noted that her voice had dropped to a husky sort of whisper. There was a definite electric current in the air. If we’d been given our own international symbol, there would have been quivering waves of lust flowing between the two of us.

“I’m happy to hear you say that,” I replied before walking around the car and opening the door for her. I had been hoping we’d take our relationship around this curve. She had provided me with the perfect gambit. All I had to do was take the wheel.

Inside my apartment, I rolled up my sleeves. “The old-fashioned way is often the best way,” I said nostalgically.

“I rubbed her clit until she climaxed loudly, her whole body trembling.”

“You think so?” She shifted slightly from one foot to the other, as if antsy to get things started. There was a look on her face of trepidation mixed with erotic curiosity. It was a look I appreciated.

“Absolutely. Let me show you what I mean.” With that, I took her into my bedroom and had her undress. We’d been out together several times over the past few months. We’d had sex the weekend before, nice sweet sex in her bedroom with the lights on dim and jazz playing softly in the background. But I had been dying to spank her firm ass, and suddenly she appeared to be open to the concept.

“See,” I said, “I could have pushed that button in my car and warmed your seat in moments. Instead, we’ll try this.” I sat on the bed and bent her over my lap. She sighed deliciously. I spanked her ass once. She jumped and then relaxed. “With an automated seat-warmer,” I continued, “you don’t have the same kind of intuitive precision. The car raises the temperature of the seat to a certain degree that you set ahead of time — that’s it. But a spanking, a good, old-fashioned spanking, allows for more nuance.” I let my hand smack her other ass cheek. She didn’t jump this time. Instead, she ground her pussy against my knee. I smiled, but she couldn’t see my expression, of course. Not in her current position: head down, eyes staring at the floor.

“I mean, I think there is a subtlety to heating the seat correctly. You don’t want to go too fast, to turn the temperature up too high.”

I began spanking her at a steady pace — right cheek, left cheek, right cheek. She responded to each blow with a burst of pressure — jamming her pussy against my knee every time. We were working in tandem, both of us after the same reward. Her ass took on a deep, rosy glow. Not only that, her skin was growing hot to the touch. That is one of my favorite parts about delivering a spanking with my hand rather than a paddle. Skin-to-skin has its own special intimacy.

“If you want me to stop,” I said, “say the word ‘red.’” Then I concentrated on the delivery of the spanking, pausing our discussion to rain a series of smacks against her pert butt cheeks.

She was the one to speak next, not to tell me to stop or to go easier on her or any of the other interjections she could have made.

She said, “I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

“Then let me press your button instead.” Reaching between her legs, I rubbed her clit until she climaxed loudly, her whole body trembling so much that I let her slide from my lap to the floor as if made of molten metal. What a difference this was from our previous lovemaking round. She had come that time but quietly. Almost casually. This climax was astounding, and when she faced me, her eyes were lit up and her face had an ethereal glow.

“So that’s your method of seat-warming,” she said, breathless.

I nodded.

“What else do you do the old-fashioned way?”

I stood and started to undress. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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