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Amy bent over with care as she served Christina a Mojito on the sundeck.

She was a professional. The cocktail umbrella and two Maraschino cherries stayed still, and the cane marks lining her bottom stayed hidden by her short khaki crew skirt.

"Thanks, you're so kind," Christina said.

"It's my pleasure," Amy replied. It was. Christina was a perfect guest; beautiful, kind, polite and easy to please.

The boss had arrived with a business associate who had his 19-year-old daughter traveling with him. It was an odd grouping for a cruise, leaving Christina often alone.

"Is it a glamorous life?" Christina asked, keen to keep the friendly stewardess talking.

Amy thought of the bed making, bathroom scrubbing, carpet cleaning and table laying. "No," she replied, "but I wouldn't swap it for anything. We get to spend time in beautiful places I'd never get the chance to be otherwise, and we get paid for it. It's hard work, but many jobs are and they don't have these perks."

"Can you sit?" Christina asked, not wanting to get Amy into trouble.

"I'd prefer to stand, but I can stay awhile," Amy said, understanding the request but keen to stay off her bottom.

She put her tray on the bar next to her and relaxed against it. The boss encouraged informality with guests. He wanted his crew to delight every guest.

She asked, "What do you do?" to show Christina she could stay and chat.

"I'm having a year off and traveling with my dad, to understand his business, while I decide what I want to do," she said.

"Are you learning?" Amy asked, skilled at small talk and interested in the beautiful, well-mannered girl.

"A lot more than I was at school in England. I left last year because I couldn't see any point in going to university."

"Where have you been so far?" Amy asked.

Christina had traveled for months with her father. She talked of places Amy knew and far more she didn't. Over two days, they'd talked often. The Chief Stew approved. Conversation had begun as a duty, but turned into a pleasure. On the second day, she could sit down for brief periods until her cane stripes hurt.

She would move position often during a conversation. It was easy to find a cushion out of place or a mark to wipe, so Christina never noticed her frequent discomfort.

The radio, clipped to her waistband, chirped in her subtle earpiece, "Amy, Amy, Captain. Report to the bridge."

Acknowledging the transmission, she left the laundry she was sorting and obeyed.

Christina had asked the captain to find a private island where she could sunbathe all day. It was a simple request for the experienced crew. They kept a map marked with suitable locations. She'd also asked if Amy could join her for the day.

The captain had agreed, having already heard how Christina was being kept company by his bright and engaging stewardess. He couldn't know she'd had a severe caning only two days ago.

Jealousy was rife among her teammates about her taste of glamor. Amy played it up for effect, but couldn't stop worrying about her marked bum. She wore her short denim cut-offs over her green triangle bikini. The low rise waist kept her shorts down where she needed them. The rough, frayed hems skirted her bottom.

In her bathroom, she bent over in front of the mirror to check her bottom. Only when she reached down and touched her toes were the cane marks visible. She would have to be careful how she sat. Bianca laughed at her as she entered their room, not realizing what she was checking.

"You look sexy as hell, Amy," she said, "damn you bitch, how do you land all the best assignments?"

"I don't know. I get along with her," Amy said, not sure. She'd been herself. Her friend meant it in jest, but it was an enormous luxury to be a guest for a day.

On board the yacht tender, Amy leaned back to keep her low denim shorts doing their job in front of her crewmates. It was a ten-minute journey around the island from where they'd dropped anchor.

She studied Christina. Her cap-sleeved white tee had the Animal logo over her breast. Her rose pink sweat shorts had the same brand tag on the leg. The unpretentious outfit offered no clue as to the bikini beneath, if there even was one.

When they landed, a fit deckhand carried the hamper of food and drink where Christina directed and left them alone with a radio to call for anything they needed.

They spread blankets, towels and pillows from the boat, an incredible luxury for Amy.

Christina grabbed a chilled bottle of champagne from the hamper and two glasses.

Amy reached for the bottle.

Christina stilled her hand. "No, let me serve you. It would be a genuine pleasure. Thank you for being so kind to me this weekend."

Amy took the proffered glass and clinked it against Christina's. "Friendship," she toasted.

Christina returned the toast, "and Sisterhood."

As Amy lay back to soak in the rays, Christina shed her shorts and tee. "I couldn't wear this in front of my father."

The stunning white bikini existed, to a degree. It was strings connecting two tiny triangles over her nipples and another which proved Christina waxed clean. She turned, and the back had only a couple of strings to keep it on.

"I can see why," Amy said. "You look incredible. It's a shame there aren't more people around to see you."

They relaxed on their towels, sipping champagne.

Amy knew she looked good. She was a stewardess on one of the largest super-yachts in the world. Looking good was in the job description. She wore basic clothes, which became sexy, because she was.

Christina was in a different league. Flawless, tanned skin and luscious, long dark hair made her supermodel material. Her proportioned figure dripped promises of pleasure. Her down-to-earth attitude made her beautiful.

Amy admired her new friend. She considered herself confident, but Christina's bikini confidence outclassed her.

They talked for hours, swapping tips on books and authors and discussing their paths in life. Christina took delightful pleasure in discovering the contents of the lunch hamper. Along with an array of different sandwiches, there were exotic combinations of salads, meats and cheese. The chef's picnic was a work of art.

They switched champagne for Fiji water, the heat and their pleasant mood didn't require more alcohol.

Christina's state of undress caused an obvious comparison with Amy's attire. The only two people in the world on their beach, the difference between their appearance was startling.

They'd been there for hours when Christina asked, "Aren't you going to take off your shorts and get tanned all over?"

The choice of words amused Amy for a moment. Under her shorts she was tanned, but not the way Christina was thinking.

"Maybe later," she demurred.

Christina went for a swim and returned flopping on her towel, a goddess of skin, water dripping off her.

"Don't you want to swim?" she asked. "It's lovely and cool."

Amy struggled. So far, she had managed every situation. She could produce flowers in an hour, a meal in minutes, but she couldn't answer the simple question from Christina.

"Amy," Christina said, her voice hardening to demand an answer, "there's a reason, isn't there?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

"We're alone and I'll never tell a soul," Christina promised.

The kindness in her voice killed Amy. She felt she must respect her desire to be an honest and obedient girl. Here, where it would be hard, she must take some shame and some embarrassment as part of her punishment. She stood and removed her shorts, turning to let Christina see her bottom.

Two days had done a lot of good, but the cane lines were clear as day on either side of her green bikini bottoms and crystal clear across the lowest part of her bottom.

"I thought so," Christina said. "I've been in your position before. But, wow, that's a severe caning. No wonder you didn't want to take your shorts off. I'm so sorry for pressurizing you."

Amy wasn't sorry. Standing on display to Christina, she was proud of her courage, proud to prove her obedience.

"Who caned you?" Christina asked.

"My boyfriend," Amy told her. "I like it when I've been disobedient. It makes me behave better and reminds me someone loves me enough to cane me."

"I understand that, but it turns you on too, doesn't it," Christina challenged her.

"Yes," Amy admitted, looking down in embarrassment.

"Don't feel embarrassed. I sometimes get the cane. Believe me, it hurts so bad, I always think I'm a fool when I'm getting it," she confessed., "but afterwards I spend the night in bed enjoying the pain in my bottom and I don't sleep a wink. There's nothing to be embarrassed about with me. I'll keep your secret and now you know mine."

Amy glanced at her friend, testing their new level of intimacy, and smiled.

"Let's swim," Christina said, leaping up, "the cool water will do your bum good."

This time Amy raced into the sea close behind her.

"Now, tell me what you did to get such an exquisite caning," Christina asked as they floated in the gentle waves together.

Amy declined. She had needed to share her punished status, but the reason was her business.

Christina whispered to her. Voices could carry over water farther than expected. "Was it worth it?"

"It was the greatest sex of my life," Amy said in hushed tones, "and I've been remembering it every night since." She didn't admit her memories were all she allowed herself at bedtime. Private pleasure was still off her agenda for another day as personal punishment for her excessive masturbation.

"Oh god, Amy, you're making me hot, even in the cool sea. I can't imagine what it must have been like, but I'll admit, I'm jealous as hell. I may never meet a man like that."

"You will," Amy said. "You're confident; that attracts powerful men like flies. Test each one, to see who will treat you the right way. Anyway," she said, taking the focus off herself, "Who canes you?"

Christina explained how she had often got six strokes of the cane on her panties, from her headmaster. She admitted how she had acted out on purpose to get caned.

She told Amy how she still visited him for motivational discipline. He was always pleased to see her and willing to cane her.

"I take my school uniform with me and change when I arrive. Being back in his study makes me obedient, even before he canes me."

"Are they proper hard strokes?" Amy asked.

"Yes. My headmaster knows how to cane me. The marks last about a week and I love them," Christina admitted her shameful, private game.

They dried out in the sun, Amy at last getting the tan she deserved. She rolled onto her front and let the sun heal the ridges on her lower bottom.

The yacht tender came when they were already dry. When she heard the engines, Amy moved with alacrity. Her shorts were on in a blink. It was one thing sharing her punishment with Christina, who she may never see again, but quite another sharing it with the rest of her crew.

The next morning, Amy found Christina enjoying the fresh air, one last time, on the aft deck.

"You're lucky to live here," she said to Amy.

"Most of the time," Amy agreed.

"Please, come and visit me. I'd hate this to be the last time we met," Christina said.

"Me too," Amy confirmed. "Yesterday on the beach was very special. Thank you for sharing."

"You did the real sharing," she teased.

"I suppose I did," Amy laughed.

"It's lovely to have someone who understands, but it's new to me," Christina said.

They exchanged numbers. Christina used the Signal app for messages and calls. It was secure. Her family were wealthy and protective of their privacy. It delighted Amy. She was already on it. Her brother used it.

They messaged each other to check it connected them, but Amy's bottom reminded her they already were.

She lined up with the rest of her crew, on the aft deck, attired in her formal uniform, to say goodbye. The only difference between Amy and her teammates was the warmth of Christina's hug and the words she whispered in her ear. "When you visit, be on your best behavior or we'll visit my headmaster together."