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Tamsin beside her, Diane leveled off in the drizzle, guided by her flight instruments. They'd both got instrument rated in two weeks. They'd briefed today's flight according to airline standard operating procedures. Planning their route, they'd studied weather, calculated their fuel, and chosen their alternate emergency airfields. 

They'd simulated emergencies. Engine failures, instrument failures and medical emergencies had consumed crisis days. Above all, they must fly the plane. Their instructors had drummed Aviate-Navigate-Communicate into them.

"Montgomery approach, November three, four eight one." Beside her, Tamsin spoke into her headset mic, her crisp voice distinct in their Bose avionics headsets.

"Go ahead eight one."

"November three, four eight one is a Piper Seminole overhead Lakewood, three thousand feet. Request joining instructions."

Airfield joining instructions received, Tamsin switched to the tower frequency. Glancing at her flight instruments, Diane corrected her pitch. A cohesive cockpit crew, on this leg, she was Pilot Flying and Pilot in Command, responsible overall. Tamsin was Pilot Monitoring.

Touching the tarmac with impeccable accuracy, despite a crosswind, they refueled, supervising the process, recording it in their flight log.

Tamsin flew the hour-long return leg to 'Academy A'. Cruising at ten thousand feet, her aircraft trimmed, she said "Diane, your mistake isn't trivial."

Diane grimaced. "Sorry."

Since departure, she'd wrestled with her conscience. During their before-takeoff checklist, she'd seen their fuel selector in the off position, but called 'checked'. Tamsin had caught her mistake. 

Giving a slick response, she hadn't investigated the actual position of their crucial fuel selector switch. Hiding cockpit mistakes was forbidden. Not only must she report herself, but her co-pilot must confirm the official blemish on her cherished flight school record.

Tamsin said, "I will report you. They won't kill you."

"You must," Diane said.

"Sorry, babe."

Tamsin's conciliatory professional response shamed her. They must both report her fundamental failure. "I'm sorry I made you bring it up,' she said.

She'd contemplated staying silent, a direct offense given her clear mistake. Forcing Tamsin to raise the matter was a further rudeness, given their friendship. She ticked off her mistakes in her mind. The switch, considering a cover up, forcing her friend to confront her. Three grave errors of judgement, each deserving unforgettable punishment.

Acknowledging her apology, Tamsin grinned at her. "Practice makes perfect."

Diane forced a smile. Paddlings made her perfect. She'd write Neil a letter confessing her many mistakes. Reporting herself to him guaranteed heavy correction with no chance of escape.

Diane had signed her report, her mistake confessed in clear text. Her friend had done her duty, reporting her. As she drove home, Tamsin chatted about their flight together. Her friend was a safe pilot who'd done her onerous duty. She vowed to respect her partner, holding no grudge. She'd get called out in class, her mistake scrutinized by their fellow students.

Dumping their heavy backpacks of books inside their apartment, she gave Tamsin a hug. "Thank you for reporting me. Flawless flying must never come between us."

Softening against her, Tamsin said, "Thanks, babe. I needed that. It was tough."

"Safety is our job, honesty our strictest duty."

"You'll get a stern lecture and extra practice. Don't sweat it. We'll all learn from your mistake."

"It's embarrassing."

"Don't be silly." Tamsin headed to her room.

Her heart heavy, Diane stripped off her uniform, sat on her bed in her white underwear, her laptop on her legs. She owed Neil a comprehensive update.

Printing her letter, she closed her laptop. She'd mail it later. Calmed by her written confession, she spread standard operating procedures across her bed. Crew resource management was her current obsession. Dividing tasks in a stressful emergency, the Pilot Flying flew the plane while the Pilot Monitoring followed checklists to diagnose their fault. Choosing an imaginary engine fire, she worked through each checklist, analyzing potential causes.

Tamsin sauntered into the kitchen. Heating yesterday's pepperoni pizza for forty-five seconds, she picked the single page off their printer tray. Well-equipped, their apartment featured high-speed internet, a giant fridge-freezer, luxury bed linen, a fifty-inch TV, and a quick printer. Glancing at the opening line, she replaced the page. With thirty seconds to go, her curiosity overcame her. She skimmed her friend's private letter, its sensational content widening her eyes.

Setting the single page on the black granite worktop, she snapped a photo with her phone. Replacing her friend's personal letter in their printer tray, its position flawless, she retreated to her bedroom with her pizza; the paprika packed pepperoni bland next to her friend's fiery letter.

Dumping her handbag and car keys, Diane met Neil in the middle of their apartment, devouring him. Her lips impregnated with pleasure, she relaxed into his hold.  

"I loved your letter. It hasn't been easy missing you."

"I love you," she said. She'd written it over ten days ago, unable to get home last weekend.

"I love you too. But you face severe punishment tomorrow."

Firm kindness in a simple sentence set her sex on heat. "I still love you," she murmured, pressing herself against his hardness. "I've brought my uniform."

"Suitable," he said. "Wear it when you wake up."

Visualizing her short formal skirt, worn upon his order, delicious obedience plundered her sex.

"Yes, Neil," she whispered, crushing her jeans-clad sex against him.

He dragged her to their bed, stripping her and entering her hard from behind, her favorite position. His manhood consuming her sex, she welcomed his hard fucking. Tomorrow, his strength would hurt her. He'd humble her and beat her. A lesson she deserved. His firm strokes powering her penitent thoughts, they forced a flash flood of phenomenal pleasure through her tender sex, his hard promise to hold her to account still gripping her mind.

Showered after a blissful sleep, she buttoned her white uniform shirt, fitting her pre-tied black tie with its clip. Under her uniform, white bikini panties and a plain white bra had always seemed appropriate. They made her feel professional. Fastening her skirt before the enormous bathroom mirror, she admired its hemline high above her knee. She couldn't fly in it. But for show, its tight cut announced her rigid obedience.

Sweeping her brunette tresses over her shoulder, she checked her appearance. She'd respected Neil, facing his discipline in her smart black suit that first time he'd punished her. Ordered into her pilot's uniform for a rigorous discussion of her professional behavior, strict obedience flooded her. Her low black heels completing her uniform, she found him in their tiny kitchen, tidying up from breakfast.

Wiping his hands, he withdrew their bamboo paddle from above the fridge.

A single glimpse of their paddle punished her. Its awesome power to penetrate pain, where it taught harsh lessons, demanded instant compliance. Following him into their open-plan living area, she clasped her hands in meek submission, flooded with humility.

"Your letter showed you understood your grave mistake," he said, his tough tone targeting her core. "We'll cover three things. Your mistake, your attempt to evade justice, and your treatment of Tamsin."

Each crime cut through her as his scolding began.

"Over keen to appear excellent, you, in fact, made a dangerous mistake. Your vanity will cost you. Picture grabbing your ankles beside your plane for instant correction."

Imagining her vivid embarrassment, her sex clenched. She'd have bent on the concrete aircraft apron, proud of her public obedience.

"Face towards the couch and grab your ankles."

She obeyed. Her tight black skirt stretched over her bent bottom. Gripping her bare ankles, she imagined other students watching her get paddled for declaring the incorrect switch position. Shame washed heat through her compliant sex.

The paddle rubbed against her taut skirt, warning of its imminent return. The heavy slab thudded into her uniform skirt. She gasped as its violent impact punched punishing pain deep into her bottom. Rocking on her feet, she absorbed its fiery sting, sorry for her false checklist call.

"Stay still," he ordered.

His stern tone corrected her disobedience. He expected her to endure her maximum pain without relief. Swats overlapped, slamming fresh agony onto fiery flesh. She held herself in strict suffering as the paddle's heavy cadence played loud notes on her tight skirt.

"Speed doesn't beat accuracy. Does it?" he demanded.

"No," she gasped.

Her fingers reddening her gripped ankles, she respected her checklist by taking her punishing pain in utter silence. Acknowledging her professional failure, swats stung her backside, her skirt less protection than she'd imagined. Her last swat landed across the center of her butt, burning fierce agony and forcing a brief yelp from her.

"Stand up, please."

Studying his stern expression, her butt on fire, she appreciated his polite respect. It made her burning bottom easier to bear.

"Cadet, explain your mistake."

His ruthless official demand drove steel into her spine. "Too proud of my apparent efficiency, I prioritized how I came across over accurate performance. I'm sorry."

"I'm pleased to see your paddling was effective."

Her cathartic unburdening lifted her heart.

"Your lack of forthright candor with your co-pilot suggests you considered keeping quiet. Outrageous behavior for a professional pilot."

She bowed her head, appalled by her improper attitude. The industry's blameless learning approach following serious mistakes had drawn her towards flying.

"Open the sliding door," he ordered.

She slid back their glass door. A light breeze drifted from their tiny terrace. His Toyota parked beside her Honda below delighted her, despite her painful backside.

Moving beside her, he said, "Slip off your skirt. This needs to hurt."

She obeyed. Removing her skirt, she folded it on the couch arm. In front of the open window, she waited, cool air caressing her paddled panties.

"Grab your ankles," he ordered, pointing to the carpet in front of the wide-open window.

Her panties tightened over her paddled bottom as she complied. Her black tie hanging down, her crisp white shirt, gold epaulettes and long bare legs drew attention to her subservient position. A neighbor approaching below couldn't miss her white panties or red butt.

Shamed in her professional uniform, she recognized his cruel justice. The paddle patted her panties.

"Fast or Slow?" he asked.

"Fast, please," she begged.

"It will be brutal."

She deserved brutal. She'd attempted to cover up her mistake. Disgusted, she straightened her legs. A neighbor should witness her paddling. The constant embarrassment would serve her right for her dishonesty.

Swift bamboo disrupted the cool breeze. Crashing into her taut cotton, air exploded through its holes, leaving solid wood impacting her panties. Fierce sting erupted across her behind. Without a pause, pain penetrated deep as harsh swats stung incandescent heat on top of burning agony. Strangling her cries to protect her privacy, swats slammed into her white cotton, compounding her substantial suffering. Despite her attempts at silence, a storming wall of punishing heat forced cries as she suffered six brutal swats on her exposed panties.

"Get dressed. Don't rub."

His tough order pelted pleasure in her sex as she obeyed. Admiring his ruthlessness, she drew her skirt over her expanded butt. Her tight skirt multiplied the brutal heat from her severe paddling.

Desperate to seize her backside and hold it, she said, "I'm sorry. I regret ever considering deceit."

Passing her a white, lined notepad and a blue pen, he said, "Sit at the dining table and write that one hundred times."

She pursed her lips, wishing to argue. Appealing with her eyes, his steadfast expression gave no reprieve. The hard chair pressed pain into her punished butt, driving home his hard message. She wrote with immense care her first fifty flawless lines.

Forced to sit writing lines for her boyfriend, his firmness thrust deep remorse and respect through her. Made to sit in agonizing soreness to record her sorrow, she appreciated his appropriate punishment. Her full one hundred lines complete with space to spare, she added a brief note:

Her legs stung against her car seat as she drove her Honda back to school. Shifting position every minute, her legs burned through her skinny jeans.

Before leaving, he'd ordered her to strip naked, scolding her for her treachery with Tamsin as she obeyed. Belted over the arm of their couch, he'd struck every inch of her bare bottom. Striking the sensitive crease above her thighs, he'd layered leather lashes down her deserving legs. Ashamed of making Tamsin call her out, continuous tears had cascaded through his relentless strokes.

She bore her ninety uncomfortable minutes, en route to Tamsin, with pride. She hadn't allowed her abuse of their friendship to go unpunished. This penitent journey was her sincere apology to her staunch friend. Arriving at their flight school apartment, Tamsin gave her a welcome hug. Her tender thighs on fire, her pride soared as she suffered in front of her friend, paying her personal penance, even if Tamsin didn't know it.