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Qualified Commercial Airline Pilot Diane descended to one thousand feet in her Piper Seminole, joining the downwind leg for Academy A's familiar airfield. Beside her sat Diamond Cross Air's chief pilot. Appearing at this morning's flight briefing, he'd replaced Tamsin as her co-pilot. She'd flown him to a regional airfield she'd never visited, executing a flawless landing.

She kept their cockpit conversation to a minimum. His slick radio exchanges proved, despite flying a desk these days, he was still a true pilot. She completed a non-precision approach, kissing her home runway with manual finesse. Nothing less satisfied her or Tamsin. She'd miss her crewmate's high standards. Certified to carry paying passengers, their schooling was over. Neil's enduring support weighed on her shoulders. She'd committed to spending a month together. She owed him a girlfriend.

Classroom conversations had a sole topic - building flight hours. Airlines couldn't hire cadets without fifteen hundred hours in their logbook. Legal flight limits meant a minimum of one year flying, often two. Caught between qualifications and experience, fresh commercial pilots snatched every flight hour they could hustle. She'd discussed their shared problem with Tamsin at length, reaching no stellar solutions.

Parked on the flight school apron, she disembarked. Beside Diamond Cross Air's chief pilot, she strolled towards the hangar, her smart uniform thrilling beside his.

"How do you see your path forward?" he asked.

"Building up my flight hours."

"Fancy doing that somewhere tough?"

She halted. "I love flying. Every day I've fallen in love. I'd fly anywhere."

"Superb answer," he said. "Doug and I discussed your route forward. He's hatched a crazy plan. I warn you, it's an exhausting job. The flight school director tells me your usual cockpit partner is solid. Would she accompany you on an outlandish adventure?"

She smiled. "You can ask her yourself. She's over there."

They walked towards the main hangar. Despite being kicked from her cockpit seat, Tamsin smiled at the uniformed chief pilot, greeting him.

"Would you like fifteen hundred flight hours?" he asked her straight.

"I'll take it."

Diane grinned. She'd expected Tamsin's instant reply.

"Doug Diamond has a mate in Australia whose building a magnificent fourteen bedroom ranch home on his ten thousand square mile outback station. You'll fly construction workers, timber, tools and materials into a dirt strip, several times per day, keeping them supplied. In a year you'll both have your hours."

Lust for adventure consumed Diane. Glancing at Tamsin, she grinned. "We'll do it."

"We've already offered your services," he said. "A maintenance company is checking a Twin Otter for you in Perth, Western Australia. After getting type-rated, you'll fly the airplane into the outback."

"Shit!" Tamsin exclaimed.

Diane grinned. "Pilot language. She means 'Thank you, sir'."

He grinned. "Tamsin, we'll pay you a daily rate. Will that work?"

"Yes," she beamed. "It's kind."

"A Diamond Cross Air project manager is getting you operational. He'll call you tomorrow. You've got a month before they certify your Twin Otter."

As he walked towards his car, Tamsin threw her arms around Diane. "Our adventure hasn't even begun."

Diane squeezing her overexcited friend. "We're heading to the end of the earth."

Hugging Diane, Tamsin swore to herself she'd delete the photo from her phone. Her roommate's spicy private letter still provided regular pleasure. She'd scrutinized her friend after that memorable weekend, unable to detect hints of her punishment paddling. It was none of her business. Her deceitful indulgence didn't fit their powerful partnership.

Free from responsibility, Diane drove home, her limited belongings packed into her Honda. Neil topped her list, Kate, Ben, Andrew and Louise, who she'd never met, next. She'd messaged Kate, announcing her freedom before starting home.

Adding operating manuals for the Twin Otter to her mental list, the red number against her message icon improved her car's screen. Tapping twice, her car read her message.

"Kate said - 'Finished early. Dying to catch up.'  - Would you like to reply?"

"Yes," she yelled at her car.

Already clad in skinny jeans, she left her Honda parked at home, skipping towards the city-bound metro line. Thirty normal minutes later, she pressed Ben's familiar buzzer, flew up the internal stone stairs, still thrilled by her normalcy.

Kate hugged her, closing the apartment door. "Coffee or wine?"

"Wine," Diane declared. "I've not drunk a drop in eight months."

Grinning, Kate removed an ice cold bottle of Australian Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge, wafting it under her friend's nose. Grabbing glasses, she opened the bottle, declaring girl time.

Studying the southern hemisphere label as she sipped the cool, dry wine, Diane told Kate of her adventure-filled future. Describing all her flight school experiences, she vacuumed up Kate's reciprocation. She'd missed her friends. Stolen evenings together weren't the same.

Rising on unstable legs, she navigated Kate's coffee table, heading for her friend's fridge. "You've got another bottle, I hope."

"Top shelf," Kate called.

Grabbing a chilled bottle, she leaned against the top of her friend's dark-gray fridge, quizzing her about Ben's secret hair product. Despite sounding preposterous, Kate's confidence compelled her belief. Unsettled by her friend's frequent glances towards her hand, she scanned her bare arm and fingers resting against the dark-gray plastic. She said, "This miracle mist bursts from its pouch revolutionizing my hair?"

Kate nodded, willing her friend to shift position.

Diane traced her friend's gaze to her fingers. Spurred by Kate's constant unease, she slid her grip up the fridge. Kate's discomfort grew. Slipping her fingers into the gap above her friend's fridge, she touched a thin curve. Pulling her find forward, she withdrew Kate's cane.

Recognition exploded her brain as her friend's blush broke records for redness. Holding the chilled wine bottle and Kate's rattan cane, she spun to her friend. "Ben canes you?"

"When I deserve it," Kate said, her embarrassing admission tightening her sex.

"Neil paddles me," Diane said. Confessing she received discipline cast pleasant shame over her. Discarding the wine bottle, she sat with Kate. "It sorts your head out, doesn't it?"

Kate nodded. Testing words with care, she said, "Ben canes me often. I enjoy being kept in line." Her powerful private admission soaked her sex. 

"Me too. I asked Neil to paddle me after I'd caused a terrible argument. I deserved it." She described the spanked wife's blog she'd discovered.

Kate smiled. "You stopped arguing?"

"Forever," Diane said. "I'd prefer he paddled me, even if I'm not at fault."

"I understand," Kate said. "My parents stood me beneath an apple tree in my underwear as punishment growing up. I used to dream I was a fair maiden, stripped ready for a thorough public whipping. Getting punished cleared my slate."

"They didn't cane you or spank you?"

Kate shook her head. "Living alone, my imagination discovered the cane. I applied light flicks to hold myself to account. Ben thrashes me. Surrendering to him is sexy, but it hurts. Sometimes we pretend. When it's a game, I'm convinced it hurts less."

"I doubt that," Diane grinned. "I've never pretended. We use our paddle as proper punishment. Mind you, Neil ravages me after he's thrashed me."

"It sets Ben on fire too," Kate said.

Diane flexed the cane between her hands. Savoring its threatening flexibility, glorious tension grew inside her. "What does it feel like?"

"Dreadful. Acute agony slicing your butt. You think you're coping, then its heat expands, screaming towards a peak which tests your resolve. It fucking hurts."

"But you still love it?"

"Yes," Kate whispered. Her clenching sex adored her friend's challenging questions. 

Diane kept flexing the cane between her palms, fascinated by its pliable movement.

"You want to feel it, don't you?" Kate asked.

Diane's brain spasmed. Her sex begged for a rattan lesson. She shook her head. Meeting her friend's gaze, she turned it into an honest nod. Shuffling her feet on the caramel rug, she rose, handing Kate her cane. "Having a reason helps me take my pain."

"I understand," Kate said. "You've just finished flight school. I can't imagine you feel crap about anything." Seeing her friend's pained expression, she racked her brain. "Poor friendship," she said. "I don't blame you, but you must admit you've responded to messages days late."

"Sorry," Diane said. 

"Hey, I understand. I'm not upset," Kate said, standing.

"Thank you, but it's true. I deserve punishment," Diane said, lowering her head.

"You'll feel better after your caning."

She led her friend to the office. "You may appreciate having the desk to grip."

Punishing her imaginary poor cleaning skills when she'd moved in, Ben had pulled his desk from the wall to cane her, never returning it. She smudged black mascara on their spotless white bathroom sink whenever she wanted to feel his refreshing authority, their silent communication as satisfying as his inevitable stinging strokes.

"We're friends," she said, holding Diane's gaze. "What's fair?"

Diane cast her gaze low. She'd been the go-to girl for relationship advice since she'd met Neil. Passing the mantle to Kate in her absence hadn't done Andrew any harm. Kate deserved her respect. She'd neglected their friendship. Only punishment from Kate's hand would free her guilt. She said, "I value our friendship. Punish me. I won't hold it against you. Indeed, show me you respect our friendship enough to thrash me."

Kate whipped the cane through the air, its sizzling cry screeching into her sex. She loved Ben doing that. The tense atmosphere induced amazing pleasure.

Diane shivered, fear flooding her anxious body, translating into liquid desire in her enthusiastic sex.

"Drop your jeans, Diane."

Diane unbuttoned her tight jeans, shoving them down her legs, revealing apricot bikini panties matching her tee.

"Nice style," Kate said.

Diane gave a faint smile. Humbled in her panties, Kate's approval of her underwear heated her obedient sex.

"Bend over," Kate ordered, tapping the worn wooden desk with her cane tip.

Diane obeyed. Stretching across the wooden surface, she wrapped her fingers around the edge. Presented for fair punishment, her apricot panties felt gorgeous in Kate's presence. Failure to meet her basic friendship responsibilities crept up her spine, consuming her core. She deserved her punishment.

"Slack responses aren't wonderful friendship," Kate said, her tone tough.

Diane appreciated her strict scolding. Her friend had tolerated her slackness, forgiving her while supporting her with occasional girl news. "I'm sorry, Kate. Don't go easy. I deserve this."

Kate loved her friend's explicit confirmation. Diane's temporary submission was awe inspiring. She'd reward her obvious respect with sound strokes.

The cane's eager tip bounced against her taut apricot cotton. Diane breathed out. She needed to atone. Her friend's fair strokes would help.

"Stay still," Kate ordered. "Six strokes." 

Humbled in her heart, Diane tensed her cheeks in nervous anticipation. She trusted Kate. Relaxing her furious grip on the desk's edge, a crack echoed as thin rattan whipped into her skimpy bikini panties. It hurt only a little. Shit. Fuck. She gripped the desk as delayed heat shot through her skin, soaring way beyond her wildest measure. Stamping her feet, she tried to relieve the fierce fire burning her bottom. The line branded on her backside peaked its pain. She panted, accompanying it down towards bearable. 

Balancing with her burn, the cane tapped lower. Now experienced, she realized its cruel, pain-free application only preluded inescapable fiery torment. The cane cut across her cheeks, slicing through her panties, scorching bare skin on either side. She yelled. Struggling with her stroke, she followed her agonizing pain, descending in its close company towards tolerable. Embarrassed, she muttered, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Kate said, her tone sympathetic. "Don't fight it. You deserve to hurt."

Diane relaxed into her agony, swallowing her sharp strokes, each sealing their valuable friendship. She scolded herself as Kate planted powerful pain in her negligent cheeks. Branding her backside, her friend honored their friendship.

"It's over," Kate said. 

Appreciating the quiet confirmation, Diane stood, choked with pride. Reaching for Kate, she hugged the friend who'd thrashed her bottom with a rattan cane. "I deserved that. Thank you for caning me, Kate."

Kate said, "You took it well. I'm impressed. Worse than your paddle?"

"I'm not used to intense lines. It's a proper punishment. I bet you behave."

Kate grinned. "Sometimes. I'm going to my bedroom to relax. Stay here until you've recovered. Enjoy your privacy."

Kate's meaning crystal clear, Diane offered her silent thanks with a deep smile. Ben's desk chair squeaked as she slipped her fingers into her apricot panties. Her friend knew she was masturbating in her panties. Tracing her fiery stripes, she couldn't resist replaying the authority she'd accorded to Kate. Ordered over this desk by her friend, she'd obeyed. Stripped to her panties, Kate had caned her without compunction. Circling her hard clit, she celebrated their trust and her friend's fairness. Six agonizing stripes released a sensational pleasure wave. Coming hard in her panties, she stared at the desk where she'd bent. Peace soared in her soul, knowing she shared a tight bond with a girlfriend unafraid to thrash her.

She emerged to find Kate sipping chilled white wine on her brown leather couch, her cheeks rosy.

"Did you also enjoy my private penance?" Diane asked, certain her friend had masturbated in her bedroom.

"Accepting your apology turned me on," Kate said. "Please don't let it complicate us."

Diane smiled, rubbing her jeans. "It won't. You were fair. I'm sore." She grabbed her waiting wineglass from the coffee table.

Kate relaxed. "I'd hate to receive a feeble punishment. A caning must hurt."

"Agreed," Diane said, leaning against the kitchen bar. "I feel humble." 

"I'm glad. Enjoy it. I love your friendship. The boys worshipped you, even before you performed an emergency landing like a professional pilot. It was a monumental achievement, Diane."

"I realize now. My flight instructors described mistakes I avoided. I respect their praise. They understand the ease of my potential failure."

"I enjoyed reading your interview. You came across very level."

"Thank you," Diane said. She'd hated doing it. 

Releasing their interim report, the air accident investigators had relaunched press attention. Protected by Diamond Cross Air's PR team, she'd given a single interview. Barista to commercial pilot; she couldn't escape her remarkable story. Months earlier, a maintenance worker had pierced a pinprick hole in a rubber door seal. Constant pressurization had expanded the invisible hole until it induced slow depressurization during her flight.

Setting her drained wineglass on Kate's kitchen bar, Diane said. "Thank you for feeding Neil so often."

"The boys turn up like clockwork. I keep extra steaks in the fridge."

Diane grinned. "No wonder they love you."

"Neil makes me laugh. I know he's missed you."

"I wish I could advance his career. His tech skills put his help desk job to shame." She wouldn't allow her old frustration to rear its ugly head during their precious month. He'd given outstanding support to her career. She'd bend long before she gave him imperfection.

"You'll have to tell him about your caning," Kate waved towards her friend's stinging jeans. "I doubt he'll miss those marks."

"He'll admire you and enjoy the story."

Kate's grimace spread into a grin. "I'm calling a girls' night. You have got to meet Louise."