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The FMI Technology department occupied the fifth, sixth and seventh floors of the forty-floor office building. Rebecca navigated from the fortieth floor to the meeting room allocated for this morning's critical project status update, which Damien had asked her to attend. Finding the glass-walled seventh-floor meeting room half occupied, she grabbed a chair in the corner, away from the shiny white table and six engineers. As personal assistant to the Chief Operating Officer, her presence wasn't subtle wherever she sat.

Opening her light-gold, hand-crafted leather journal, she flipped to the page she'd prepared for this meeting and twisted the end of her retractable pencil. Listening as people chatted, she sketched the table layout and added names from her list as she identified who was who.

Catching sight of her illuminated phone in her handbag on the floor, she couldn't resist reading the latest from Greg. He'd got her attention yesterday on the least likely of her dating apps. She'd decided she must do something about her love life. Her whipping in the woods by the police officer had fueled her fierce fantasies. Now that Melody was her friend, it wasn't as simple to summon the scene for swift satisfaction. She often reduced herself to her extra tight panties with pink dots and pale blue seahorses at home. Sitting watching TV, her embarrassing panties visible through her transparent beach dress, her private punishment delivered a powerful dose of humility. But having witnessed Clare obeying Mark at home and hearing Melody's reports of phenomenal success with her husband, she craved a powerful man in her life.

Putting away her phone, its frequent illumination in the bag by her feet teased her while the meeting bored her. Her boss had been right. The three project managers sounded weak, their egos impeding progress and compounding frustration in those who spoke sense. She didn't need software development experience to understand unnecessary management by imbeciles. This team and their crucial project were off-course.

As the meeting concluded, she closed her leather notepad, her critical opinions scribbled inside, placing it on her chair. Nobody spoke to her as they filed out. She tapped to see how desperate Greg was for a date. Engrossed in her chat screen and in urgent need of a wee, she shouldered her bag and tapped a reply as she crossed the seventh floor to the rest room.

"What possessed you? Even a five-year-old knows not to leave their critical opinions lying around?" Damien ranted.

Hauled into his office for a strict dressing down, she wasn't the least bit excited. "I'm sorry," she said. "I needed the restroom."

"Keep your valuable notepad with you, wherever you go."

"You're right, I should have. I'm very sorry."

She faced her mistake without defiance. If he ordered her over his desk, she'd obey despite the embarrasing glass walls because she deserved a good hiding.

"The three project managers are threatening to leave, claiming I'm spying on them and undermining their positions."

"Damien, I'm sorry I've been negligent. But letting those project managers go is my recommendation, anyway. Those engineers are responsible and can fix it."

"Hum," he grunted. "You haven't left me any option."

"I realize I've screwed up and failed you. But you needed that project on course and next month I reckon you'll see that."

"I'll hold you to that predication. Keep an eye on them yourself. Eliminate political or financial obstacles and decide who I should promote to lead them. Ensure other project managers stay away from them."

Back at her own desk, she opened Miss Roberts' app and secured an appointment for 6pm. Damien wouldn't bend her over his desk, but she deserved it. Her stupidity called for the cane.

Damien's rage disappeared and she dispatched an order to fire the unwanted software project managers. Her phone continued to distract her during the afternoon, and Greg continued to please her. But his invitation to dinner tonight put her in a tough corner. She deserved her discipline and her date. With a dearth of opportunities she couldn't overlook an actual date.

Dismissing her conversation with Greg into the background, she hunted for a cancel option in Miss Roberts' app. Buried on a submenu she'd never visited, she concluded a delay wouldn't make her punishment hurt any less. She'd book again as soon as she'd canceled. Hesitating, she switched back to Greg's messages. He'd issued a firm invitation for dinner. She'd appear feeble if she played hard to get, and she didn't want to lose him.

Bringing up the cancel option again, she hit it. The screen cleared and said, 'Appointment Canceled' across the top. Below it read, 'Last-minute cancelation cost added to your account'. A button below offered to show the cost. She hit it. 'Six strokes of the cane on top of your punishment on your next visit unless Miss Roberts deems your excuse acceptable'. She didn't need to guess that her disciplinarian would deem a date unsuitable as an excuse, and she'd never lie to Miss Roberts.

Booking for tomorrow night instead, she found availability. Damn. Greg had better be fabulous.

"So, your boss fired the project managers?" Greg asked.

"Gone already," she confirmed. Without identifying employees or the type of software under development, she'd given Greg the broad outline of her morning. He owned a software business, so she'd picked the prefect topic. Repeating the vague and generic nonsense she'd witnessed this morning, he appreciated her examples.

"Light guidance suits experienced engineers. The best tech guys get overexcited and distracted by shiny stuff, but phenomenal innovation explodes from those playgrounds."

Rebecca smiled. It was nice to have her judgement confirmed. He sounded authoritative when he spoke. His messages had conveyed it, but hearing him speak delivered thrilling heat to her sex.

Walking into the Michelin starred restaurant, his eyes had raked across her short black dress and Swarovski crystal necklace. The cost of her outfit was less than a hundred bucks, but his eyes hadn't been counting money. She'd caught them exploring her curves often during dinner. The well appointed Michelin starred restaurant had impressed her. But the food didn't. Unusual tastes aside, the rich food lay heavy on her palate. Thirteen courses was a ridiculous number. The pretentious tasting menu fed the chef's ego.

When they'd finished the sixth or seventh course, he asked, "Are you enjoying the food?"

The simple question almost tripped her up. About to give a bland, polite response, she stopped herself. The over calm way he'd posed the question caused her to pause. In their intelligent discussions, he'd expressed a hatred of game playing.

She didn't want to seem ungrateful. It was an expensive meal. "No so much, I'm afraid. The ingredient combinations are overcomplex and lie heavy on my palette. The taste ought to knock me sideways."

He sat back and smiled. "I couldn't agree more. I ordered the tasting menu to impress you and have been regretting it since we ordered."

"You're not disappointed in my honesty?"

"The opposite. I'd have lost faith in you. You're a straightforward girl. Am I right?"

"Very," she said. "I hate getting messed about."

"Let's order ice cream and cut our losses."

She studied him while they enjoyed the homemade vanilla bean ice cream. The caning this date was going to cost her was already worth it.

She raised her wine glass, "To honesty."

He toasted her, and as his eyes locked onto hers, they hit her soul and her sex clenched.

She boarded the train to Miss Roberts, joining commuters on their daily journey. In this direction from the city center, she only ever visited Miss Roberts.

She hadn't slept with Greg after their rich meal. Securing her a taxi home, he'd kissed her goodnight. He'd taken the safe choice, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek.

His promising kiss still warming her cheek, she would savor his seduction. Maybe his next restaurant choice would more enjoyable. If lust drove him to pursue her, she'd succumb.

Approaching the familiar house, calm drifted over her. A casual observer would notice an office girl going home. In her black, ruched, long-sleeve mini shift dress, she was a damn sexy one. They'd never guess she was walking to her caning, two canings in fact. She'd worn the short dress in the office, but it rode high so tomorrow her pantsuits would protect her privacy.

Miss Roberts welcomed her into the lounge. "Well Rebecca, how did you upset your boss?"

Sitting on the couch opposite her disciplinarian, she expanded on her vague message in her booking. She explained her mistake in leaving her folder in the software meeting room and that her boss had accepted her apology.

"You deserve correction," Miss Roberts said.

"Yes, Miss."

"What have you selected as your punishment?"

"The cane, Miss. Twelves strokes."

Miss Roberts nodded, and Rebecca realized she'd made a wise choice. On the train journey, she'd oscillated between six and twelve strokes. Aware of her extra punishment, she remained strong willed and didn't permit it to alter her decision.

"And why did you cancel your previous appointment?"

"A date with an amazing man." Rebecca stared at the floor.

Miss Roberts waited while Rebecca hid her face, giving no response. When the disappointing girl met her gaze, she said, "Six strokes."

"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry."

"You will be, Rebecca. Eighteen strokes will indeed make you very sorry."

Rebecca bit her bottom lip. She had no choice, and she deserved none.

"Shall we get your caning over?"

"Yes please," Rebecca said, standing.

In the study, Miss Roberts took the slender cane from her cupboard. "Raise your dress."

Rebecca wriggled the stretchy fabric up her thighs to her waist, exposing her brief white cotton bikini panties. Facing Miss Roberts, stripped to her panties always forced a rush of respect through her core.

"We'll deal with your cancelation first." Circling her finger, she commanded, "Turn around."

Rebecca obeyed, turning towards the enormous desk.

"Hands on your head, young lady."

She obeyed, surprised by the unusual instruction.

"Reflect on your priorities while I cane you."

The cane flicked her panties in warning and cracked into her cotton. Without support, her position forced her to push her bottom towards the cruel rod to remain standing. As the cane flexed its stiff message into her even stiffer stance, she pictured the cancel screen. She'd never use it again. Discipline appointments weren't inconsequential.

Tight together on the fleshiest part of her bottom, Miss Roberts' hard strokes burned a band of disciplinary fire. Tears threatening her control, she pictured Greg. She hoped he was worth the cane.

"Right. Shall we start?"

"Thank you, Miss Roberts. I won't cancel again," she said.

"Good Girl. Bend over the desk."

As she bent and her skin stretched, the burn in her butt roared.

"You're at the top, Rebecca. You should never leave your notebook lying around. Your job is a performance and you're always on stage."

Rebecca's fingers curled tight around the desk edge at the prospect of unbearable pain. The cane sliced into her panties. Intense heat wrapped around excruciating pain, delivering an incandescent cocktail of serious suffering. Filling every gap on her cheeks with unimaginable pain, the cruel cane seared lines of heat into her seat. The relentless rattan built her fire as she pictured her boss's face and her notebook resting on his desk. The annoyed project managers had delivered it back in a storm of anger. As the pain kept her sane, she scolded herself. Her job was crucial to her identity. She never wanted to be nobody again. However many times Miss Roberts caned her bottom, the hurt was better.

Transfixed on handling the relentless heat, she didn't notice it pause at its peak. She was still struggling to keep herself together when Miss Roberts stroked her back.

"You took your strokes well. Try to stand."

Grateful for the compliment and permission, Rebecca stood. Pain consumed her body and mind, but she still faced her disciplinarian. "Thank you for caning me. I will sharpen up my act at work."

Seeing her charge on the verge of tears, Miss Roberts said, "You're an excellent personal assistant. They'd never have hired you otherwise."

"Thank you," Rebecca said.

As an apology to Damien for her work conduct, she wore her tight panties. Every movement of the elastic ripped across her eighteen fresh welts, delivering meaningful hurt. She remained in only her panties, the exposure and shame a proud penance to her brilliant boss. The unleashed software team was already on fire.

Watching a documentary about migrating birds, she stroked her agonizing welts. Miss Roberts had made her the right amount of sore. The extra six stung like hell, but she owed her disciplinarian for messing her about. Greg was worth his painful price. He'd been gorgeous and exciting. Knowing he'd already cost her the cane had made his authoritative nature feel even more real.

Curled up on her couch, her bottom engaged her in sincere reflection. Life was a series of trade-offs. Her lovely date had cost her the cane. Miss Roberts was dead-right to enforce her rules and punish her lack of responsibility. Greg hadn't called. It didn't bode well. It had been twenty-four hours since they'd parted. He shouldn't be able to survive a minute without her.

Powering off the TV, she shifted to her bed and jammed her hand into her tight panties. The punishing elastic cinched her welts. The price of her pleasure tonight. Activating the camera on her phone, she held it up and watched herself masturbate in her punishing panties. The shame of being forced, even by herself, to wear her shameful panties filled her with honesty.

Seeing herself splayed in her white cotton, pink dots and pale blue seahorses, she held her pleasure on the edge of climax, studying her strict obedience. She dropped the picture of her pleasure on the bed and flung out her hand for support as orgasms racked her core and deluged her in waves of deadly bliss. The flood of intense pleasure cleared, leaving her proud and sore. She picked up her phone to switch off the camera, and a message notification obliterated her screen.

She tapped and read the message from Greg. 'Not playing games. Had to fire four people. A rough day. You're beautiful. Your gorgeous dress and wonderful company mesmerized me. Forget fancy cuisine. Do you have sexy jeans? Would you give a guy a second chance? Answer in any order.'