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"Relax, I hear Anya's the best," Zain said as the slow elevator ascended to the law offices of the prominent human rights lawyer.

"I need the best," Jasmine grunted, rubbing the handles of her black leather bag between her nervous fingers. She'd written for Zain for over five years. Plucked by his editor from a local news outlet after one of her stories went nationwide, her accurate business articles had built the Dispatch News business section.

She met the publisher maybe twelves times a year. Zain left the daily operation of his popular news brand to his editor. But since Fay Fashion Group had issued an injunction preventing her story about its impending financial calamity and demanded she reveal her source, he'd involved himself, enraged by the gross attempt to muzzle one of his top journalists.

"I've never met her or required her services, but I called around. I'm friends with Kyria and she recommended Anya."

"The supermodel. You know Kyria?"

"Yes," Zain smiled.

"Wow." She appreciated his warm smile. His skin was golden and in a suit he carried the command of his empire in a relaxed fashion. She'd read his profile before joining Dispatch News. His father had founded the news empire when the family had immigrated from India, much like her own. But it was Zain who'd turned it digital. Their slick app delivered accurate facts into people's phones, maximizing ad revenue with modest prices and a massive audience.

Arriving in a reception area with sleek modern furniture, Zain gave his name to the receptionist, following her into a spacious conference room. Zain selected a black leather executive chair on one side of the table, and Jasmine sat beside him.

Wearing a tight black miniskirt suit, Anya swept into her conference room, spreading a radiant professional smile as her two visitors rose.

"Nice to meet you, Zain, Jasmine." She shook the powerful media magnate's hand, diving into his sumptuous dark-brown eyes, and turned to his beautiful Indian business reporter.

"Stay away from me, bitch," Jasmine cried.

The venomous insult forced Anya back several steps. Staring at the defensive girl, her brain crashed backward to the black wrought-iron railing of her school fence. Too shocked to speak, she kept her distance. She'd imagined this confrontation, but never how much self-loathing she'd feel for hanging the girl on those bars by her panties. "Jasmine?" she asked.

"Don't even speak my name!"

In her imagination, Anya had envisioned eventual forgiveness, but never outright war.

Zain watched his award-winning journalist disassemble in front of him.

Jasmine needed to show competence before her ultimate boss, but her fear and rage had exploded towards the brutal bitch who'd bullied her at school. The professional, polished lawyer still made her tremble, even with her powerful boss beside her.

A lawyer's confident stature induced fear, produced settlements and built reputations. But facing Jasmine, Anya didn't give a damn. Miss Roberts had caned her for her bullying. Over two hard sessions of twelve strokes, the heavy punishment rattan had caused her intense suffering for two full weeks. It counted for nothing in front of the girl she'd hurt. In her sharp black skirt suit, she sank to her bare knees and stared up at the girl she'd bullied through school. "I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I beg your forgiveness, but I don't deserve it."

Jasmine looked down at the Indian schoolgirl in her business suit whom she despised.

Anya returned her gaze, determined to present a pitiful picture of penitence before the beautiful girl in whom she'd stoked fear and dread. Ignoring the powerful man watching, Anya said, "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I'm a disgusting bully and I'm so sorry."

"Why should I believe you?" Jasmine demanded.

The tiny thaw to the edges of Jasmine's fiery ice offered Anya slight hope that her submissive approach would bear fruit. "I helped a lady who offers discipline to girls and solicited her professional services to confess my bullying of you. She gave me twenty-four punishing cane strokes over a fortnight."

Jasmine snorted. "Means nothing to me. I didn't see you suffer. The school and your parents should have thrashed you."

"You're right. I deserved it from both. I'm sorry time hasn't healed the damage I inflicted." Jasmine's eyes locked onto hers and hope grew in her heart. She'd struck a nerve.

Anya's humble position had dissipated Jasmine's fear, removed the taller girl's height advantage and delivered honest words. Her reporter's nose smelled truth. "Bullying," Jasmine demanded. "It wasn't damage, it was bullying."

"Bullying," Anya said. "I bullied you. You were prettier than me. My pathetic jealousy shames me. I'll do anything to prove I'm sorry. Anything."

Jasmine contemplated the girl on her knees. "All right. For seven complete days, you'll cancel your diary and wait on me, furnishing my every desire in utter submission. If I glimpse the slightest attitude, I'll send you home to feel shit forever, which is what you deserve."

"Agreed," Anya said. She'd have agreed to any terms.

Jasmine glanced at Zain. "Have you caning experience?"

Unsure how to answer his forthright journalist's demand, he said, "On both sides."

Staring at Anya below her, Jasmine said, "Zain will cane you once per day whenever it suits his schedule. I'll add strokes to your soreness when I believe they would benefit you. Don't imagine I'll be fair."

"Agreed," Anya said.

"You'll wear your school uniform while you serve me. Let's see how you handle embarrassment, fear and uncertainty."

"Agreed," Anya said.

Glancing at Zain, Jasmine added, "And you'll defend this court order against me for free."

"Of course," Anya said. "May I stand please?"

The modest request plunged pleasurable power through Jasmine's veins. "You may."

Anya nodded in deep gratitude. "When shall I arrive at your house?"

"Monday, 8am sharp." Jasmine raised an eyebrow at Zain.

He nodded. The power exchange between the girls was so awe-inspiring it compelled him to agree.

On Saturday evening, Anya scrutinized herself in her bedroom mirror. As she'd matured from school, the sweet innocence of her uniform had continued to delight her. She'd yanked cardboard boxes from her basement storage locker and unearthed a battered black suitcase in which she discovered her full school uniform. She'd neither thrown it away nor planned to keep the neat innocence. Like many old items, she'd never decided.

Following her meeting with Jasmin and Zain, she'd dispatched her two most senior lawyers to secure an immediate court hearing. They'd argued disclosure of Jasmine's source didn't serve the interests of justice. Further, public interest in Fay Fashion Group's precarious finances outweighed the interest in preserving business confidentiality. They concluded their argument, explaining that since Jasmine hadn't facilitated the breach of confidence, the disclosure order against her was invalid.

Her team had emailed the judge's fresh order to Jasmine from the court-house steps, freeing her from stress. Jasmine had called to thank her. Despite their severe conflict, Jasmine had conducted their business with respect after their explosive start.

Permitted white champion sneakers on informal school days, she'd considered if Jasmine would allow them. But scolding herself, she'd gone shopping on Friday night and bought black patent leather pumps. With only a half-inch heel, the low shoes fit her diminished stature. Acceptable wasn't good enough. She must live up to the spirit of their agreement.

Taking in her shiny shoes and cute white ankle socks, her eyes swept up her bare legs to the hem of her school skirt. Her pleated red plaid skirt seemed shorter than in school, but given it fitted her hips, it couldn't be. She'd tucked her white collared blouse with long sleeves into her skirt, a position it hadn't often managed at school. Wearing it loose was one of many minor rebellions she'd achieved.

Her black blazer completed her uniform. She'd always enjoyed its formality. The single gold button to close it matched three decorative ones on each sleeve. Landing an inch below her hips, it left enough skirt on display to delight and tease.

White blouses required a white bra, and she had an abundance of matching plain white panties. Flicking her skirt up, she stared behind her and admired the cut of her white cotton bikini panties. They'd meet the cane before she even began her temporary job on Monday, but they'd deserved the cane in school and escaped. She faced herself in the mirror. She would show Jasmine respect without defiance and accept Zain's cane daily with dignity.

Jasmine's home nestled in an exclusive cul-de-sac thirty minutes from the city center. The substantial cream stone family home and three-car garage surprised Anya. She parked her white Audi TT on the edge of the asphalt drive near the tree line. She was the hired help.

As she approached in her school uniform, Jasmine opened the wide, glass-filled front door.

"Good morning, Miss," Anya said, her tone deferential and her eyes lowered.

"I'm pleased you're well attired."

"It feels embarrassing. Thank you, Miss."

Jasmine's comfortable black leggings and long pink blouse placed an unsubtle emphasis on their relationship status.

"Zain will arrive mid-morning to cane you. Through the kitchen you'll find my rear deck with wooden steps leading to the pool patio and the rear garage entrance. Fetch a sun lounger and arrange it with shade for me."

"Yes, Miss," Anya replied, proud to receive the welcome command. She appreciated every opportunity to prove her utter obedience and unconditional submission to Jasmine's will. Leaving her discrete black purse on the hall table, she headed outside.

Pleasant sun heated her golden skin as she stepped over to the rear garage entrance. She dragged out a heavy wooden sun lounger and hunted out the matching thick cream cushions. Towing the lounger on its rear wheels, she positioned the teak sun bed in direct sunshine, facing the raised rock platform across the shimmering aqua blue pool.

Rolling the khaki canvas umbrella she'd found on its circular stone base, she arranged it beside the lounger and angled the coverage to deliver a hint of heat and no direct rays.

Jasmine marched down the steps in a miniature black triangle bikini with spaghetti ties, a huge white towel tucked under her arm. With her gorgeous honey colored skin on proud display, she rolled the towel onto the lounger and settled back. "Clean the kitchen surfaces. The grouting between the tiles needs a tooth brush. You'll find the cleaning cupboard beneath the stairs."

"Yes, Miss," Anya said.

The lack of thanks for arranging the lounger grated, but she issued herself a stern mental whipping. The gorgeous honey-skinned girl sunbathing in her bikini hadn't thanked her for being bullied either.

As she deposited the plastic carry-box of cleaning equipment onto the kitchen worktop, gratitude overcame her. Jasmine was teaching her an ingenious and very painful lesson in humility. She prepared fresh coffee, and ten kitchen tiles shared flawless white seams by the time Zain arrived.

"Good morning, Sir," she said, opening the stylish front door. Carrying a thick, golden, rattan punishment cane, he entered. He acknowledged her and disappeared to find Jasmine in the direction she'd shown him.

Setting out black china coffee cups on the high-gloss white dining table, she heard them approaching.

"It's part of my parent's property portfolio," Jasmine replied to Zain.

Anya had wondered how the successful reporter owned such a spectacular home.

Jasmine's long pink blouse covered her revealing bikini while accentuating her exquisite figure. While they seated themselves, Anya poured coffee and withdrew to the kitchen.

Hearing murmurs of their conversation, her deliberate exclusion made her sex tighten. She was being disciplined and deserved it, her uniform a perfect sign of her status.

She slipped her hand into her white cotton panties and encouraged her damp clit. Jasmine would know her panties were plain white cotton because she'd instructed her to wear full school uniform. Zain would discover when he caned her. Delicious pleasure at her submissive predicament powered her sex. She was under Jasmine's firm authority. Hot pleasure built pressure in her sex and caused her to pant. She withdrew her hand and calmed herself. Brief masturbation had been unavoidable. Still on edge, the excitement would help her take her impending caning.

She placed a fresh china plate laden with biscuits between them and poured more coffee.

"Anya, remove your blazer, and stand facing the wall," Jasmine said, pointing towards the calm cream wall containing three tiny seascape pictures.

Anya acknowledged the instruction, slipped her black blazer from her shoulders and hung it on a leather dining chair. The blazer was a huge impediment to cleaning. She hoped Jasmine would permit her to leave it off for the rest of the day. A rush of obedience flooded her brain as she faced the cream wall. Growing up, her parents had caned her bottom most months, but her bullying of Jasmine had bypassed them and she'd escaped justice.

Five excruciating minutes felt like hours before chairs scraped and Zain called. "Anya, come here."

She moved, stood tall in front of him and held her arms behind her.

"Bend over," he ordered, pointing to the end of the modern, white dining table.

Anya lowered herself flat on the gloss surface and reached to grip the sides.

Zain lifted her short pleated skirt, tucked it into its waistband, and humiliated her hard. She'd have preferred to raise her own skirt and accept the shame. Having it lifted for her was a heavy humiliation, something she was certain Zain intended.

With her white bikini panties exposed to his gaze, she shuddered in shame.

"Six strokes," he announced.

The thick cane rested against her thin cotton, its diameter clear to her experienced cheeks. This cane would penetrate deep, hurt her, leave dark red marks, and she had it all again every day this week. She twisted to face Jasmine. Stood near the wall, her tormentor had a perfect view of her penitent face and her blazing bottom.

The rattan flexed as Zain tested it, the whistle warning of its intrinsic capacity to hurt her. She kept her famous poker face despite the fear coursing through her body. The sharp crack of the cane eclipsed her mind as searing heat burst in a wide line across her scalded cheeks. She sucked in a deep breath, passing it to the pain and processing it through her soul. She'd earned this punishment. Her certainty sent her sex into battle.

Pain exploded deep inside her buttocks, forcing hurt where it would remain and launching a soaring band of fierce fire. Zain allowed her time to appreciate the full effect as heat obscured her thoughts and overwhelmed her with pain. She panted and looked Jasmine dead in the eye. Guilt ravaged her as heat and pain tore through her. Facing the girl whose school-life she'd ruined, she bore the agony with respect. As each impact thrust extraordinary pain into her adult bottom, it flowed through her brain, consuming all the guilt it could.

"Stand up," Zain commanded.

Beaten and sorry, she rose and pulled down her skirt. "Thank you for caning me, Sir."

She held out her hand, and he shook it. Turning to Jasmine, she approached the girl, her hand out. "Thank you for my caning, Miss. I deserved it and I still will tomorrow. Thank you."

Jasmine shook her hand. "Clear the table and I expect all those tiles perfect before you leave today."

Anya met supermodel Kyria in the At the Top Prequel.