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Present Day

Zara spied the empty park bench, joining the Tuesday crowd using their popular city center river park. She'd covered double shifts on Friday and Saturday. Her extra personal day rewarded her phenomenal adrenaline burst. Trying on chain-store jeans this morning, she'd bought multiple pretty tops instead. Later than she'd expected, she'd grabbed a BLT on sourdough. Plonking her paper shopping bags beside the varnished bench, she settled.

Before her, the magnificent river bend defined her view. Behind her, towering skyscrapers mocked her minimal career progress. Despite abundant intelligence, her path felt stalled. Offered management training by City Sip, she had seven days to accept. At twenty, her earnings disheartened her. Her entertaining profit efforts benefited the bar more than her. Six months of accumulated doubt demanded a decision.

Besides her career concerns, she was overdue some serious self-reflection. High on adrenaline after her Saturday double shift, she'd gone home with a guy she'd flirted with all evening. He'd fucked her brains out, dominating her, demanding she come on his long delayed command. Delicious enforcement. She'd obeyed, desire challenging her obedience. Delivered into glory, they'd replayed their game until she'd fallen dead asleep. Discarded by her friend Mandy in favor of university, her flirting stud's consistent flattery had won her needy body, despite his ambiguous relationship status with her friend. Her gorgeous debauchery saddened her. She'd messaged him, pleading for his discretion. He'd promised. Re-reading his message multiplied her guilt.

A guiding light had arrived on her horizon. Snagged by a new girlfriend, her wealthy uncle had moved into her city, basing himself downtown. His presence offered tremendous conversation potential. She needed to discuss her career. He wouldn't give mindless answers. He'd engage hard, parry her concerns, and ask damning questions. She'd messaged him yesterday, receiving an instant invitation for this afternoon.

She checked her phone. Contemplation had devoured her time. Dumping her part-eaten BLT, she crossed the park towards the city's most expensive street. Approaching the tallest skyscraper, her jeans-clad slender legs marched up its Indian sandstone driveway. A handsome suited doorman opened the plate glass entrance, waving her inside.

In the vaulted white marble lobby, another doorman greeted her. "May I direct you, miss?"

"I'm here to see my uncle." She gave his name.

"Your name please, miss?"

"Zara."

Tapping on his iPad, he nodded. "This way please, Zara."

He led her towards the elevators. A fantasia of yellow tulips in black vases welcomed her.

"Follow the lighted lines when you arrive above."

She nodded, stepping into the waiting car. Its doors whispered closed. Rising, the walls gave forth a stunning video view of her surroundings. She spotted her park bench, unoccupied. The incredible synthetic vision soared her over her city, releasing her into a sky-high lobby. Deep-piled royal blue carpets accepted her clean white sneakers. Subtle white led lights drew her towards a lit panel beside a penthouse door. It opened.

She grinned. "Uncle Fernando." Rushing forward, she dropped her shopping bags, flinging herself into his gigantic arms.

Steered into his spectacular penthouse, shopping bags recovered, she marveled over his dramatic building, praising his elevator. He grinned, accepting her compliments, guiding her towards his blue L-shaped couch. Sitting across from him, she sank into its comfort, crossing her skinny blue jeans. Younger than her dad, his muscular form had always exemplified her vision of pure brawn, his accomplishments in real estate illustrating the career progress she desired.

Targeting their conversation, he enquired about her bar job.

She'd expressed career concerns in her brief message. His perfect opening fired her fusillade of confusing conflicts. "I love connecting in my comfortable, controlled environment. Human interactions thrill me."

He smiled. His cerebral niece had always captivated him. Her savvy insights brought passionate debates. Ranging deep, she never disappointed. She fought disagreements with reasoned logic. Sarah aside, potential roller-coasting conversations with his niece had reinforced his city move.

"I wonder if I belong in the bar business. I'm comfortable." She frowned. "Perhaps I should seek a different career. They've offered me management training. I've seven days to decide. The bar makes money. I don't."

"Fascinating human interactions exist elsewhere. My girlfriend, Sarah, is a life coach. She makes money."

Learning his girlfriend ran her expanding business nearby, she teased his romantic tale from him. Crisp french fries on their pristine, perfect vacation beach entranced her. Her powerful uncle's swift arrival proved Sarah perfect.

Fernando returned their conversation to his niece's concerns. "What excites you, Zara?"

She reeled off management statistics, explaining her influence on bar profits. She didn't tell her uncle her bright bikini panties also improved profits. Some business secrets should remain inscrutable. Pausing her numerical explanation, she said, "It's people. Despite their flaws, I love observing people."

"I design my buildings around people."

She snorted. "Buildings aren't expressive. I love studying people's problems. I considered a therapy career. My research reveals therapy clients keep talking. Profit requires endless visits. I couldn't cope. I'd expect concrete action."

Fernando was silent, her simple statement provoking a distinct vision. His niece's fascination with business detail slotted into Sarah's void. Her demand for concrete action almost made him grin. Sarah delivered concrete action. He pondered his bizarre idea, examining its disturbing effects.

Leaning back, Zara watched her uncle thinking, enjoying his magnificent city view. This glamorous penthouse was every girl's ideal dream. Powerful french fries. She must delve deeper to discover what made Sarah tick. Hooking uncle Fernando, she wasn't boring.

He leaned forward. "Zara, I must ask you something personal. I promise you I need your answer."

She measured his sincere tone. Efficient with thoughts, she didn't believe he'd posed his ominous precursor without it being essential.

"Okay."

"Do your parents punish you?"

Her eyebrows showed her surprise. She'd imagined he already knew her parents were strict. Her mom wasn't shy about spanking her. She'd always assumed his sister had told him she spanked her daughter.

She nodded. "They do."

"Please tell me how."

Embarrassed, she blushed. "My dad belts me. He used to use his slipper or just spank me. Now, I get belted." Rushing to end her sentence, pride replaced her embarrassment. Her parents cared for her.

"Thank you for telling me."

"I presumed you already knew."

"Your mom is discreet. How do you feel about receiving painful punishment?"

"It hurts," she grinned. "However, it's also effective. I always deserve it. After dad has punished me, I feel forgiven, corrected." Thankful for her research, she felt she'd supplied a fair response.

Fernando smiled. His niece's balanced summary showed logical, well-reasoned, reflective consideration. Everything he'd expect. "Sarah isn't a life coach."

Intrigued, she leaned forward.

"Sarah is a girls' disciplinarian. She listens to her clients' concerns, offering honest advice, before punishing them, killing their guilt. She belts, canes, straps and paddles young women, like yourself. Proper, painful punishments. True hurt. Girls leave with marks and severe discomfort for several days. Her business is growing fast."

Zara upgraded Sarah to elite status. She'd hooked a wealthy guy and ran an exciting, expanding business. She filed her fascinating fact. "Girls, sign up for it?"

"In droves. Her business has expanded. She employs four disciplinarians. Her clients enjoy a professional co-working space, convenient discipline attached. It's a discreet girls' club. Members only. Her clients are eighteen upward. She needs help to manage her business. I don't know if she'd consider you."

"I have limited business experience."

"Your self-awareness will protect you. You love business. It's clear you also respect discipline, an obvious prerequisite."

Consumed by her potential usefulness, she imagined meeting Sarah. Insight struck her. "How does she manage her disciplinarians?"

He smiled. "I imagine you've already guessed."

"Would she discipline me?"

"It's inevitable unless you're flawless."

Her conscience flagged her tempestuous coupling with Mandy's boyfriend. She canceled her coming self-reflection. Her behavior didn't require examination. It demanded stringent correction. Agony befitting her appalling deceit. Visceral understanding struck. She understood why girls turned to Sarah. "I'm not flawless," she said. "I've flaws. Plenty."

"I imagine Sarah will punish you. Does that trouble you?"

She shook her head. "My bar boss, John, has paddled me. Several times. Before becoming a bartender, I lacked loyalty. He roasted my butt. I got the paddle. Ten swats over my jeans. Promoting me that night, the next evening, his second set of ten swats scorched my thin tailored pants. He beat me well. Apologizing, I thanked him. It was harsh, but fair. Of course it hurt, but it reset our relationship."

Fernando stored this bonus information for Sarah. "Shall I speak to Sarah?"

Zara examined her options. Careers existed she'd never seen. This discovery felt fateful. She nodded.

"I'm proud of you, Zara. You're beautiful, curious and clever. I'm unsurprised you're finding it challenging to discover your path. There aren't many like you."

She smiled, his compliment lighting her pleasure fuse. Few admired her beauty and her mind. No wonder Sarah adored her uncle.

Zara ignored the evening TV news. Seated on their couch beside her dad, a wooden tray on her knees, she shuffled her last pizza slice around her dinner plate. Her mom visiting distant clients, her dad had cooked them homemade vegetable pizza. Her incredible afternoon had educated her. Girls like her chose regular punishment. Her newfound knowledge had driven her to sanction herself. Her inexcusable encounter with Mandy's boyfriend required a tough reckoning. Unless she held herself to account, she wasn't fit to join a discipline business.

Months ago, her dad had taken her aside, showing her the promised cane. He hadn't wanted her surprised when it appeared, sometime. Demonstrating its fierce flex, he'd stored it in their cupboard beneath the stairs, his warning delivered.

She sighed. Sometime was tonight. She reached for the remote, muting the annoying news anchor. Replacing the remote, she finished her pizza.

Zara's dad watched his daughter's apparent angst, wondering if she needed her mom.

"Dad, you promised to cane me if I deserved it."

"I did." He wouldn't relent. His cane represented a fair threat. She understood painful consequences existed. He wouldn't remove his threat. She shouldn't expect it.

"I deserve it, dad."

He stared, wrangling with his surprise. "Tell me why."

Skimming over her adrenaline fueled one-night stand, she conveyed the essential gist.

"If I cane you, Mandy won't forgive you."

"I hope she never knows."

He contemplated her unexpected request, pleased his assumption had proven false. Far from shunning his cane, she'd requested it, her sad tone conveying her serious need for meaningful consequences. "Does your mom know?"

She shook her head. "Could you tell her, dad? I'm ashamed."

"I'll have to. You'll carry visible lines on your bottom for several days. Anyway, your mom deserves to know I've caned you. Consider your request. It's severe discipline."

"I need it, dad."

Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry I have to hurt you."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not. I need it."

He left the lounge. Returning, he carried his cane. "Go to your bedroom, Zara. Wait for me."

In her bedroom, her palms went unbidden to her bottom. Caressing her gray sweatpants, she smiled at her instinctive reaction. Her bottom was about to hurt beyond her experience. During her frequent reading, someone had described taking their caning in silence, a tricky tribute to its rightfulness.

Her dad entered. Thirty inches long, his slender yellow rattan ignited her fear. She moved beside her bed.

"Drop your pants, Zara."

Obeying, she eased her soft sweatpants to her ankles, stepping from them. She faced her father in her bright red panties, their familiar white Calvin Klein branding wrapping her hips.

"You've betrayed a girl you call your friend."

His accurate scolding shredded her self-respect. She lowered her gaze to her bare feet. "I don't deserve her."

"You must carry your guilt. The cane will lessen your load. Actions have consequences. Bend over."

She bent over her bed. Her brief red panties tightened across her bottom. Rising, they revealed more of her cheeks. She didn't deserve coverage. The cane settled across her cotton. Three taps provided salient warning. A high-pitched whistle burst into a tremendous crack. The ruthless sound cannoned off her bedroom walls. Sting streaked across her butt. Blazing through her panties, it intensified, scorching her skin.

Brutal pain streaked along its demarcation, returning amplified, repeating its forward trajectory, its bitterness rising. She'd never felt such decisive pain. Long after its harsh arrival, her single cane stroke kept punishing. Focused on her unusual agony, she realized she hadn't uttered a sound. Shock had prevented her from gasping. Pressing her lips together, her fire deepened under its remarkable ridge, causing her to wriggle her bottom.

"Keep still for me, Zara," her father ordered.

A second stroke slashed across her panties. Singeing her skin, its parallel track smarted. Expecting its cruel escalation, she went with its anger, imagining Mandy learning of her deceit. It hurt more than her twin stripes.

A third stroke struck her tender bottom, imparting its fiery dose of agony. The rattan slid lower, tapping below her skimpy panties. It slammed into her skin. She bit hard into her lip, determined to remain respectful.

A harder stroke shot into her soft skin, blazing vicious heat. She flung its fury over her conscience, absorbing its necessary cruelty. The cane rested just above her legs. Her soft skin begged for a reprieve she didn't deserve. Blinking away tears, she faced down her resistance. Savage sting struck her sensitive curve. Screaming skywards, her righteous pain ripped into her conscience. It condemned her selfish sexual adventure. She bore its ruthless agony, holding back her tears. She didn't deserve them.

"You punishment is over, Zara."

Zara eased herself up, running her fingers over the seat of her panties. Six clear ridges decorated her punished bottom. Six marks of private shame.

Facing her father, she said. "Thank you, dad. I feel relief I don't deserve."

"You showed great respect. Your silence was admirable."

"Thank you, dad." In devastating anguish, his compliment thrilled her.

"Stay in your room for an hour. Painful reflection suits your transgression."

"Yes, dad. Thank you."

"I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Alone, she studied her bottom in the mirror. Four parallel lines of proper punishment showed beyond her briefs. Lowering her panties, she admired the full six. Tracing her prominent ridges produced stabs of intense pain. Holding Mandy in her mind, she slid her fingertips along each red stripe, accepting her agony. Her visible marks would embarrass her. She considered changing at work. Maybe she deserved her co-workers to see.

Her clit hardened, begging for her generous touch. Denying herself, she pulled up her panties. She'd go without her natural pain-relief. She didn't deserve pleasure. Her friendship deserved a full night of penitent, painful reflection.

Keeping her hand from her panties, she lay on her bed, letting her pain punish her. Her corporal punishment journey had taken a sharp turn. It may collide with her career. Girls like her got caned, paddled, strapped and spanked at their request. She'd proved her guts. She'd asked.

By chance, she'd also gained fantastic learning. Deserved beyond compare, she'd honored her punishment, choosing to make her struggle tougher, getting no relief from a swift gasp or natural outburst. Receiving the cane in silence had proved her absolute acceptance, delivering grim justice.

Bubbling from her core, her pride rose. She deserved a corporal punishment career. She'd trained for years.