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Tamsin scanned her cockpit instruments, checking her airspeed. Her fifty-ton Boeing 737 loaded with one hundred twenty genuine fare-paying passengers descended towards the runway. It was her sixty-first flight sector, a Thursday. It could be any afternoon.

Every flight between cities added a fresh sector to her growing count. Every airport differed. Terrain, approach, weather, runway length. Fraught with nerves during her first sector, twelve more sectors had settled her into strict operating procedure. Her line-training captains, all airline veterans, had kept her technique precise and reliable, correcting mistakes.

After her initial twelve sectors, the safety pilot, an extra training captain, had departed, satisfied with her ability to land her aircraft solo in an emergency. Two months of increasing pressure had built her experience. Line-training captains displayed exceptional teaching ability. Demanding constant excellence, they added skilled pilots to Diamond Cross Air's roster. She'd grown. Diane too. Comparing notes before falling asleep, they ate, slept, and flew. Mornings began early, checking the weather, fuel needs, notices to aircrew and topography.

On her flight director screen, the tiny bug showed steady descent along the three degree glide-slope towards the runway. Behind her today sat an examiner, charged with judging her. If satisfied, he'd end her line-training, declaring her an official, trusted, airline first officer. From the beginning, her training had drilled into her Aviate, Navigate, Communicate. She was aviating.

One hundred feet above the runway, she committed to landing. Two alert tones boomed through the flight deck, followed by "Wind shear, wind shear, wind shear." Her plane tossed left, its nose plunging downwards.

Wind kept her plane aloft. Air beneath her wings was her life support. Sudden changes in wind direction could cause catastrophic loss of lift. Collapsing headwinds removed the powerful force necessary to remain airborne. Swinging behind her, winds disturbed aerodynamic stability, boosting her slowing speed. Near the ground, sudden wind shifts were lethal.

Firing her finger at the autopilot, she disconnected it. Driving her throttles forward, she hit the toga button, commanding absolute maximum thrust from both engines, disengaging the auto-throttle. Power didn't come. Huge, spinning fan blades took several seconds to increase their rotation speed. Rolling her wings level against shocking wind shifts, she pitched up fifteen degrees, stowing the speed brake. Her plane continued into uncertain winds.

She held her nerve. Following her flight director screen, she flew above the runway. Her engines attaining full thrust, power throbbed through her seat. She climbed towards five thousand feet on the runway heading. Turning left towards the ocean, she called for landing-gear up and reduced her prodigious thrust. Her captain raised the landing gear, reporting their 'go-around' to the tower controllers.

Planning their flight, they'd briefed possible wind shear, revealed by their advanced weather reports. Scanning ahead, the aircraft's weather radar monitored for sudden wind direction changes. Coupled with the ground proximity warning system, it had saved many disasters. Her training required an unambiguous response. Despite the enticing tarmac seconds ahead of her plane, she'd aborted her landing, going around. A rough maneuver.

Her line-training captain's voice stole her attention. "Perfect performance, Tamsin. Genuine excellence."

Her heart soared. During line-training, pilots got constant challenges and ever-increasing pressure. Never extraordinary praise.

He asked, "Shall we wait for improved conditions or land?"

She gave herself a moment. "With fuel, we can hold for thirty minutes. Conditions may improve. I'll relax."

"Wise decision."

Ten minutes later, after circling west of the airport, she glided through two hundred feet, touching her wheels on the tarmac. Activating her reverse thrust, she slowed her airplane, passing control to her captain. He taxied the aircraft to their gate. Completing shutdown checklists, she turned, surprised to see her examiner sitting there. Consumed by her duty, she'd forgotten her test.

"You've passed line-training, Tamsin."

Unable to hide her sincere satisfaction, she grinned.

"It wasn't your excellent wind shear escape maneuver. It was your calm decision making and communication with your captain, during, and afterwards. You're a first officer. Congratulations."

She shook his hand. Turning, she thanked her captain beside her. Standing, she left her seat, qualified, and desperate to share her success with Diane.

Four blocks from the central city park, Diane entered Tamsin's modern luxury townhouse. She ignored the opulent kitchen, visible through a glass wall. Polished hardwood stairs ahead carried her down into their secret underground passage. Bright white walls lined with spot-lit city scenes led her past Jake's glass walled, temperature-controlled wine collection, bringing her up into the carriage house. Her luxurious city-center home cost her and Neil nothing.

Central stairs separated her contemporary Italian kitchen from luxurious couches beneath a sloping skylight. Upstairs, their lavish master bedroom led to a designer ensuite, its frosted window overlooking the shared courtyard. Sitting at her dining table, still in uniform, she studied her approach charts for tomorrow's sectors. Tomorrow was her line-training examination. She hoped Tamsin had passed today. She glanced at Tamsin's open-plan dining room and kitchen across their shared courtyard. Bordered by tall trees and an enormous wall, they used their courtyard often. Trapped sunshine, girl talk and couple chats often filled their secret city sanctuary. She cherished their tiny community. She'd lived with Tamsin in the Outback. Together in the city, she adored their generous arrangement. Jake's incredible fortune, misappropriated from his criminal ex-girlfriend, provided incredible comfort. His vast house aside, Jake loved Tamsin. He'd crossed oceans to claim her. Tuesday nights, he belted her. Four fierce strokes, laid on hard. Her friend swore by it. She wasn't so sure. Without guilt, pain lacked context. Neil didn't give her regular discipline, waiting for her need to surface. But Tamsin loved her Tuesday beltings, claiming they made her softer, calmer, and relaxed, despite her tender bottom. Her friend had sometimes revealed her reddened cheeks, showing her scheduled beltings weren't inconsequential. Refocusing on her approach chart, she traced her three different approaches, flying them in her head, feeling her stress rising.

Tomorrow she must pass her line-training. Four sectors awaited her. One, very tricky, an ultra short runway. For her line-check examination, it was an awful choice. Did flight operations choose it to challenge her? Were they aware it was her line-check examination? In outback Australia, she'd commanded their flight operations. Now a cog in someone else's wheel, her thoughts strayed to Doug Diamond's sleek white Gulfstream jet.

Returning from the jet academy, she'd swapped her luxurious leather seat for the cockpit jump seat, befriending Doug's pilots. Despite valiant attempts, Tamsin hadn't persuaded her to return to her luxurious chair. Flying business jets felt like an adventure. It also required substantial airline experience.

Across the courtyard, she noticed Jake moving around his kitchen. He waved. She rose. Sliding her glass door open, she crossed the stone tiles. Sliding his terrace door, she stepped into his open-plan dining room, the kitchen beyond.

"Hey, Diane. Tamsin messaged. She passed. I'm making her dinner. You guys should join us. I'm making a roast."

"I'll set the table." She smiled, her heart dropping. It was disingenuous, but her friend's success raised her stakes. Waylaid by conversation with Jake, she was still laying the silverware when Tamsin arrived. She hugged her friend.

"Neil walked in behind me. I told him we're having roast," Tamsin said.

Her friend kissed her man beside the oven. Seeing Tamsin happy with Jake always felt brilliant. Knowing her friend's cute butt, encased in tight black uniform pants, often received stringent spankings, only brought them closer. Tamsin had crossed their friendship line during flight school. Discovered on arrival in the outback, she'd given Tamsin a rational choice. Her friend had bent. First over her bed. Next morning, touching her toes. She'd given Tamsin two sound canings, repairing their friendship. Tough discipline guided them, both aware they'd forgive, forget, and bend before they let anything divide them.

Table laid, Neil appeared from the passageway stairs. She slid into his arms. He ran Hair Air's vast technology infrastructure, strengthened by a security team Jake had trained in anti-hacking. Capable of lifting her fears, his powerful arms held her tight, firm hands sliding down to cup her bottom, spreading his authority through her uniform pants. Her guts had brought tough spankings into their relationship. Money arguments were ancient history. They both earned fantastic salaries. Freed from housing costs, their rainy day fund had multiplied Neil's extraordinary bonus, giving financial security she'd never imagined, although nothing next to Jake's fortune.

Jake poured Dom Pérignon Plénitude Brut, passing Tamsin a flute. She took it. Diane fixated on the glass her friend held. Tamsin turned, blazing criticism burning into her skull. "Scheduling bumped me. I'm not flying tomorrow."

Declining champagne, Diane hid her distaste for opaque corporate policies. Bidding on flights in their crew app, seniority favored pilots in their algorithmic war for flight choices suiting their lifestyles, egos, and earnings. Powerful pilots played predictable games, attempting to manipulate the complex math in their favor. It caused unpredictable outcomes for those lacking seniority. Fresh first officers got unpopular hours, short layovers, and undesirable destinations. Tomorrow, her schedule wouldn't improve, even if her official skill status did.

Passing her a champagne flute with chilled water, Neil raised his glass. "To First Officer Tamsin."

They all cheered, toasting Tamsin's success. Diane gave the toast her total commitment. It tested her. For her, their shared goal had waned. She loved flying. Less so being managed.

Roast beef, carved by Jake, roast potatoes, and crisp vegetables, powered Tamsin's tale of her line-check. Diane watched the boys, their respect visible. Jealous tension twanged her core, rising into irritation at their premature celebration. Retrieving the mandarin cheesecake from the vast fridge, she gathered herself. A mandarin lover, her friend had collected it from her favorite Italian bakery on her route home. She placed it central on the rectangular dining table. Grabbing a silver cake slice from the kitchen drawer, she warmed it under the tap to perfect cheesecake cutting temperature. She set the heated knife beside the cheesecake, awaiting an appropriate conversation gap. Jake and Tamsin continued discussing ideas for their unexpected free days, raising her irritation. She wanted freedom, too. Neil chimed in, suggesting they visit a luxury handbag store he'd heard girls at Hair Air discussing. Thirty seconds evaporated alongside the knife's heat.

Tamsin drained her champagne glass, pushing it towards Jake, asking, "Are we serving the cheesecake?"

"I've been waiting," Diane snapped.

"Me too," Tamsin said, misunderstanding.

Diane reached forward, plunging the knife tip into the cheesecake's center, sinking through softness into the biscuit base. Lowering its steel blade, she completed a flawless cut. Drifting the knife twenty generous degrees, she executed her second cut, slithering the cake slice beneath. Wriggling, she almost freed her magnificent slice. It tore. A huge chunk remained glued to her cold steel blade.

"Oh, Diane," Tamsin groaned.

Taking her friend's comment as criticism, Diane snapped. "It's ruined. If you'd stopped talking." Her abrasive critique brought potent silence. She saw Neil's hard expression. The silence developed. Neil stood, carrying his light cushioned dining chair into the free floor space. He placed it before the courtyard windows, facing away. "Come here, Diane."

"You wouldn't," she gasped.

His steel-tipped tone sliced across the room. "I would. I am."

Unbidden, her lower lip stuck out, declaring abject defiance. Under his resolute gaze, it quivered, dragging her towards him. Reaching his lone dining chair, her stomach tightened.

"Jake," Neil said, "Could you offer a suitable implement? You heard Diane's shocking outburst."

Tamsin touched Jake's arm, stilling his response. "May I?"

Jake relaxed. Given Diane's generous support through his challenging relationship with Tamsin, he'd have gone easy. Perhaps a light leather paddle. Solid sting, decent tears, but few lasting marks. His girlfriend wasn't likely to share his generosity.

Tamsin climbed up their polished wood stairs, passing through their great room. Comfortable space. Their third floor contained their TV room and a bedroom. Rising to level four, she ignored the two bedrooms. One had become Jake's office. Continuing upward, she reached their master suite. Recessed closets filled an entire wall. They'd dedicated one to discipline implements. Their oxblood red strap hung with pride. Lower shelves contained small paddles and a flexible tennis shoe. Kate had recommended it for simple domestic disobedience. She loved Kate. They'd become staunch friends since the beautiful, confident girl had swept her south into Jake's arms, sacrificing her dinner party on the altar of fabled romance.

Canes hung on dedicated hooks. Induced by displeasure, her fingers wavered towards the heavier ones. She hesitated. Diane had caned her in the outback for grievous deceit. Two severe lessons. She'd borne her devastating pain, earning her friend's respect. Diane's surprising explosion didn't deserve savage harshness. She withdrew her thinnest, whippy rattan. It delivered a bitter sting, but didn't penetrate its pain deep. Diane would bear some discomfort while flying tomorrow. Her friend deserved a meaningful punishment for disrupting her celebration. Whatever had rankled Diane didn't excuse her unseemly behavior. Maybe nerves facing her test tomorrow. Somehow the cheesecake had broken loose hidden tension. Sharp correction would dismiss her friend's angst. This cane, a merciful choice. Her friend would get a decent, punitive thrashing, enough pain to shatter her foolish tension. Taking the elevator down, she carried her considered choice. Approaching, she fixed her eyes on her friend, handing Neil the flexible cane.

Standing beside the positioned chair, Diane grappled with her unease. She'd tried to apologize. Neil had pointed out Tamsin deserved her apology. Selected by Tamsin, the cane contained stinging criticism. It wasn't spiteful; she deserved worse, but it would hurt her. Tamsin's reasonableness drove her regret deeper.

Neil took the cane. "Six or twelve, Tamsin?"

Tamsin stood tall, not shirking her responsibility. Facing Diane, she said. "Twelve."

Diane didn't wilt. Raising her gaze, she said, "Tamsin, I'm sorry."

"You will be, babe. Take your punishment. You need it." She nodded. "Apology accepted."

Neil faced Diane. "I know you're embarrassed, but I expect proud obedience."

His stern tone sheathed her shivering spine. She owed him sincere obedience. Nobody here appreciated disrespect. He'd declared her deserving. Jake and Tamsin agreed. There was no right of appeal.

"Drop your pants, Diane."

His unwanted command forced her fingers to unbuckle her stylish black belt. Reluctant to be seen submitting to him, disobedience would worsen her predicament. Undoing her tailored black uniform pants, she faced Tamsin and Jake, accepting her shame. Bending, she pushed her pants down to her slim ankles. Rising, she kept her arms at her sides, her white cotton bikini panties shining a beacon of abject surrender.

Seated, Tamsin wriggled. Her sex dampened her bright blue panties hidden beneath her tight black uniform pants. Beside her, Jake shifted in his seat, adjusting his beige chinos. His movements threatened her eager sex. Desperate to cram her hand into her panties, she sat on them both. Diane's misbehavior deserved painful punishment. Solid justification stirred righteous pleasure.

Neil flexed the cane. "Diane, your outburst was uncalled for. Jake invited us to dinner, expecting decent manners from you."

His firm tone straightened her stance, calling her to order. Scolded in her panties, his public criticism stung. It drove her gaze to the floor. She'd let her tension erupt. Nobody knew her concerns. She hadn't shared. His strong fingers slipped beneath her chin, raising her gaze to his. "I'm disappointed in you. Tamsin has sentenced you." Dropping her chin, he stepped back. Tapping his chair back, the cane tip marked her only destination.

His stern voice called her forward. "Bend over, Diane."