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Seatbelt secure in domestic first class, Diane gripped her armrests, struggling for calm. The Boeing 737 circled the jet training academy airfield. Her fellow base-training pilots had completed two hours of endless landings and departures, swapping the flying pilot every six circuits. Slotting between arriving aircraft, some circuits vectored wide, others were rapid.

The flight deck contained two captains. A training captain monitored students' performance, flying during seat changes. A safety captain provided extra experience for genuine emergencies.

Six circuits ago, she'd watched Tamsin return to her seat, smiling. Her friend had completed her touch-and-go circuits, afternoon sunshine celebrating her obvious success. Out of consideration for classmates still to fly, successful pilots contained their joy.

Two hours hadn't calmed her. Approaching the plane, its tail number had shattered her brain. She'd seen it on every page of the air accident report two years ago. Unlike her fellow aviators, she'd flown this plane before. Boarding up the airstairs, she'd taken her seat, her brain consumed, strapping her seatbelt tight.

Two years ago, she'd unsnapped her seatbelt at ten thousand feet, passed a fallen flight attendant, and assumed command of this exact Boeing 737. A trained barista, she'd broadcast her emergency, landing the plane with remote help. She'd needed months to process her ordeal, handling her shock, grief, and fear in private.

The public address system came alive. "Diane, to the flight deck."

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she approached the familiar cockpit. She glanced into the narrow, deserted galley. A flight attendant wasn't sat upon the floor fixated on her silver coffeepot. The cockpit discharged a tall, beaming guy with six perfect circuits completed. Passing him, she entered the flight deck. The safety captain pointed her toward the right seat. "Get comfortable, Diane."

Keeping her knees clear of the control yoke, she adjusted her seat. Touching the yoke during her crisis would have canceled the autopilot, plunging everyone to their deaths. Staring at her instrument panel, the familiar heavy fascia scratch stared back.

The training captain said, "We're downwind runway two six. Your controls, Diane."

Her hands remained in her lap.

"Your controls, Diane," the training captain repeated.

She stared straight ahead, her fingers glued to her thighs. Her mind couldn't move them. In her head, her remote pilot's voice ordered her to avoid touching her yoke. In her crisis hour, he'd guided her to safety by radio, his firm authority filling her lonely cockpit. Millions had since downloaded their astonishing radio exchange, prime sections splashed across newspapers.

The training captain studied her, his confident touch turning the jet onto the circuit's base leg. From his jump seat, the safety pilot leaned forward. "Are you okay, Diane?"

Fingers planted on her thighs, she didn't respond.

"Get up, Diane," the safety pilot ordered.

Avoiding her yoke, she obeyed.

Guiding her from the flight deck, he said, "Retake your seat."

Her fellow pilots didn't meet her gaze, her sudden return telling its tale. She seated herself, fastening her seatbelt. Across the cabin, Tamsin tried to catch her eye. Bowing her head, silent tears fell. She'd failed. Her brain couldn't compute her devastating loss. Trusted with the controls, she'd failed. Unable to assume command, she would never fly again.

The last pilot flew six stable circuits, compounding her failure. She missed their ultimate landing, devastated by her defeat. Parking on the jet academy apron, their captains entered the cabin. Stopping Tamsin from approaching her, they ushered their successful pilots off the aircraft.

The safety captain leaned against the cabin wall. The training captain squatted beside her, exuding confused calm. "What happened, Diane? I'm told you're an experienced commercial pilot, top of your class."

Being reminded, hurt. She'd led everyone on. She wasn't airline pilot material. Recognizing she owed them an explanation, she stared at her nails. "I've flown this plane before."

Puzzled expressions met her bland statement. She added, "Do you remember a barista landing a Diamond Cross Air flight?"

The safety captain nodded. "She was beyond extraordinary."

It hit the training captain first.

Embarrassed, she blushed.

"Shit. That was you," he said.

She nodded. "It was this exact aircraft. I recognized its tail number. The deep scratch on my instrument panel proved it."

The training captain stood. "I won't give up on you, Diane." Cellphone attached to his ear, he paced the aisle.

A minuscule sliver of hope teased her. She understood his immediate problem. They'd waited ten days for an available aircraft. Planes made money flying passengers. This jet was flying coast-to-coast tonight, departing in minutes.

The training captain's commanding tone boomed along the aisle. "Diane, if I secure us another plane, will you show us your finest talent?"

Disgust struck her. She would become half a pilot, renowned for her fear of a particular plane. She'd flown fifteen hundred hours with Tamsin, landing their Twin Otter in the deepest outback. Fear didn't rule her. Twisting, she said, "I fly this aircraft or I don't deserve my type-rating."

His radiant smile showed respect as he returned to his call. Thirty uncomfortable minutes elapsed. Her mind scaled every emotion between hope and loss.

Unbeknown to Diane, the decision to keep her multi-million-dollar jet performing non-revenue flights reached the airline's chief pilot. He passed it to Doug Diamond. The airline owner hadn't missed a single flight report she'd filed from Australia. Following her progress, he'd appreciated his swift decision to appoint her an honorary captain, delighting in her desire to earn her salary. He'd have lost his airline without her. Hearing she was demanding the same plane, he smiled. That airplane owed her an extra day. His blunt response resounded down the company. 'Give Diane what she wants.'

Relaying the company's decision, smiling, the training captain confirmed they'd fly again tomorrow. Released, she disembarked, telling Tamsin everything. They abandoned her rental car. Her friend drove them to their chain hotel. En route, Diane called Neil, telling him about her disaster, the burden she'd placed on the airline, and the challenge she must meet tomorrow. Busy working, he offered quick comfort.

Tamsin tucked her overwrought friend into her bed. Placing herself on watch, she sat in the corner chair while Diane fell asleep. Unable to enjoy her Boeing 737 type-rating, she felt wretched for her best friend, powerless to help her. Hours later, she answered a gentle knock on Diane's door, irritated by the disturbance. Her irritation collapsed, seeing Neil. Grabbing her phone, she slipped away.

Awakened, Diane slid into her boyfriend's arms. Held in her white cotton panties, she nestled, borrowing his strength. Of course, he'd come. He'd always supported her crazy career.

Squeezing her tight, he caressed her back. He understood his girlfriend. He hadn't flown here alone. Stepping away, he reached into his wheelie suitcase, removing their trusted bamboo paddle. Facing her, he said, "Diane, you need paddling."

Gratitude swamped her. Pity or sympathy would have killed her. His tough stance rammed respect into her, boosting her spirits. Failure deserved a high price.

He said, "You're an ultra-high achiever. Your failure must feel colossal. You'd have rationalized your situation, if you'd known in advance."

"I never imagined I'd fly that exact aircraft," she said. "I froze. Visions from my past filled the plane." She studied the dark carpet.

"Babe, I'm sorry to break it to you, but you're normal. Your overloaded brain went into shock, its coping mechanism. You weren't fit to fly. You're a confident, brilliant pilot."

She met his gaze. "The training captain isn't giving up on me."

He smiled. "Nobody gives up on you, Diane. You're worth it."

His compliment stung. She'd given up on herself, deciding she wasn't airline pilot material. Meanwhile, her airline, her training captain, her best friend, and her boyfriend had rallied to her aid. "I'm sorry I caused you to fly out here."

"You're worth it. But you didn't believe in yourself. You deserve your paddling."

Guilt wrenched her stomach. He was right. "I convinced myself I wasn't an airline pilot."

"Silly decision. Nobody else agrees. Six swats. Hard ones."

"I didn't expect anyone's help."

"You should. You're worth it. Another six. Bare."

She accepted his stark judgment. She didn't know who her training captain had called, but they'd helped.

"Your plane is waiting for you. Tomorrow you'll fly. But, gorgeous girl, you'll fly sore, very well spanked."

"I deserve it."

"Good Girl."

His praise quivered down her spine, bringing fearful delight. She watched him clear her desk, placing her laptop and paper piles on the floor, his purposeful steps actioning her punishment. She'd let herself down, causing chaos. Expecting nothing, she'd received immense support. His firm hand would correct her. She needed to bend, needed to atone for her self doubt.

His jeans and blue corporate shirt exhibited his authority. The three-foot golden bamboo paddle he wielded demanded her obedience. Its eight aerodynamic holes would boost its speed, flying into her deserving bottom. Stern, commanding, and kind, he always paddled her hard. His kindness never translated into forgiveness until he'd punished her. Scolded in her white cotton bikini panties, she gravitated towards the hotel desk.

"Bend over," he ordered, patting the paddle against his thigh.

Placing her forearms on the polished wood surface, she bent, her bottom offered in humble contrition. She'd lacked faith in herself and others.

The paddle rested against her tight cotton. She settled. A full-force crack echoed off the walls, hurtling into her ears. Heat scorched her flimsy panties. Rampant fire engulfed her part-bare cheeks. Softened by six weeks without spanking, she burst a feeble cry from her lips. Her rapid downward spiral in her passenger seat deserved immense agony. The paddle flung fury into her soft cotton, melting her memory into a pointless puddle. She shouldn't have abandoned herself. Angry sting agreed.

Two tough swats slammed into her thin cotton. Passers-by would hear her paddling. Shuffling her fingers, she clutched the desk edge. She didn't care if anyone heard her punishment. She'd earned it.

Her sixth swat spread fierce pain pulsing deep into her punished bottom, burning towards her thighs. She panted, willing herself to handle her suffering. She deserved to hurt.

"Diane, I love you. I'm not alone. You should have believed in others. You deserve their respect."

His firm fingers swept her white cotton panties to her ankles. Bared, her vulnerability confirmed her deficiency. Those who'd given her another chance should see her thrashed. The bamboo slammed into her reddened flesh, burning her tender skin, pounding pain into her disbelieving bottom.

Humbled by his scolding, she accepted her fierce suffering. She hadn't expected others would swarm to help her. Blitzing her butt, bare skin flamed under the paddle's furious onslaught, correcting her expectations.

"Tomorrow, your bottom will keep you safe and sore when you sit in your rightful seat. Step back, grab your ankles."

His authority spread through her core. She could rely on him. Stepping back, she obeyed. Her bottom disagreed. She didn't. The paddle tapped her cheeks where she'd sit.

"Hold tight," he commanded.

White knuckles confirmed her commitment. The paddle demolished her bottom. Killer sting spread across her taut skin. Unrelenting, it returned. A thunderclap filled her suite, cruel pain penetrating deep into her deserving bottom.

"Your punishment is over. You may stand."

Rising, she watched him discard his clothes. Tugged onto her bed, her bare butt burning, she rode his hard body, forcing his manhood deep inside her. Driving herself on his hardness, she held herself poised in mid-flight, revering his tough judgment, her fiery bottom in splendid agony. Hefty climaxes kidnapped her mind, sweeping her towards a soft landing on his hard chest.

Next morning, sun beamed down on her. She stepped towards her Boeing 737, parked outside the jet academy, performing a detailed inspection beside her training captain. Their flight briefed, a Gulfstream business jet arrived beside them, delaying their engine-start. The training captain taxied to the runway threshold and checked his safety captain was ready. Granted clearance, he turned them onto runway two six. "Diane, you have control."

"I have control," she said, her fingers light on her yoke.

Thrust pouring from her twin Pratt & Whitney engines, she held her nose straight, roaring down runway two six.

"Eighty knots," the captain called.

Glancing at her speed, she called, "Checked."

After V1 speed, he called "Rotate."

Pulling her yoke, she guided her jet skyward, asserting a positive rate of climb and calling for landing gear up. Following their briefed vectors, she flew circuits while he handled the radio.

Despite the wind, her controlled descents brought soft landings, her tender bottom appreciating the smooth tarmac. Applying full go-around power, she transitioned, taking off again.

Powered by pride, she performed six flawless 'touch and go' circuits. Returning to the jet academy apron, they completed their shutdown checklists. Leaving their cockpit seats, they congregated in the main cabin. The training captain smiled. "You were worth the wait, Diane. You passed." Shaking her hand, he said, "You're a Boeing 737 pilot."

She reached up, kissing his cheek. "Thank you for helping me."

"You're a terrific pilot."

She bounced down the airstairs, past the gleaming Gulfstream, into the air-conditioned jet academy lobby.

Tamsin rushed forward. "You passed, didn't you? Tell me you passed."

She grinned. "I passed. Thank you for helping me."

"Everyone saw you," she said, beaming.

Tamsin led her towards a small contingent beside the window. She recognized the Diamond Cross Air Chief Pilot. He'd organized her original flight training and Outback trip. Beside him stood a rugged older man in suit pants and an open white shirt. Stepping forward, he said, "Doug Diamond, lovely to meet you Diane."

She recognized his gruff voice from their only phone call. He'd appointed her an honorary captain. She'd asked to earn her salary. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Doug, to you," he said. "I heard you were putting on a show."

She smiled.

"You're a talented pilot, Diane. Smooth, controlled flying, worth our investment."

"Thank you," she said. Turning to Neil, she hugged him, whispering, "You were right." His palms glided over her tight black uniform pants, asserting command over her sore bottom. She spotted her black wheelie beside his and Tamsin's. Glancing at her friend, she asked, "Have you booked us flights home?"

She and Neil had packed everything, confident they were flying home today. "Sort of," she said, glancing towards Doug Diamond.

"I'm giving you a lift," he said.

Her butt aching, she peeked outside at the sleek white Gulfstream.

Noting her enthusiastic expression, he grinned. "You're not flying that one, Diane. At least, not today."