It doesn't, after all

You're about to leave, substantially earlier than usual, to allow for the stiffness with which you're walking today, when a pair of distinctive chimes rings out in unison. Diana is the first to pull out her smartphone, making a little excited sound when she reads the message.

"Oh, it's from the office! There's a leak on the floor above, we're working from home today! And given that it's Friday, if there is nothing to be done remotely, we are okay to delay the rest until Monday!"

By this time, you've managed to fish out your own 'phone—everything is seeming to take longer than usual for you at the moment. After a quick glance at the screen to confirm you have the same instructions, you're about to reply when you feel your legs go soft and before you know it, you're kneeling on the floor, welling up with relief that you don't have to face a full work day in your current state.

Diana is at once on hand to help, her delight at an unexpected free day instantly replaced by concern over your reaction. You hasten to explain that you're fine, but she insists on checking you over once more, which involves getting you back out of the clothes you just put on. That turns out not to be as much fun as it sounds, but eventually your unofficial nurse is satisfied that there's nothing physically wrong with you beyond what's expected from a harsh caning and whipping. Unfortunately, that means you're going to lose her for the next few hours at least.

"I'm sorry, Jenna," she explains. "Actually, I do have a couple of things to finish. If I don't, it will be your job to paddle me. But if I get it over with now, I'll be back as soon as I can and we'll have the entire weekend together for me to comfort you."

You try not to show how much distress the thought of her leaving, even for a short time, causes you and all too soon you're alone in your one-bedroom flat near the city’s business district. You decide to distract yourself by having a look around your place to see what, if anything, has changed, since you weren't in any condition to notice last night.

The most obvious change is that your modest collection of spanking toys is more extensive now and proudly displayed on the wall of the dining/living area instead of being tucked away in the bottom drawer in your bedroom. Some of the photos you have on display have changed too; in particular you do not recall nude people including yourself featuring in any of them before. Your graduation photos catch your eye: you notice that the academic gowns on ladies are a lot shorter in the middle now with slightly longer sides, clearly meant to expose one's bottom. They are also impossible to close over one's breasts, even as unimpressive as yours, you find out as you look at your-younger-self smiling for the photo with your diploma in hand topless save for the said gown, with bright red welts across your chest. You guess the design is specifically made for recently punished ladies to be able to wear them without being in violation of the rules. You also wonder what you have done during the graduation ceremony to deserve that. Ever so helpfully, the Rulebook tells you that you may have said "It's fucking over!" to your friend when exiting the hall in the earshot of a warden. What you really meant was that the ceremony was long and you badly needed the toilet, but she did not exactly care. Still, in the spirit of the day she was fairly lenient.

Your bedroom remains much the same as before. You walk awkwardly through the familiar space, feet still sore, trying to spot any differences but finding none. The bedroom is a private area after all. With a sigh, you return to the living room to get your laptop and try to get at least something done today.

Despite your discomfort, you manage to get busy with what work you can do remotely and make impressive progress, even though you have to read and type and make graphs as you kneel, stand or stretch on the sofa on your tummy. Whenever the pain threatens to overwhelm you, a few moments gently stroking your aching clitty (and thinking about Diana doing the same thing just a few hours earlier) is enough to make it recede sufficiently for you to continue with your tasks. In fact, when lunchtime approaches, you feel recovered enough to make yourself something to eat, but half way through your preparations, your doorbell rings, freezing you on the spot. Surely it has to be Diana, nobody else would be coming at this time…but the universe has been keen on surprising you recently. You **** your leaden legs to carry you towards the door, wishing you'd decided to get dressed again this morning, but doing so now would be risking another spanking for making whoever it is wait, you are quite certain.

"Jen, it's me!" Diana's voice calls. With a wave of relief, you throw the door open and your fragrant colleague flutters in, having replaced her work clothes with an outfit that can only be described as sensual. Red high heels that match her lipstick, a tight black skirt to mid thigh, with a slit that reveals a very lacy stocking top and an actual corset that emphasizes her bosom most attractively make her look like she's going on a date (or a dirty weekend), instead of paying a visit to a friend in need. The look is only slightly spoiled by the two large bags she's brought with her.

"Didn't feel up to getting dressed?" she asks rhetorically as she checks you over carefully. "Very sensible."

Closing the door, you blush under her scrutiny and search for a suitable reply.

"I was just making lunch," is what you settle for. "Can I get you something?"

"I already ate. Why don't I put some more cream on you while you finish? Then after you've eaten, I think we need to have a talk."

That sounds ominous, but you try to forget about it and Diana's healing hands certainly help you in that regard. She starts with your bottom, massaging your sore glutes and only occasionally slipping between your legs, just often enough to leave you tingling and aching for more. She does such a good job that you're able to sit down very gingerly to eat while she turns her attention to your back. This is less pleasurable and although she suggests using one hand between your thighs to distract you, you're too embarrassed to do this in front of her and make the excuse that you need both hands for eating.

Finally, she kneels on the floor to rub your feet, but they're almost better now and she soon finishes. The two of you clean up together; a couple of days ago, you might have been tempted to leave the washing up for later, but no longer. Even though there's nobody to check up on you, the mere thought of being caught with unwashed dishes in the sink makes you a little light headed with trepidation.

You chat amiably while you work, mostly about the projects you have on the go, but carefully avoiding any mention of your recent disciplinary escapades. However, as soon as you finish, Diana hangs up the tea towel and walks over to her bags, taking out a heavy, oval backed hairbrush and smacking it into her hand threateningly.

"Jenna," she begins solemnly, "We need to talk about your behaviour recently."

You look from the implement to your friend's eyes and back, bewildered, tears threatening to form in the corners of your eyes at this unexpected change in events.

"You hardly ever get spanked," she continues, "and then what is it? Three times in one day? Four? What's got into you?"

You open your mouth, although you can hardly give the truthful answer that it's all due to a magic book, but Diana's not waiting for a reply.

"It's about Michael, isn't it?"

You're briefly taken aback, then you nod, slowly, grateful for the excuse. Although you've always felt you prefer the company of other women, you approached the nerdy-looking but fit guy a few years younger than you, after seeing him a few times in the gym you both visited regularly. The brief period you spent dating was fun in more ways than one, but almost from the beginning you felt wrong about getting together with a guy who was still at university (as a Masters student, but nonetheless) and who clearly formed attachments easily, when you were not sure you even wanted a relationship. Long story short, you decided to break things off cleanly before it went too far and while you were by no means heartbroken, you felt bad about the way you led the poor guy on. He did nothing to deserve that. Being so cute in his own way does not count.

"Well, Jen, I never thought he was right for you and ending the relationship was the best thing. I understand it can set you off balance emotionally, but you can't afford to get into trouble at work. It could affect your livelihood."

You nod again, tears prickling your eyes once more. Fortunately, it seems Diana has a plan to help you out.