"You have done well," the major said when the last of his subordinates had come inside Stella's well fucked pussy. He rose and approached, grinning at the bound girl, standing directly before her. Two strong hands reached round and grasped Stella's buttocks pulling her against Falcon's throbbing meat. The major writhed against her, dry-humping Stella's pussy. He soon had the bound girl moaning, easily bringing her back to the boil, Stella a piece of putty in the dominance and surety of the man.

"Rewards come with obedience," said Falcon. "And there is no greater reward than your master's cock. Is that not so?"

"Yes! Yes, sir!" replied Stella, squirming in her bondage, needy of her master, even though she'd been fucked by three other men and had already enjoyed a climax.

"And do you want my cock? Should I fuck you now and make you come again as I fire more spunk inside you?"

"Yes, sir! Please, sir!"

Then a harsh expression appeared on Falcon's face. "But do you deserve it?" he asked.

"Wha..." said Stella, suddenly thrown.

"Think!" insisted Falcon, his voice demanding.

"I, erm... I... I..."

"Have you disobeyed me in any way today?" snarled Falcon. "Answer truthfully!"

Horror struck. The truth had to be told. It was inconceivable that she offer up a lie. "I'm sorry, sir... but yes, I was late for my run. But..."

"But what!" yelled Falcon, moving back a half-step and grabbing Stella by the chin to stare at her face. "You were told explicitly never to be late for a lesson. I personally told you that. Yet this morning you turned up two minutes late for a run. Why?"

"It was my fault, sir. I was running in the corridor."

"And that made you late?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

Stella looked at Falcon with panic in her eyes. She flicked her glance sideways to where Master Gregor was standing, his face hard and threatening. She returned her look to Falcon. She feared Master Gregor, but knew what she must do.

"A master detained me. I was obliged to make amends for my misbehaviour."

"Which meant you enjoyed some sex, no doubt?"

"Yes, sir."

"And by obeying him you disobeyed me. You should have explained. Did you make any attempt?"

"No, sir."

"So you ceded to his will rather than mine - the more pleasant option at the time to be sure."

"Yes, sir," said Stella, tears welling, shame cutting deep.

"It will happen often," said Falcon, softening his tone. "You will be faced with a dilemma such as this morning. Incur a master's wrath, or risk incurring mine. In this case you chose the latter. You chose wrongly, and therefore you must be punished. Now remember your lesson as I teach you another - accept, submit, find a place in your mind to take comfort if you cannot fully embrace the pain."

The sentence given, the execution came swiftly. Falcon Hamilton moved away from Stella. He picked up the crop that lay on the floor and walked purposely behind the trembling bound slave. Without further ado, the heavy leather crop swiped bitterly down on the side of Stella's left buttock, bouncing her cheek violently and causing Stella first to suck in air and then to yell out a wail of deep agonised pain. A wide red mark appeared on her pale skin as she hung there, shuddering and shaking, as the burning from the blow tore through her body and mind.

She was conditioned to being caned and spanked in various ways, but there had always been a limit to the amount of hurt inflicted, and the safeguard of security on hand. This felt different. This was a punishment, not a piece of fun - the major striking with brutal force, pushing her right to the very edge of her endurance limit. Stella screwed her eyes shut as she battled with the hurt. It didn't seem fair, but that didn't matter - nothing would be fair in this life she had chosen. Accept, submit, embrace the pain - that was the mantra, and fairness had no place, for only resentment could lurk in there.

Falcon struck her again, this time bringing the heavy crop down across the side of her other buttock, drawing from Stella a long and trailing bellow of agonised suffering.

Nothing more immediately came. Stella opened her eyes and saw the other masters standing there - Master Hans, and Master Gregor who had brought this about - a trap which Stella had easily fallen into. And between them stood Lachlan, who had given her friendship and a wonderful night - the 'good cop' beside the 'bad cop' as rough justice was exacted - the man Stella could trust, standing there gauging, ready to call a halt if it looked like she was failing.

Stella wasn't prepared to fail - she could take a canning and find pleasure in that so she would somehow take this and embrace the hurt.

Behind her there was a hiss of leather cutting through the air and Stella yelled again as the crop stung across the back of her upper thighs, jerking her hips forward and causing her head to throw violently backwards as she howled at the ceiling.

Another hard blow was delivered, this time across the mounds of both buttocks, drawing out another pained yell and jolting Stella forward again under the wicked impact of the blow.

'Accept!' Stella told herself as the pain snarled at her aching flesh. 'Submit to this master, who is your only true Master here.'

Stella tried. She bit back the pleas for mercy that were clamouring to call out. She tried to embrace, but the hurt was too great. She couldn't embrace - she needed a place.

Another blow, another yell, the first bitter tears fell. In a blur, Stella stared at the man standing before her, wearing leather trousers and bare from the waist up to show off his broad auburn haired chest. Stella remembered how safe and comforted she'd felt resting her head on that wonderful chest. Was that a place to go to in her mind, to find comfort in this time of suffering?

Perhaps! It was probably the place where many trainees before her had sought some mental refuge - to an illusion created by Lachlan on the night before their first punishment ordeal. But that's all it was - an illusion. So instead Stella found sanctuary in something more real - a promise she'd made, and nights that were honest without pretences or agendas - nights that weren't part of a job.

'I won't let you down, Paddy,' she mentally promised.

Stella gritted her teeth as she felt imaginary arms embrace her, as she smelt the musky aroma of a man who wasn't there, and was cooed by a lilting Irish voice in her head.

Falcon struck her again and again. The pain snarled and tore at her flesh, but Stella refused to beg for mercy. If this was her punishment then she would take it in full. She would trust her master not to breech some unknown limit. She'd found the strength to endure. She absorbed the pain. She didn't embrace it, for that was a trick too far at present, but she found herself a comfortable place where she made it bearable to accept.

After the twelfth stroke, Stella was limp, and tears were flowing from her eyes. Lachlan raised his hand, but the crop was already cast to the floor. Falcon knew when enough was enough, and more than anyone in that room, was a man who could be trusted. He walked to the front and lifted Stella's head up.

"You have the potential to make someone a good slave!"

That was all he said.

It was more than enough. In her suffering, Stella was at peace. She hadn't failed. She hadn't let Paddy down.