By sunrise on Sunday, Rebel was already awake. Dawn’s first light spilled through her window, casting a warm glow over her skin, the lingering sensations from last night buzzing. Her dreams had been vivid and erotic, replaying moments with Ashland: the brush against her skin, the sharp crack of the paddle. She couldn’t get enough, always wanting more.

Her fingers traced the marks left behind, a constellation of warmth and fire marking her skin. Each bruise was a reminder of the intensity she craved, proof of her surrender. They pulsed with life beneath her touch, each one a reminder of pleasure and pain that intertwined seamlessly in her mind.

Rebel slipped out of bed, adrenaline streaming through her veins as she prepared for their meeting. Pouring coffee, she circled the apartment, too wired to sit. The morning was cool but she opened the windows anyway, letting the air bite at her bare skin. She forced herself to stand still, to feel the shiver and the prickle, and to remember. Every mark, every ache, proof she could learn. She thought about the week: how she’d pushed herself, how close she’d come to giving up. She’d never worked so hard, or wanted something so much. The last time she’d cared about anything this much, she was a kid.

Gazing out the window, she wondered how this day might unfold. He was so creative and unpredictable. Her body hummed with the unknown, the possibilities. And, letting go of control. That was the spark: she couldn’t control him. The insight melted any remaining doubts, her spirit lifting.

As she drove to Ashland's cottage, sunlight filtered through the trees, bathing the countryside in soft, golden light. When Rebel arrived, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. The air seemed thicker, charged with an energy that sent shivers down her spine. He greeted her at the door, his eyes dark and intense as they scanned her body.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and sweet. "I'm glad you're here." He stepped aside, allowing Rebel to enter his domain, leading her to the studio.

Crossing the threshold, she was immediately struck by the sacred quality of Ashland's studio. Skylights allowed superb natural lighting. The furnishings were sparse, but elegant. The space was filled with a tangible aura of creativity and passion. Canvases lined the walls, each a testament to his skill and vision.

Rebel wandered through the studio, taking in every detail. She paused before a striking portrait of a woman holding a flower. The painting was exquisite, capturing a moment of quiet beauty and grace.

"It's lovely," Rebel murmured, turning to Ashland with a questioning look. "Who is she?"

Ashland's expression softened, a shadow of pain passing over his features. "That was my wife, Kate," he said quietly. "She died five years ago in a car accident."

Rebel felt a pang of sympathy for his loss. She reached out and touched his arm gently. "I'm so sorry," she said softly.

Ashland covered her hand with his, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you," he replied. "That painting changed my life, changed my art. Everything is either before that or after." He paused. "It made me the artist I am today."

Rebel nodded, tears welling at his depth of feeling. “I can tell how much you loved her. I feel it from this.” She felt a renewed sense of purpose wash over her. She was here to learn from him, to grow as an artist and as a person.

"What would you like me to do first?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly with excitement and nerves.

Ashland smiled enigmatically. "Follow me," he said, leading her deeper into the studio.

Rebel followed obediently, her heart racing with anticipation for what lay ahead. She knew whatever challenges he had for her today would push her to her limits, and probably beyond, both physically and artistically.

Ashland turned to face her, his hands gripping her hips with a firm, possessive hold. His eyes locked onto hers with an intense, unwavering gaze. "Strip for me, slowly," he commanded, his voice a deep, resonant murmur that left no room for hesitation. "Feel every inch of yourself being revealed."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she reached for the hem of her shirt, her fingers trembling slightly. With deliberate slowness, she began to lift the fabric, inch by inch, revealing the soft curve of her stomach and the delicate rise of her breasts. Cool air brushed against exposed skin, sending goosebumps racing across her flesh.

Ashland remained silent, his eyes tracing every movement with focused intensity as she unbuttoned her jeans. The denim slid smoothly down her legs, whispering against her skin until it gathered in a heap at her feet, leaving her vulnerable and bare before him. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice warm with approval. The words sent a surge of heat flooding between her thighs at his praise, opening herself to the intensity of his gaze. She reveled in the vulnerability of being naked, yet empowered by the way he watched her, as if she were a masterpiece unveiled for his appreciation.

He pulled Rebel flush against his body, running his hands down her back, cupping the globes of her ass and squeezing, "Today is a deeper step into discipline and focus," he breathed against her ear. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Rebel whispered without hesitation, feeling a delicious slide down into surrender.

He stepped back and retrieved leather cuffs from a nearby table, one for each wrist and ankle. Rebel held out her arms obediently as Ashland fastened the cuffs snugly. The contrast of cool leather against warm skin heightened her senses.

Next, he clipped a spreader bar between Rebel's ankles, widening her stance. He guided her over to a sturdy wooden frame suspended from the ceiling. With deft movements, he connected the cuffs on Rebel's wrists to the frame above, stretching out her arms and forcing her back to arch slightly.

"Beautiful," Ashland breathed appreciatively as he stepped back to admire Rebel’s naked form. Her pulse throbbed in her throat at the feeling of being so restrained and on display for him, much more so than the previous weekend. She had asked for more. This was it.

Ashland retrieved a riding crop from where it hung on the wall, black leather with a braided handle and tapered end that would sting deliciously when flicked against Rebel's most sensitive parts.

He circled around behind Rebel, admiring the way her back arched so nicely, trailing the crop along the curve. He flicked it sharply across both cheeks of her ass in quick succession, watching the supple flesh jiggle from the impact. The sting of the crop against her skin created totally new sensations, each strike sending ripples of pain and pleasure coursing through her body.

Ashland paused, his breath steady as he considered her response. He stepped back into view, eyes glinting with mischief. "Remember, you’re here to learn focus," he said, his voice smooth and low.

He lifted the crop again, this time dragging it slowly along the curve of her spine. Rebel shivered at the sensation, both teasing and torturous, as he pressed closer behind her. She could feel his warmth radiating against her bare skin. With a swift motion, Ashland brought the crop down hard across her ass.

Rebel's body pulled hard against the restraints, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat as he continued with relentless strikes upon her. Each crack of the crop drew a desperate cry from her trembling lips.

She had never felt so simultaneously overwhelmed and grounded. The searing agony of the crop blended seamlessly with the intoxicating waves of ecstasy, leaving her adrift in a haze of sensations. She'd thought the denial of the past week had been torturous, but this, this was a revelation. He dragged the crop's leather tip teasingly along her glistening folds, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

He trailed the smooth leather tip teasingly over Rebel's collarbone and down the valley between her breasts. She shuddered involuntarily at even that light touch, nipples tightening into aching peaks pleading for more.

Ashland smiled as he quickly brought the crop cracking down on Rebel's left nipple with just enough force to make pain blossom into pleasure.

She cried out sharply but arched further into the sting reflexively seeking more of what hurt so good. "Yes." she gasped out breathlessly waiting eagerly for whatever pain/pleasure he chose to inflict next. Rebel panted between sharp intakes of breath as the crop cracked down on her sensitive flesh again and again. The leather tip left hot, red marks blooming across her breasts, stomach, thighs. She loved how she could strain against the restraints, holding her in place, keeping her focused.

Ashland smirked with approval at Rebel's display, his eyes darkening with lust at how beautifully she was responding to the pain. "That's it," he purred approvingly. "Let me hear you."

He could see Rebel drifting deeper into another state as each mark showed on her skin, pupils wide, body pliant and yielding to his every touch. He trailed the crop teasingly along her slit, reveling in how soaked she was. Rebel whined needily and ground against the leather head desperately seeking more stimulation to ease the throbbing ache within her pussy.

Ashland chuckled darkly. "Not yet," he denied firmly, pulling the crop away before she could get any relief. Rebel sobbed in frustration but obediently stilled for him.

Rebel keened loudly as another strike landed directly on her clit, sending electricity zinging up her spine. "Fuck! Yes!" Tears of overwhelmed pleasure streaked down her face. In that moment, she was utterly lost to sensation.

Her world narrowed to the searing, blinding pleasure-pain radiating through her body. She was lost, drowning in the sensations, begging for more even as she teetered on the edge of oblivion. Ashland's praise and the relentless caress of the crop were the only anchors keeping her from completely unraveling.

The crop danced across her flesh, alternating between sharp, stinging blows and feather-light caresses that left her shuddering. Rebel felt herself dissolving, her usual self fading under the onslaught.

But instead of fighting it, she surrendered. Rebel let the pleasure wash over her, let it consume her until she was floating in a haze of bliss. The familiar need to climax faded, replaced by a deeper, more primal craving. She wanted this, the pain, the control, the sheer intensity of it all.

Her body resonated with a sustained arousal that transcended the simple need for release. Rebel was riding waves in a sea of sensation, her mind empty, finding a new kind of fulfillment in this surrender, one that left her trembling yet grounded in ways she barely understood.

Ashland watched, transfixed, as Rebel's expression shifted, the last vestiges of her rebellion melting away. He increased the tempo of the crop's strikes, pushing her further, testing the limits of her endurance. "That's it, good girl," he murmured, his voice rich with approval.

Rebel's response was a guttural cry of ecstasy, her body arching into each punishing caress of the leather. She had never felt so alive, so connected to the raw power of her own submission, to her deepest desires.

Ashland stepped back, admiring Rebel's flushed skin. The marks of discipline were vibrant strokes across the canvas of her body. "You're doing well," he murmured, voice low and smooth as he approached her. He unfastened the cuffs, gently easing her from the restraints. She felt a rush of relief mixed with longing as he guided her to the wooden stool at the center of the studio.

“Sit,” he commanded softly, and she obeyed, heart racing with anticipation. The coolness of the stool contrasted sharply with her heated skin as she settled into place.

Ashland's gaze was intense as it roamed over her form, taking in every detail, every mark. He moved toward a nearby table, retrieving a set of nipple clamps that gleamed ominously under the soft light. Rebel gasped at the sight. This was another layer of submission, another test of endurance.

"These will enhance everything," he said softly, holding them up for her to see. She nodded slowly, excitement coursing through her veins mixed with trepidation.

His fingers brushed against her sensitive skin as he attached one clamp to her left nipple and then the right, securing them tightly but not painfully so. A sharp jolt shot through her as they clicked into place; a rush of heat radiated outward from each point of contact.

He turned Rebel slightly, so she was glancing over her shoulder. The curve of her back, a sensuous line leading to her hips, accentuating the red marks that traced across her ass.

Tweaking the nipple clamps to focus her senses, Ashland kissed her gently on the lips before moving to the easel to draw. As charcoal moved across paper, Rebel drifted into an altered state, suspended between pain and something else she couldn’t name. The clamps tugged with each shallow breath, sending electric tendrils of sensation spiraling through her body. Her muscles trembled, not from weakness, but from an intense, sustained arousal.

Ashland paused from sketching, fingers tracing her jawline, feather-light. His lips brushed her shoulder, a gentle touch that made her shiver. When he tugged one clamp, a soft sob escaped her, not of pain, but of welcoming a new sensation. Tears welled, catching the studio's soft light as he returned to the easel.

"Beautiful," he murmured, capturing the glistening tear with charcoal. "Just like that."

His praise vibrated through her core, deeper than any physical touch. Rebel felt herself dissolving, becoming pure sensation, a living canvas absorbing every stroke, every whisper. Her body hummed with an energy that went beyond desire, approaching something sacred.

With the sketch complete, Ashland set down the charcoal and guided Rebel to sit in his lap. Her body trembled against his. He pulled her close, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss. Rebel melted into him, every nerve ending firing with each touch.

Ashland leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Stay with me," he commanded softly. His fingers drifted lower, tracing the marks left by the crop, each touch rekindling the memory of pain transformed into exquisite pleasure.

His fingers slowly unclipped the nipple clamps, sending ripples of sensation coursing through Rebel. She cried out as the release shot through her already highly sensitized body. Wave after wave of pleasure crested within her, leaving her quivering and unraveled.

She slumped against Ashland, her body buzzing with the combination of sensations. He held her steady, murmuring words of praise and encouragement. "That's it, good girl. You're doing so well."

Rebel whimpered, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, seeking the comfort of his touch. Ashland chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling through her. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice thick with promise.

Rebel nodded weakly, trusting Ashland to guide her deeper into this realm of surrender. He lifted her to her feet and led her to the easel. Then he stripped off his shirt, exposing the taut, defined contours of his torso. Rebel's gaze drank him in hungrily, her fingers itching to explore his body. He sat sideways on the stool, his face looking straight at her.

She stood before the easel, heart racing as she picked up a fresh piece of charcoal. The swirl of sensations still lingered, each pulse echoing in her core as she tried to gather herself. Ashland's presence was palpable, grounding her even amid the storm of emotions swirling inside. She wanted to draw something worthy of him.

Focused on the blank paper, Rebel willed herself to channel the electric energy coursing through her into something tangible. The challenge was daunting; her body thrummed with desire, the remnants of pleasure still lingering. Taking a deep breath, Rebel called on the internal calmness she had found so elusive before. It washed over her like a wave, silencing the noise in her mind. She let it guide her hand as she began to sketch Ashland’s face, the strong lines of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze. Each movement became a meditation, a dance between pain and pleasure etched into his portrait.

Rebel lost herself in the charcoal strokes, each line revealing Ashland’s features. The sketch came alive under her fingers. She infused it with passion, longing, and a hint of sadness lurking beneath. As she added the final touches, satisfaction washed over her. Stepping back, she admired her work, a portrait pulsing with energy. He stepped up behind her, his arms encircling her waist.

“Beautiful,” Ashland murmured, leaning closer to examine it. His breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine. “You’ve captured something very subtle.” Rebel’s cheeks flushed at his praise, heart racing as he studied her creation.

“Now, let’s take a look at both,” he said, guiding her gently by the shoulders to sit on his lap. Warmth enveloped her as she settled against him, arms wrapped around his neck. Ashland placed the two sketches side by side, studying them in silence, his thumb pressed to his lips, gray eyes moving back and forth between the images.

He pointed to the first, the one he’d made of her. “What do you see?” His fingertip hovered above the figure of her.

Rebel studied the sketch, her breath catching in her throat. The lines Ashland had drawn were raw and expressive, capturing every nuance of her submission. “I see,” she began slowly, trying to articulate the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. “I see sensuality, the way my body is open and exposed.”

Her heart raced as she continued, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. “The curves… they’re soft yet powerful. There’s a strength in surrendering.” She traced a finger along the outline of her figure on the paper, each stroke igniting memories of the past week.

“And then there’s pain,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “The way you captured it. It’s not just hurt; it’s an intense kind of beauty. The way it intertwines with pleasure.”

“Exactly,” he replied softly, his voice low and rich. “That’s what I was going for.”

He moved to the second sketch, her portrait of him, taking a long time before talking. “You caught something most people don’t see,” he said quietly. “Well done.”

Ashland continued, “It shows in the face. It’s not just a likeness; it’s a deeper window.”

Rebel felt a rush of pride at his words. “You’ve captured strength in my features, the way my jaw is set, the intensity of my gaze. It’s all there.” He paused, letting his words settle. “But what you’ve also shown is something else, a kind of sadness.”

“I tried to capture everything,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”

Ashland nodded, his finger tracing a section of the portrait where the lines were tighter, more controlled. "Here, I see the trying," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "These strokes are too deliberate, calculated. Next time, relax. Don't try. Just let it flow."

Rebel studied the area he indicated, seeing it now through his eyes. The lines were indeed stiffer there, lacking the fluid quality of the rest of the drawing. She'd been thinking too hard, forcing the outcome instead of surrendering to the process.

"I can fix it," she said anxiously, wanting it to be perfect.

Ashland's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb gently brushing across her flushed skin. "No need to fix anything now," he said, his voice a warm rumble against her ear. "It's just practice, Rebel." His fingers traced the line of her jaw with deliberate tenderness. "We'll have plenty more practice in the future."

The promise in his words echoed through her body. Plenty more practice. She liked the sound of that.

Ashland toyed with her hair, trailing his fingers along her collarbone, along the curve of her neck. Looking deeply in her eyes, soft as the moment, he opened up. “Since Kate died, I’ve barely looked at another woman, much less been interested.” He paused, tracing her lips, nose and face. “That all changed the first time you walked into my studio last fall, Reb.”

Tears welled in her eyes at the tender, naked, vulnerable moment. Some small part bristled at Reb, something she would never let anyone call her before that moment. It was too diminutive, too soft. The way he said it sounded right. Maybe it was time to let that go.

“You saw this all along?”

Nodding, he replied, “Yes. I saw the potential, it’s obvious. I just didn’t know how it would play out.”

Rebel blushed, feeling grateful for how it played out. “Thanks for being patient with me, Ashland,” she said softly.

Stroking her shoulders, he replied, “At school, it’s Professor Ashland. Here, it’s Ash.” Feeling her heart flutter, Rebel recognized that this was more than just a mentor inspiring his student.

Ashland set the sketches aside, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’ve done fabulously today, Reb,” his voice low and sweet. She nodded mutely, unable to form words as he pulled her closer. Their lips met in a searing kiss, tongues tangling hungrily as if they couldn't get enough.

Rebel had been riding the razor edge of arousal all week, her senses raw, her body hypersensitive. Instantly, his kiss pushed her even closer to the peak. Ashland trailed kisses down her neck, slowly claiming that as well. As his lips found her breasts, she grasped his head, pulling him closer. His greedy mouth took her nipple with force, drawing a long moan from her. Catching her nipple between his teeth and biting hard, was when her mind went blank. She bucked in his lap, fingers pulling at his hair, the pain a clear, perfect line through the haze of need. He released her nipple and sucked it, slow and deep, tongue circling the swelling tip until she whimpered. The clamps initiated the sensation, but his mouth deepened it, sending a throb that coursed through her body and settled low.

He held her wrists together behind her head with one hand, his other moving between her thighs, spreading her open. She was so wet it was embarrassing to her, moisture dripping down her thighs. He just smiled, pleased, moving between swollen lips, fingers seeking her clit. He stroked her mercilessly, coaxing cries as she arched her back, body taut with yearning. She gasped, hips grinding against his hand, desperate for friction. Her breasts bounced with each movement, nipples red and sore with marks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words made her clench tighter. He pressed his thumb to her clit, not rubbing, just holding her there, pinned by sensations. The pressure was exquisite and unbearable. She made a noise, half growl, half sob, straining at an invisible leash.

Panting, Rebel pleaded, “Oh, God…may I cum?”

Grabbing her hair and pulling back as he stared deeply into her eyes, Ashland demanded, “Yes. Now.”

With a cry, the orgasm, building for the entire week, crashed over her whole body. She arched and thrashed, muscles seizing, every cell burning with release. Ashland didn’t let go. He kept his thumb on her clit, never easing the pressure, and the climax turned sharp, knifing into a second wave before the first could finish. It was too much. She screamed, legs trembling as he slid two fingers inside her, filling her in a way that was blunt and perfect and way too much. He pumped his hand, fast and merciless, thumb grinding circles on her oversensitive clit. Rebel tried to twist away but he pinned her with his grip in her hair, made her take it, forced her to feel every second.

The second orgasm was worse, better, than the first. She sobbed, helpless, body shaking in his arms, pussy spasming around his fingers. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Ashland watched her the whole time, face inches from hers, his eyes cold and bright. He never looked away. She felt him cataloguing every twitch and cry, every raw moment of surrender.

He didn’t stop until she collapsed, limp and sweating, her head lolling on his shoulder. Only then did he ease off the pressure, pulling his fingers out slow and slick. Before she could recover, Ashland twisted Rebel in his arms, lowering her to the rough studio floor. The wood was cool on her back, the grain biting into her skin. He spread her legs with his hands, pushing them up and apart until she was open, exposed, helpless to anything he wanted. He knelt between her thighs, kissing down her belly, slow, deliberate. When his mouth finally reached her pussy, she was already shaking, too sensitive, nerves still firing from the last release.

Ashland's mouth descended on Rebel’s pussy, his tongue flicking against her engorged clit with a hungry intensity that sent shock waves through her body.

She gasped, the sensation overwhelming her senses. “No, please,” she protested weakly, writhing against the onslaught. “I can’t take anymore!”

“Just let go,” he murmured against her slick folds, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure racing through her. His tongue was relentless, tracing patterns that ignited every nerve ending. She felt herself teetering on the edge, the heat expanding low in her belly threatening to consume her entirely.

“Please, stop, don’t,” she whimpered again, desperation lacing her voice as Ashland sucked hard on her clit. Her body responded involuntarily, arching into him as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. It was too much, too intense, and yet she couldn’t bear for him to stop.

“More,” he commanded softly, the authority in his voice touching something deep within her. Rebel surrendered completely, losing herself in the rhythm of his mouth working fiercely against her sensitive flesh.

Her pleas changed. “Ahhhhh, don’t stop,” she begged, her voice raspy with need. She felt herself spiraling higher and higher until there was no difference between pleasure and pain. The edges blurred, every sensation melded into one overwhelming wave that promised to consume her. With each tantalizing stroke of his tongue, Ashland brought her closer to the precipice. Rebel’s breath quickened, heart pounding wildly in her chest as she felt the familiar tightening in her core once more.

“Please,” she begged one last time, but it was lost in a gasp as he sucked harder, long and relentless, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from deep inside her. And then it hit, a third orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She screamed his name, fingers tangling in his hair as the world exploded into brilliant white light, pure ecstasy in its wake.

Rebel collapsed, limbs trembling as the climax ripped through her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, heart racing, yet she felt an overwhelming heaviness settle over her, blurring the edges of reality.

Ashland rose from between her legs, wiping his mouth with a satisfied smile. He took a moment to admire the way she glowed, skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Then he moved closer, sitting them on the couch and gathering her into his arms with care, cradling her against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he murmured softly, fingers stroking through her hair, grounding her as the world slowly came back into focus. “You did so well.” His voice was low and soothing, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Rebel leaned into him, feeling the solidness of his body against hers. She closed her eyes, letting the softness of his touch wash over her as she floated in some other state, one where pleasure and pain intertwined seamlessly. She felt her body was fluid, watching it with curiosity.

“Just breathe,” Ashland whispered gently, his breath warm against her ear. She followed his words instinctively, inhaling deeply and releasing the tension that had been tightly bound inside. With each breath, clarity returned slowly; sensations began to untangle themselves from the overwhelming euphoria that had consumed her moments ago. After several minutes wrapped in Ashland’s embrace, Rebel's heart rate began to steady. The blissful haze faded gradually, replaced by a serene calmness that settled deep within her bones. She finally opened her eyes to meet Ashland’s gaze, those gray eyes filled with warmth and tenderness.

“Better?” he asked softly.

She nodded slightly, a shy smile creeping onto her lips. “Maybe,” she whispered, feeling extremely vulnerable yet protected at the same time.

Ashland smiled back before rising to fetch a glass of wine from a bottle resting on a nearby table. He returned to her side, offering the glass to her lips. “Here,” he said softly. Rebel accepted it gratefully, as she took a tentative sip. The rich flavor flooded her senses; it was smooth and bold, helping her find form. She savored it for a moment before turning back to him.

“Thanks,” she said sincerely, feeling her fluid-self beginning to coalesce around the wine.

Ashland chuckled lightly as he took a sip before leaning back, pulling her along. They sat together in stillness for a while, sharing sips of wine. Rebel was grateful for the time to remember how to talk. Feeling his body, the hardness of his cock, provided another focal point to reintegrate. She wiggled her hips, sensuously grounding herself in physical form, integrating with fluid-self. Ashland rose and undressed completely before settling back onto the couch, positioning Rebel on his lap, his cock resting snugly between her thighs.

She nestled closer, her head on his chest, breathing him in. He stroked her hair in long, slow sweeps, the afterglow warm and comforting. She felt the ache in her muscles, the bright sting where the crop had marked her, the soreness between her legs. It was a good pain. She wanted to keep it, to savor it as a reminder of where she’d been.

Ashland kissed her forehead and let his hand rest at the nape of her neck. “You okay?” he asked, voice nearly a whisper.

She nodded, still too spent for words. Three times. Her body had never done that before, not even when she was alone and desperate. The denial, the build-up, the way he’d taken her apart. She felt like she’d been stripped to the bone and rebuilt from scratch. It was terrifying, but liberating.

Rebel couldn’t remember the last time she felt so calm. The only sound was Ashland’s steady breath. He had taken everything that was resistant or uncertain in her, and burnt it away. She tried to remember the person she was before this, before the discipline and the surrender. She had been angry, directionless, a storm with no target. Now she was a taut line, humming with energy. She had wanted him to inspire her. He did.

“I, I… don’t know if I’m Rebel anymore,” she said quietly. “Is that what you’re after?”

Ashland laughed gently. “No, I quite like Rebel, have from the start. Just not 24/7. Pissed off at the world and everyone in it.”

She smiled, acknowledging the obvious. Also, relieved that Rebel didn’t have to disappear.

He continued, “She has many redeeming qualities, Reb. When Rebel is focused, now, that’s another story.”

She gave a slow, wild smile and adjusted to straddle his lap. She began to slowly slide her wet folds along his length, feeling her body merge with his. His body provided a point of focus, something she needed. He moved beneath her, his hard cock pressing persistently against her. Tilting her head back, Rebel giggled, feeling free and playful. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this relaxed and open.

With eyes sparkling, she playfully teased his rigid cock against her, going slow as she gradually eased him inside. A contented sigh escaped Rebel's lips as she leaned closer, her breath a soft whisper against his ear, “You mean, focused like this?” She sank down fully, her hips moving in tight, sensual circles, tilting her pelvis back and forth with an intoxicating rhythm.

“Or focused like this?” she purred, tightening her muscles around him as she slowly lifted herself up before descending back down repeatedly, each movement deliberate and tantalizing.

Ashland groaned, his hands gripping her hips with bruising intensity. “Exactly like that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re a quick study, Reb.”

She rolled her hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction, the way his cock filled her so perfectly. He guided her with a steady touch, letting her set the pace, find her own rhythm. It was a dance, a collaboration. Every motion, every gasp, felt like a conversation, both of them pushing, both of them yielding. He kissed her throat, his teeth grazing the delicate line of her jaw, and she trembled, arching back, offering more.

Ashland looked deep into her eyes, searching. “One word, Reb.”

Rebel's smile was lazy and satisfied, spreading across her face and sinking into her bones. She sank down, staying still, feeling the pulsing of her pussy around him. Her muscles seemed to dissolve, becoming warm and supple. His hands rested on her hips, emanating warmth that filled her with a sense of comfort and ease. She surrendered entirely to it all, feeling light and at peace as gentle waves of pleasure enveloped her in a slow, delightful rhythm. She felt as if every stubborn scrap of tension, every splinter of anger or bitterness, had been stripped away and replaced by something clean, bright, and new.

One word. It was simple. “Free.”