Annabel Joseph - Firebird

Prosper sighed and reached for his belt. Her fingers shook as she worked the metal buckle. His faded jeans revealed the outline of his erection underneath. She bit her lip to keep herself from moaning and embarrassing herself as she knelt to undo his button and draw down his zipper. She pulled the jeans down over his hips until he stood in only his boxer briefs. Her breath left in a rush.

“While you’re down there, girl…”

She peeled down the boxers and pressed her lips to his warm, rigid cock. Her eyes closed, and she thought again how much she loved him as she dropped kisses along the length of his thick shaft. Her tongue flicked out and probed the hole at the tip of his cock, savoring the drop of precum there. He pushed her back with an indrawn breath.

“A condom. Hurry.”

She went for the rubber and then dropped to her knees before him, rolling it on. She caressed his hard length over the latex for just a moment before he pushed her hands away and thrust between her lips. His hard length filled her mouth and throat. She clutched at his thighs, pulled him closer. She could feel his legs trembling as she sucked and worshipped his cock. When he pulled away, she couldn’t stifle her cry of disappointment.

He pulled her up and half walked, half carried her to the bed. He bent her over, twisting her hair hard in his hands until she cried out from the pain. She arched back for him, wanting him closer. He parted her thighs roughly with his knees.

“Open wide. Wider!”

She spread her legs as wide as she could. His dick nudged her opening, and she jumped, the contact burning her with arousal like fire. Her legs shook from the effort of control, from the effort of not pushing herself backward and impaling herself on his cock.

“Wait, girl.” The low warning made her whimper.

“Please. Oh, Sir, please…” Then she gasped as he pressed to her and eased inside, inch by inch. Oh God . She wanted him to possess her, to fuck her. She clutched at the comforter, overcome with lust and desire. His hands kneaded her hips as he paused, seated to the hilt inside her.

He groaned and withdrew, then plunged forward again. He began fucking her hard and fast. Her breasts bounced against the bed, and she felt wild, lost. She reached back for him, and he drew her arms behind her, holding them hard in his strong fingers. He slowed, moved in and out of her in a teasing rhythm, hard, fast, slow, deep. Her clit pulsed, and her hips bucked for contact whenever he withdrew from her. He drove her mad, drove her arousal higher and higher until her body was no longer hers but his. She belonged to him, and he controlled everything she felt, every erotic ache and throb. They fit together perfectly. Her shoulders tensed; her back arched further. She ground her clit against the bed, reveling in the delicious build of arousal, the inexorable approach to climax, a climax controlled not by her but by him.

“Please, Sir! Please let me come.”

He leaned over her, his breath in her hair. “You want to come, girl?”

“Yes,” she begged. “Please, yes!”

“And who makes you come? Who do you belong to?”

“You! I belong to you!”

“I love you, Prosper,” he whispered just before he bit down on her earlobe. “Come for me.”

He drove into her harder, drove her against the bed so she felt captured. Something inside her broke loose and overran its bounds. Gushing, hot, uncontrollable pleasure. Unbelievable, bountiful riches filling her, satisfying her. Love like an avalanche. Prosperity . When her orgasm finally left her, he stayed inside her, connected to her. She cried—not from fear, at last, but from joy.

It was the night before the Firebird premiere. Prosper thought the final run-through had gone exceedingly well. Lawrence had clapped Jackson on the back and issued prolific praise before turning to Prosper and hugging her.

“I knew you could do it all along!”

It really was a stunning production. The set was gorgeous, Kostchei’s garden rendered in rich colors. The whimsical, bizarre costumes were spectacular, and the dancers in them were fully invested in making the groundbreaking production a success. When Prosper put on her costume, tears welled in her eyes. She looked in the mirror and felt herself become the Firebird. It was inside her now, the fire, the ability. She thought she could take on the entire world, wave her red-orange tail feathers, and set any catastrophe back to rights.

After the run-through, Jackson had taken her to dinner. She’d smiled and laughed with him until her jaws ached. He was bursting with excitement and well-deserved pride. They talked about Firebird and then about Chicago. Prosper had been invited to join the company of Jackson’s friend Kurt.

They had taken a weekend trip to meet the other dancers and tour the small facility. Prosper felt immediately at home. The dancers were friendly and enthusiastic, and there were no principals, no soloists, no corps. Every dancer was just a dancer. They all participated and contributed according to their abilities and strengths. Some of them were involved in choreography and even costuming and production design. They were all full of pride for what they’d built. Because of that, their company was finding success and expanding. Prosper was overjoyed when they extended the invitation for her to join. There would be a learning curve, but she knew she could do it. Jackson assured her she was going to knock them dead.

But better than that, better than joining this new, exciting company, Prosper was going to be in Chicago with Jackson. “No strings attached” had, at some point, changed into “you’re coming with me.” She would have followed him anywhere, even to Kostchei’s evil kingdom. To follow him to the thriving dance world of Chicago was icing on the cake.

She would dance Firebird until mid-April, and then she and Jackson were going to leave New York. She was actually relieved to be rid of the big city. Jackson had questioned her a long time to be sure she really felt that way. The truth was, she’d never been comfortable in New York. She was looking forward to meeting Jackson’s family and friends and setting up a home with him. She was looking forward to life in his arms.

After dinner Jackson took her home, still brimming with energy. She could tell from the look in his eyes that something fun was coming. He took her upstairs and told her to strip and wait for him. He returned a few moments later with a wardrobe bag. He opened it, and Prosper gasped.

“Jackson! You will get in so much trouble. Oh my God!”

He held her Firebird costume in his hands. Its gaudy, showy sequins, rubies, and feathers looked wildly out of place in Jackson’s white bedroom, a shocking explosion of color. The strange juxtaposition of stage and home unbalanced her. Prosper shook her head, half-scandalized, half-awestruck.

“I can’t believe you took it. Maureen will kill you.”

“Maureen will never know.” He grinned at her. “Put it on.”

Prosper laughed, feeling daring and naughty. While she pulled it on, Jackson stripped.

“Go. Put your hands on the wall,” he told her.

She was excited. Blood thrummed in her veins. Jackson was rooting through his drawer of implements and came up with a bright red riding crop. She’d never seen that before! She turned back to the wall, hyperaware of every sensation: the itchiness of the costume against her bare skin, the soft tickling of the feathers that lined her tutu. My God, she was going to cream all over the gusset, and Maureen would know what a slut she was. She looked back over her shoulder to see Jackson smiling at her.

“I’ve got you. A Firebird, trapped right here in my house.”