Fourth Movement: The Impossible
I guided her into the preparation. She knew what was coming—could feel it in how my hands positioned, how my body aligned and in the thick, leaking cock now pressed against her ass after I'd torn the crotch of her leotard open.
A star lift. One of the most dramatic in ballet. The ballerina horizontal, arms and legs extended like a four-pointed star, suspended eight feet in the air, spinning.
She'd done this lift before. With partners who struggled, who made it look like work, who held her rigid and tight because they didn't trust themselves to control her body in flight.
I was about to show her what it felt like when your partner was perfect and wanted to fuck her senseless mid-air.
"Jump," I said quietly. "And when you're in the air, don't hold position. Just extend. I'll handle the rest and I'll handle this dripping little cunt while I'm at it."
She looked uncertain but so close to coming her eyes were glassy.
"Trust me."
She did.
