delicate negotiations

Bent over, ass raised, she was ready to be fucked.

I could feel her heat against the top of my thighs. Gripping her hips firmly, I pulled her close enough for my cock to slide up along the curve of her ass.

I wanted her to feel how hard I was, how my need to fuck her was enough to make the entire length of my cock throb in time to the pounding in my veins.

I wanted her to know how thoroughly fucked she was, and was going to be. 

Shoving her into the edge of the bed hard enough to bruise her hips, my cock slid down until the head of it nestled against the moist entrance of her pussy. I knew she could be wetter, that I was moving too fast for her body to lubricate as it should. I could slide one hand between her thighs and find her clit, make it easier for her.

But I didn't. 

I drove my cock inside, pinning her to the edge of the bed. Placing one hand on the center of her back to keep her in place, I drew myself half-way out, watching the length of me slip from her slick folds, and then I slammed even deeper inside of her on the second stroke.

This time, when I pulled back out of her, my cock was wet.

I gathered her hair into my right hand, wrapped it once, then twice, around my palm. With a firm grip, I drew her head back with my right hand while my left guided her ass back against my thighs and her pussy onto my cock. Watching her impale herself on me was almost too much.

"Shall I tell you how good you feel under me?" My voice was a ragged half-whisper. "Describe how wet you got the moment you knew I wasn't playing around?"

There was no answer, just her ragged breathing. She didn't want to be asked.

Which was fine. I wasn't seeking permission.