Eventually, she bent lower to rest her forearms on the plush seat and tilted her hips. It changed the angle; he didn’t like it. He kicked her legs further apart to force her hips lower, but then she was too low. He pulled out of her.

“Wha-?” She cast a glance at him over her shoulder.

“On your knees,” he growled.

So she knelt, keeping her arms on the chair, and he knelt behind her. Before he entered her again, he thrust a finger inside to check if she was wet enough. Pleased with the results, he held his cock to push into her, and resumed his thrusting at his previous pace. Much better, he thought. He pumped her for long moments, just his steady, fast clip. She felt good, and he enjoyed the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her.

At one point, she flipped her dreads over one shoulder to turn to him. He laughed at the bored look of reproach she gave him.

“Tired?”

She didn’t answer. She turned back to face forward, rested her torso on the chair seat, and reached down with a free hand. He knew what she was doing; the thought of her stimulating herself while he took her excited him. He pumped her even faster.

“Tell me when you’re cumming,” he said.

In fact, she did not cum. Her grunts were sounds of frustration, not ecstasy. When it became obvious to him that this wasn’t working for her, he pulled out of her again. She turned to him, crouching on her knees. She tossed her head to get the dreads over her shoulder and out of the way and waited expectantly.

“Ok, on the floor.” He gestured at the bare carpet in front of him.

She scooted to lie before him, her feet planted on either side of him. He reached down to pull up her hips and enter her once again, and she pushed her hips up to meet him. But he didn’t resume his pumping once he had buried himself in her; instead, he let both their hips rest on the ground as he bent to press his chest against hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he watched her face as he thrust into her this way.

He pumped away, bending his head for an occasional kiss. Eventually, her cries quickened, and she called to him, “Come on, baby, come on!”

Good old missionary, he thought. Works every time.

She came a little before he did, but he did get to shoot himself into her. Exhausted and dripping with sweat, he collapsed next to her on the floor. He bent one leg to reach his knee and rub it lightly. He’d scraped them both on the carpeting, as well as his elbows. And he had no doubt she would reprimand him later for the rug-burn on her back and ass. He just lay there a moment to catch his breath, then propped himself on one elbow to look down at her. She was covered in sweat too. At least she came, he thought. He liked to see fatigue on her face; it was certainly better than boredom or complacency.

She mumbled,