…Without the slapping around, of course

Unexpectedly, he grabbed both of my forearms, one in each hand, and laid them crisscrossed over my head, pressed his giant hand down over their meeting point, and affixed me there, unable to move.  
 
This turned me on intensely, and I felt myself getting very wet as he thrust deeply and brashly inside me.  While continuing to hold me down and thrust, his face slowly contorted into a deranged grin, looking more and more maniacal with every second.  His eyes widened and lit up with fiery pleasure and a demented cackle shook from his chest.  I found myself gasping with surprise and a bit of adventure-tinged fear, and a whole river must have flowed out of me.
 
When he was finished and climbing off of me, he commented, “I used to feel like Patrick Bateman when I’d fuck you, but now I feel like Frank Booth!”  We both laughed heartily.  I told him he’d have to cut out a piece of my robe and carry it around in his pocket, take it out and sniff it once in a while.
 
 
 
Here’s Frank doing his thing: