Rachel is what you'd call a controllist.

[He likes when he's sober like this and she's drunk. He's in control. She's not. She's okay with this - perfectly okay, and they have a written contract to that effect - and he wouldn't do it if there was any doubt. She bounces against him, her hands white-knuckling the headboard, moaning loudly as she lunges back and forth, to and fro on the mattress.] So fucking hot. Gonna fuck you so hard you fucking scream. You fucking love my cock, baby. Love it. You're so tight for me. My little fucking virgin. Nobody gets to be in you 'cept me. You're fucking made for me. Nobody - nobody gets to touch you here - [One hand wraps around her abdomen, stroking wetly between her thighs. There is no particular rhythm or sense to his touches; he's doing what feels good, his fingers sliding around his cock as he pounds into her, around her bundle of nerves and thin folds of tissue, his wet fingers trailing up her belly to tug on her nipples and brush her own taste over her lips.] Nobody gets to fucking touch you the way I do. S'my pretty pussy, baby. S'all mine.