Love Hurts

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m lacking in grace and co-ordination.  While I’ve (thankfully) never had major injuries my life is littered with broken toes and cracked ribs and pulled muscles and concussions.  I’m almost always bruised in ways I can’t explain and even when I know exactly how I’ve come by a particular bruise the story tends to be unbelievably comedic.

I met Doc many years ago on a BDSM hookup site.  He was a GP, so evenings and weekends worked as well for him as they did for me.  We chatted for a while before meeting up for coffee, where we chatted some more and laughed and he flirted heavily with me.  He asked to come straight back to mine, and (for once) freshly shaved and groomed and with fresh linens on my bed, I agreed.

Back at mine, naked in bed, Doc’s Dom tendencies came to the fore.  I always have under-bed restraints on my bed, and he put them to good use, tying me extremely tightly before lying next to me and stroking my skin.  I am extremely ticklish, but he’d tied me tightly enough that I could barely squirm as he gently brushed my sensitive ticklish spots.

Eventually his touch moved from my waist and my abdomen to my mons.  I am always sensitive but when freshly shaved a light touch has been known to make me yelp, and he took delight in trailing a finger up and down my lips and watching my extreme reaction.

Within minutes I was soaked and desperate. Taking pity on me he leaned over, spread my lips wide and rubbed his goateed chin over my clit.  I came so hard my shoulders jerked off the bed, and the blinding pain I immediately felt told me something had gone badly wrong.  At the sight of my arm hanging limply Doc immediately went into full medical alert, untying me and examining the shoulder to see what had happened.  My orgasm had been so intense I had dislocated my shoulder with the strength of my convulsions.

Thankfully I was playing with a doctor, so he massaged (wrenched!) the joint back into place and offered to run me to A&E for an evaluation and x-ray if needed.  As it happens as soon as my arm snapped back into its socket the pain diminished.  It was still very sore but not too sore for me to lie back down and carry on where we’d left off (although without restraints; that just felt like asking for trouble).

Doc and I played for a while but then life and a hectic schedule of travel with my job meant that we drifted apart.  We got back in touch through lockdown and were happily reminiscing over whatsapp when he suggested meeting up again once restrictions lifted.  I’ve been seeing him semi-regularly for a few months now, and thankfully have managed to avoid any further major injury.

It’s not the only time I’ve injured myself.  When I met D he offered me a sensual experience of sex on silk sheets.  Ever one for sensual exploration I rapidly agreed and let him drive me to his house.  Our ideas of silk clearly varied quite significantly, as I found myself faced with a shiny pink polyester satin bedding set with more flounces than you’d expect outside of a pensioner’s house, double bed flush against the wall (a pet hate) with a window alongside it.

The bedding may not have been as advertised but the man was stimulating and I shed clothing in haste.  By the time I was in my underwear D had stripped to his socks, and kissing me roughly he walked me back until my calves hit his bed.  At that point D took his hands from my breasts and pushed me backwards, presumably intending me to lie sexily sprawled on the bed.  Instead, as I hit the quilt the very slippery fabric slid against the equally slippery sheets and I was propelled at considerable speed and force into the window, which thankfully was closed.

My head hit the glass with quite a crack, which led D to check that I hadn’t broken the window.  It turned out to be his mum’s house (explains the bedding) and he’d have had a job explaining a broken window to her.

I did smile as he helped me to stand up (I’d banged my head hard enough to make me feel quite dizzy) when so many layers of polyester rubbing against each other made me sufficiently static-y to give him a sharp buzz as he touched me.  If I suffer I like to make sure others do too.

That leads me quite nicely to a third shagtastrophe.  C was a great FWB for several years.  We had no end of laughs, but he did find certain things about me entertaining, notably the ease with which I orgasm and how sensitive my skin gets post-orgasm.

I’d injured us both in the normal minor ways – kicked him in the shoulder, strained a muscle in my thigh, broken a toe, bent my thumb back until my entire palm bruised, all fairly standard stuff for me.  One night we were coming down after a lovely session, all sweaty and panting.  At this point C loved to run a fingernail over an over-sensitised nipple, laughing as he watched me thrash about, or gently brush my known ticklish spots of my waist or my knee, staying well clear as I jerked off the bed.  For whatever reason that night he chose to lean over me rather than leaning away from me.  He ran his hands over me and all was going well until he tweaked my clit for the fun of it.

I immediately jerked bolt upright, slamming my head straight into his with some force.  The resulting thunk made us both dizzy and gave C a bit of blurred vision for a while afterwards.  Have you really had a good time if neither of you ends up concussed?

I’ve come to the conclusion that sex with me is a dangerous activity.  It’s a collision sport, and I’m not here to mess around!