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Somehow we managed to scoot from the foot of the bed to the point that my forehead oscillated frighteningly close to the headboard. Each thrust brought me to within a centimeter of a goose egg, which would have put even me off my orgasms.
I cast about for a solution, a solution that would not involve dismantling the temporary infrastructure between our bodies. “Pull my hair,” I told him, and once he’d grabbed hold with both hands, head trauma seemed no longer to be a concern.
However, the new position meant that my nose was pointed directly at a slab of oak. If he’d have turned me loose at that point, the concern would not have been a bump to the noggin but instead a bloodied nose.
And did that make me stop? Did it prompt me to ask my partner for a minor change of venue so as to avoid injury of all sorts?
Of course not. That would have spoiled the fun!
What kind of girl do you take me for?



