Swollen Desires: a New Beginning
Copyright© 2025 by GPT Writer
Chapter 14
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 14 - Chris is your average high schooler who just moved into a new home with his divorced mom and twin sister. While talking to his attractive neighbor, a wasp flies up the leg of his shorts and stings his dick. So naturally his dick grows to twice its size and his pheromones and testosterone to go into hyper-drive. Despite the cheesy porn-plot, its an immersive, character driven story.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Mult Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual Wife Watching Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Daughter MaleDom Spanking Group Sex Orgy Anal Sex Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Size Transformation AI Generated
The hallway is mostly empty as I make my way toward Room 112, and my legs remind me with every step that they’ve been through hell today. But my mind? My mind is soaring somewhere above the clouds, replaying what just happened in that dance room like a highlight reel I’ll never get tired of watching.
I walked in there. I just walked in there and decided we were going to have an orgy. And just like that, just like fucking that - we had one. Ten girls. Every single one of them did exactly what I said. Not because I threatened them, not because I tricked them. Because when I speak, something in me reaches something in them, and they just ... give in.
A week ago I would’ve called that insane. Now it just feels like the truth.
I’m still riding that high when I reach Ms. Vaughn’s classroom. I knock once and push it open without waiting for an answer.
She’s sitting behind her desk, pen in hand like she’s been grading papers, but the smirk that curls across her lips when she sees me tells me grading is the last thing on her mind.
“Was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.” She sets the pen down and leans back in her chair. “You ready to make up that missed first week of homework?”
Damn, she looks good. Like, good good. The buttoned-up Ms. Vaughn from first period this morning is gone. Several of the top buttons on her blouse are already undone, revealing a stripe of smooth skin down to where the fabric just barely holds together. Her blonde hair is down past her shoulders now, freed from that half-bun she always wears, and it frames her face in a way that makes her look five years younger. And unless the light in here is playing tricks on me, I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. The fabric sits a little too loose, shifts a little too freely when she moves.
She planned this. Every detail.
I close the door behind me and flip the lock. The click echoes in the room. She doesn’t flinch - just stares at me with those lusty half-lidded eyes and bites down on her lower lip.
I walk around her desk to face her, and that’s when I see the rest of what she’s done. The conservative knee-length skirt from class? Gone. Replaced with something that barely qualifies as a skirt at all - a tight little thing that rides high on her thighs as she sits. Way too short for a teacher. Way too short for anything except exactly what she’s hoping will happen in this office.
Damn. She wants me bad.
A week ago, this would’ve turned me into a stammering mess. I’d be second-guessing every signal, overanalyzing every word, running probability calculations in my head about whether she actually wants this or I’m misreading everything. But after today - after what happened in that dance room - I’ve learned something about myself. When I see something I want, I go take it.
And right now, I want Ms. Vaughn.
She spreads her legs slowly, deliberately, and the skirt rides up those last few inches. No panties. Not even a hint. Just smooth, bare skin all the way up.
Jesus Christ.
“Get on your knees,” she says, her voice steady and commanding - the same voice she uses when she’s assigning a pop quiz nobody saw coming. “Start earning that extra credit.”
The confidence in the way she says it sends a ripple through me. This isn’t her first time doing this. No chance. She’s had a student kneeling between her thighs before. She’s rehearsed this scene, maybe not with those exact words, but she knows the choreography.
Too bad I’m about to change the routine.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Her eyes widen. Just a fraction, just for a second, but I catch it. She wasn’t expecting that. In her version of this, I’m the nervous student grateful for whatever scraps the hot teacher throws my way. She’s the one in charge. She’s the authority.
Not today.
I move fast - before she can adjust, before she can recalibrate. My hand shoots forward and grabs a fistful of her blonde hair near the back of her head. Not gentle. Just enough to make a statement.
I haul her up out of the chair, spin her, and push her forward until she’s bent over her own desk. Papers scatter. The pen rolls off the edge and clatters to the floor. Her palms slap flat against the wood to catch herself, and she lets out a sharp breath that’s half surprise, half something much hungrier.
With one hand pinning her down between her shoulder blades, I use my other hand to reach under that joke of a skirt. My fingers find her immediately - no barriers, no searching required. I slide two fingers inside her and she moans, loud and raw.
She is soaking.
“Naughty teacher,” I murmur, leaning close to the back of her head. “Already wet for your student.”
She whimpers against the desk, and I feel her clench around my fingers.
“Lucky for you,” I say, sliding my fingers in deeper just to feel her squirm, “I’ve got something better than my fingers.”
I pull my hand free and reach for my zipper. She stays exactly where she is - bent over the desk, face pressed against a stack of essays, breathing hard. I’m still pinning her with one hand, but honestly, I don’t think she’d move if I let go. She doesn’t want to move. She wants to stay right there, pressed down by a student half her age, waiting for whatever comes next.
She likes this. Being dominated. Being taken. Something about the way her body just melted the second I grabbed her hair - she’s been waiting for someone to do this to her. Maybe for a long time.
I shove my pants and boxers down and my cock springs free, still hard, still ready despite everything my body has been through today. I grip her hip with one hand, line myself up, and drive forward.
No warm-up. No easing in.
She lets out an oof as I get about half my length inside her in one thrust. Her hands scramble against the desk, fingers curling around the far edge for something to hold onto.
She’s soaking wet, but tighter than I expected. Way tighter. Each inch is a negotiation, my cock pushing deeper while her body tries to figure out how to accommodate something it wasn’t built for. I work myself in slowly - press forward, hold, press forward again - feeling her stretch around me bit by bit.
“Fuckin’ hell,” she gasps, turning her head to one side, cheek flat against the desk. “How big is that dick of yours?”
To answer her question, I grab both sides of her hips and shove the rest of myself inside her until I’m buried to the hilt. My pelvis presses flush against her ass and I feel every inch of me surrounded by wet, tight heat.
She cries out - not pain, not quite pleasure, something primal and in between - and I feel her entire body trembling beneath my hands.
Just getting my cock all the way in was a workout. My thighs are screaming, my abs are clenched, and I can feel the exhaustion from the dance room pulling at me like an undertow. My cock might have no limits, but my body sure as hell does.
I stand up straight, cock still fully seated inside her, and give myself a moment to breathe. While I catch my breath, I slide that ridiculous mini skirt up over the curve of her hips until it’s bunched around her waist like a belt. And I just ... look.
Ms. Vaughn’s bare ass. My English teacher’s bare ass. My cock disappearing into her, her legs trembling slightly, her knuckles white where they grip the edge of the desk. This is actually happening. This is my teacher, and I’m balls deep inside her in her own office.
Are there any limits to what I can do?
She’s panting hard beneath me, still trying to relax, still trying to adjust to being completely full of me. I can feel her inner muscles fluttering, clenching and releasing as her body works to accommodate what I’ve given it.
“You ready for the second half of my cock now?” I ask, dead serious in tone but grinning where she can’t see me.
She lets out a breathless laugh, and I feel it ripple through her. “I might need a little more time for that.” She shifts beneath me, rolling her hips experimentally, and we both suck in air at the sensation. “But I’m ready for the half that’s in me now.”
I grab her waist with both hands and slowly draw my hips back, sliding out until just the tip remains, then push back in. Slow. Deliberate. Feeling every ridge of her around every inch of me.
She moans. Low and deep, from somewhere in her chest. And when I push back in again, I hear myself groan too - a sound I couldn’t have held back if I tried.
I find a rhythm. Slow at first, savoring it, letting the friction build between us. Then faster. A little more force behind each thrust. Her moans match my pace, rising in pitch as I pick up speed.
And then I’m pounding her. Full strokes, hard enough that the desk lurches forward an inch with each thrust, its legs scraping against the floor. Her moans aren’t moans anymore - they’re full-throated cries, raw and unrestrained, filling the classroom and bouncing off the walls.
I really hope this room is soundproof. Or that every other teacher has gone home. Because Ms. Vaughn is not holding back.
Between the feel of her - hot and wet and gripping me like she never wants to let go - and the absolute mindfuck of knowing I’m inside my teacher, I’m ready to cum in record time. Way too fast. I force myself to slow down, ease off the gas, and focus on my breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Feel the air, feel the control, pull back from the edge.
The urgency fades. Just enough.
Once I’m no longer teetering on the brink, I pick the pace back up. And now I can actually enjoy this. Revel in it. I’m fucking the shit out of my English teacher and she’s loving every second of it. Her back arches, her fingers claw at the desk, and every time I bottom out she lets out this desperate little cry that I’m going to hear in my dreams for the rest of my life.
On and on I pound her. The desk is a lost cause - it’s migrated a good six inches from where it started. Papers have slid off in waves, littering the floor around our feet.
“Take off your blouse,” I tell her.
Not a request.
She fumbles for the buttons immediately, even as I keep driving into her. It’s awkward as hell - her fingers keep slipping, her body jolting forward with each thrust - but I didn’t ask her to take it off. I told her. And she’s obeying. After what feels like forever of clumsy, shaking fingers, she gets the last button free and flings the blouse sideways. It lands on a bookshelf somewhere behind us.
I can’t see her tits from this angle, but that’s not going to stop me. I lean forward over her, sliding my hands around her ribcage and up, and then I’ve got them. Both of them. Full handfuls of the tits I’ve been fantasizing about since my first day in her classroom.
Worth the wait. So worth the fucking wait.
They’re more than a handful each - soft and warm with this perfect firmness underneath, like they were molded by God specifically for my palms. And her nipples, Christ, her nipples are hard as rocks, stiff peaks digging into the centers of my hands as I squeeze and knead and claim every inch of them.
I keep thrusting into her as I lean close, my chest pressed against her bare back, my lips brushing against her ear.
“Do you like getting fucked by your student?” I whisper.
“Oh god, yes,” she moans, and there’s nothing performative about it, nothing fake. “Your cock is - oh fuck - your cock is amazing.”
Something primal surges through me. On impulse I slide one hand up and brush her hair aside, sweeping it away from the curve of her neck. Then I bite down. Hard enough to leave a mark. Hard enough that she’ll see it in the mirror tomorrow morning and remember exactly how it got there.
“Oh, you bastard,” she giggles breathlessly, and the combination of the laugh and the moan in her voice is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Who owns you now?” I murmur against the bruise I just left on her skin.
“You do,” she pants. “You own me, stud.”
“What part of you do I own?”
“All of me.” Her words tumble out between ragged breaths and moans. “My pussy, my mouth, my ass - you own it all. Just don’t stop fucking me. Oh god, don’t stop, your cock is reaching parts of me I didn’t know existed.”
“How does it feel?” I thrust deep, holding myself there, grinding. “Being owned by a student?”
“Oh god, I’m so bad,” she whimpers, and I feel her clenching around me. “I’m so fucking bad but I can’t help it. Your cock - oh fuck, your cock does things to me I can’t - I can’t put into words.”
I’ve heard enough. Enough talking.
Time for some serious deep dicking.
I straighten up, plant both hands on her hips, and let go of every ounce of restraint I’ve been holding back. I pound into her as hard and fast as my body will allow, each thrust driving her into the desk, each impact drawing another scream from her throat. The desk is screeching across the floor now, a rhythmic scraping that underscores her cries like a metronome.
My thighs are on fire. My abs are cramping. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop, but I don’t, I can’t, because I’m so close and she feels so goddamn incredible and I own this woman, I own my teacher, I own -
“Where can I cum?” I grit out between thrusts.
“Anywhere you want.” She barely gets the words out. “You own me.”
That’s what I wanted to hear.
I pull out of her - the sudden absence making us both gasp - and grab a fistful of her hair. I yank her off the desk and guide her down until she’s kneeling in front of me, eye level with my cock, still glistening from being inside her.
She doesn’t need instructions. Doesn’t need a single word. Her mouth opens and she takes me in, lips stretching around my shaft, tongue working the underside as she swallows inch after inch. The taste of herself on me doesn’t slow her down for a second.
“Fuck yeah,” I breathe, my hand still tangled in her hair. “Suck that cock. Taste yourself on it.”
She moans around me, and the vibration shoots straight up my spine. Then she goes to work like her life depends on it. Like she’s the one trying to earn extra credit.
Her head bobs rapidly, cheeks hollowed as she applies suction that feels like it might pull my soul out through my cock. One hand wraps around the base of my shaft - the part she can’t reach with her mouth - and pumps in perfect sync with her lips. Fast. Relentless. Her other hand grips my thigh for balance as she gives me everything she’s got.
The orgasm builds like a freight train. Unstoppable. Inevitable.
“Fuck - take it, you teacher slut!” The words rip out of me half a second before I explode. My cock pulses and the first thick rope of cum floods her mouth. I grab her head with both hands, holding her to me, but there’s no need. She’s not going anywhere. Her throat works as she swallows, gulping down every spurt, her lips sealed tight around my shaft to make sure nothing escapes.
I own my teacher. I own her mouth, her pussy, her throat. Fuck yeah.
That thought alone triggers another wave, more cum surging up and firing into her eager mouth. She swallows again, and again, never pulling back, never gagging, just taking and drinking and moaning around me like this is exactly what she was put on earth to do.
It goes on forever. Pulse after pulse, spurt after spurt, and she takes every single drop. Thirty seconds. Forty-five. A full minute of my body pouring itself into her. By the time the last aftershock ripples through me, I’ve got nothing left. Not in my balls, not in my legs, not anywhere.
I release her head and collapse backward into her office chair, the leather squeaking under my weight. My legs are gone. My arms are gone. I’m just a puddle of boy in a chair, staring at the ceiling while I try to remember how lungs work.
Ms. Vaughn stays on her knees at my feet, panting, a thin strand of spit connecting her lower lip to the tip of my cock. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and looks up at me with wide, glazed eyes.
“God damn,” she exhales, shaking her head slowly. “That was a load and a half.”
I came so hard I actually started to go soft. Like, genuinely soft, or at least heading that direction for the first time in what feels like forever. My body’s convinced we’re done here. My body is wrong.
Because I look down at Ms. Vaughn, still on her knees, still shirtless, and I’m seeing her tits for the first time. Really seeing them. During the fuck I was grabbing them, groping them, but it was all heat and motion and dominance. Now, in the stillness, with her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, I can actually appreciate them. They’re perfect B-cups, not big, but firm, with pale pink nipples still hard and pointed. And just like that, I feel the blood rushing back, my cock thickening, rising, filling out until I’m right back to full mast.
Ms. Vaughn notices. Her eyes track the movement like she’s watching a magic trick.
“Fuckin’ hell,” she breathes. “How are you still hard after that?”
I shrug, letting my gaze stay locked on her chest. “I’m enjoying seeing your tits is all.”
Something shifts in her face, surprise melting into genuine delight. She cups both breasts and gives them a playful squeeze, giggling in a way that makes her seem ten years younger. “Thanks. They are nice, aren’t they?”
“Fuck yeah they are. You need to show those off more during class.”
She laughs, a real laugh, warm and easy. “Us teachers have a dress code too, you know.”
That reminds me. “Speaking of, I’ve got a meeting with the principal soon.” I glance down at my lap, at the mess she made of me. My cock and balls are slick, coated in spit and cum. “But you got your cum all over my cock and balls. Why don’t you clean me up before I head out?”
Her eyes go wide for just a second, not shock, exactly, more like a thrill she wasn’t expecting. Then her expression settles into something low and heated, and she practically purrs.
“Fuck, you’re bad.”
She leans forward and nuzzles her face into my crotch, her cheek pressing warm against my inner thigh. Then she pauses, tilting her head up to look at me with those big blue eyes.
“Are you gonna own the principal too?”
“Fuck yeah I am.”
She grins against my skin, then extends her tongue and drags it slowly along the base of my cock. Long, deliberate strokes, lapping up the mess like she’s savoring it. I scoot forward to the edge of the chair, spreading my legs wider to give her better access, then lean back and let my head drop against the headrest. Her tongue works methodically, base to midshaft, circling, cleaning, and my eyes half-close.
“Don’t forget my balls.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she murmurs, and her mouth migrates south. She cups one testicle with her lips and sucks it gently into her mouth, her tongue swirling warm and wet around it. A groan slips out of me before I can stop it. She hums in response, the vibration traveling straight up my spine.
While she’s down there, proving beyond any shadow of a doubt that I own her now, I can’t help myself.
“You know,” I say, keeping my voice casual, “I never did thank you for pairing me up with Michelle for that assignment.”
She giggles around my ball, which is a weird sensation, but not an unpleasant one, then pulls off with a soft pop. “Didn’t work out how I pictured it in my head.” She kisses the inside of my thigh. “Should have known a stud like you would dominate her.”
“There’s a couple more hotties in class I wouldn’t mind being paired with.”
She looks up at me, chin resting on my thigh, and there’s zero hesitation in her voice. “As long as you don’t forget about me, I’ll pair you with whoever you want. Just let me know.”
With that, she dips back down and takes my other ball into her mouth, sucking it in and swirling her tongue around it in slow, deliberate circles. My fingers curl around the armrests.
“Fuck, Ms. Vaughn, that feels amazing.”
She pops off, lips glistening. “Thanks. But feel free to use my first name, Veronica, while I’m sucking on your balls.” She winks at me.
I chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know. Calling you Ms. Vaughn makes it naughtier.”
“Suppose it does,” she concedes with a smirk, then wraps her hand around my shaft and bends it down toward her mouth. She parts her lips and sucks the head in, her tongue pressing flat against the underside, and my hips twitch involuntarily.
I should leave. My meeting with the principal, I need to get there, need to be sharp, need to...
But I don’t want this to end.
As if she can read my mind, or maybe she just knows exactly what she’s doing, Veronica slowly, inch by inch, slides my cock deeper into her mouth. I watch it disappear. Past her lips. Over her tongue. Deeper. When it hits the back of her throat she pauses, readjusts her angle, tilts her head slightly. Then she looks up at me with those blue eyes and slowly, so fucking slowly, lets my cock push past the resistance and into her throat.
I feel it. The tight, muscular squeeze of her throat accepting me, opening around me, swallowing me down until her nose is buried in my pubes and her lips are stretched wide around the base. Every single inch of me is inside her.
“Oh fuck, Veronica...” The moan comes out ragged, helpless, and I don’t even care.
She holds there. Breathing through her nose in steady, controlled rhythm, her face pressed into my lap like she could stay there forever. Her throat pulses gently around my cock with each exhale, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to thrust.
Then she reaches up, finds both my hands on the armrests, and lifts them to the top of her head.
Places them there.
Holds them there until I understand.
I grab fistfuls of her blonde hair, twisting it around my fingers, and start to move her. Slow at first, pulling her head up until just the tip stays in her mouth, then guiding her back down, feeling my cock slide past her tongue and into her throat again. She moans around me, a vibration that hums through my entire body.
I pick up speed. Faster. Harder. Her hands drop to my thighs for balance as I take full control, pumping her face up and down on my cock. Spit starts to drool from the corners of her stretched mouth, dripping down her chin, landing on her bare tits in wet strings. The sounds are obscene, wet, gagging, choking, and she takes every bit of it.
“You just can’t get enough of my cock, can you.” It’s not a question. I yank her down hard and hold her there for a beat before pulling her back up. “Such a naughty, slutty teacher. Loves getting face-fucked by her student.”
She whimpers around my shaft, and the vibration almost finishes me right there.
“One load wasn’t enough for you, was it?” I’m thrusting up into her mouth now, meeting each downstroke with a snap of my hips. “You want a second load in your belly like the true slut you are.”
Her eyes are watering, mascara starting to streak, and she’s making these desperate little sounds in her throat that only drive me harder.
“Maybe I should fuck you in front of the whole class. Show everyone what a slut you are.” I pull her all the way down and grind her face into my lap. “Or maybe I should bend you over your desk and hold you down while every guy in class gang bangs you.” Her throat clenches hard around me and I hiss through my teeth. “I’ll make you eat out all the female students while I’m at it.”
I don’t know if it’s the dirty talk or the throat-fucking or some combination of both, but Veronica ‘slut teacher’ Vaughn, starts cumming. Without a single finger on her pussy, her whole body convulses, her thighs clenching together, a muffled scream vibrating around my cock. Her throat spasms, swallowing hard and rhythmic around my shaft, and the sensation is so intense, so fucking relentless, that it drags me right over the edge with her.
I cum with both fists buried in her hair, holding her face down as rope after rope shoots directly into her throat, bypassing her mouth entirely, dumping straight into her stomach. Her throat works frantically, swallowing everything, milking me with each convulsion, and I can feel her still trembling through her own orgasm as she takes my second load.
When it’s finally over, when the last aftershock fades and my grip loosens in her hair, I slowly pull my cock out. She keeps suction the entire way, her cheeks hollowing, her lips tightening around my shaft like she doesn’t want to let go. The head finally exits with a wet pop and she gasps, a string of spit connecting her swollen lower lip to the tip of my cock.
“Fuck,” I pant, slumping back in the chair. “You’re one slutty teacher. You like this with all your students?”
She’s barely got enough air to speak, but she manages a dreamy, half-lidded smile. “Just the ones with donkey dicks.”
I laugh despite my exhaustion. “So does that mean I’ve made up for all missed work?”
She pretends to think about it, tapping a finger against her glistening chin. “Hmmm. I think this only makes up for Monday’s assignments. You’ll have to continue coming in to make up the rest.”
“Well,” I sigh dramatically, tucking myself back into my boxers and pulling up my pants, “if I have to, I have to, I suppose.”
I stand, and my legs actually hold, which feels like a minor miracle, and zip up. “I’m going to meet the principal now. See you tomorrow.”
“Mmmm,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. “Such a stud.”
I turn toward the door and glance back one last time. The image hits me like a photograph before I even take one. Ms. Vaughn is slumped on the floor, back propped against her desk, completely naked except for that little skirt bunched uselessly around her waist. She’s panting, chest heaving, drool coating her chin and dripping down between her tits. Her makeup is wrecked, mascara streaked, lipstick smeared across her cheek, and she’s got this expression on her face like she just discovered religion.
Fuck, that’s a hot image.
Before she can react, I whip out my phone and snap the photo.
She blinks at the screen, then grins. “Such a compromising photo of me,” she says, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in this exaggerated, over-the-top damsel voice. “Why, if you were to blackmail me with that, I’d just have to do whatever you told me to do.”
She doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that I could post it online and get her fired. Not even a flicker of worry. Either she doesn’t care about her job, or she trusts me completely.
I pocket my phone. With the knowledge that I truly and completely own my English teacher, I head straight for the principal’s office, ready to own her too.
The front office is empty. Grace’s desk is cleared off, her computer dark, purse gone from the hook behind her chair. Guber’s office door stands open - lights off, nobody home. The whole administrative suite feels like it’s been evacuated on purpose.
Just me and Ms. Harper. Perfect.
I roll my shoulders, wince at how sore they are, and shove through the door to her inner office like I’m walking into my own living room.
She’s behind her desk, reading glasses perched on her nose, pen in hand. She glances up the moment I enter and sets the pen down with a precise little click.
“Mr. Swanson.” She pulls the glasses off and folds them. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”
“Had a meeting with Ms. Vaughn that ran longer than expected.”
“So I heard.”
My stomach drops half an inch. Wait - does that mean - no. No. I study her face for some crack, some tell, but she’s completely neutral. Just a principal acknowledging a scheduling conflict. I’m pretty sure I mentioned the Vaughn appointment this morning when we set this up. That’s all she means.
I close her door. The latch catches with a satisfying click. Then I reach behind me and turn the lock. The dead bolt slides home, and the sound fills the room like a punctuation mark.
I start walking toward her desk.
She stands up - smoothly, no rush - and comes around the front of it to meet me. We stop about two feet apart, right in the center of her office, the desk just behind her. She’s taller than me in those low heels. Up close she smells like something clean and expensive, and her body is lean under her fitted blazer in a way that has nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with discipline.
“You’re being awfully bold, Mr. Swanson.”
I smirk. I can feel the invincibility humming in my veins, the same high that’s carried me through this entire insane day, and I lean into it.
“You haven’t seen nothing yet.”
I reach my right hand up and grab the back of her neck.
The next thing I know -
Wham.
My face hits her desk. Hard. The wood slams against my cheekbone and my vision whites out for a half second, and before I can even process what happened, my right arm is wrenched behind my back at an angle that sends lightning bolts of pain from my shoulder to my fingertips.
What the fuck?
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