His mouth worked at my nipple. The hard tug combined with the flick of his tongue… nirvana. He lay on his back, while I rode him, both his hands around my full breast while his mouth continued to suck. My middle finger rubbed rapidly on my clit and at the same time his cock thrust against my g-spot. All of my pleasure sensors were being stimulated at once bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
So close. A low moan built inside me, bubbling up into my throat. Almost. There.
Then, as I crested and began to release what promised to be one of the greatest climaxes of my life, a splitting pain ran through the center of my skull. It radiated out, surrounding my entire head in agony.
I crumpled on top of him, my moan transforming into a cry. The sudden movement jerked my nipple from his lips, accentuating the torture. My hands clasped around my head, attempting to close what I thought must surely be an actual crack in my skull. What else could possibly hurt so badly?
Turns out there’s a name for it: coital cephalalgia. These so called “sexual headaches” aren’t thought to be common. But that could be due to under-reporting. While I don’t mind telling my doctor I was in the throes of ecstasy, at the brink of ultimate orgasm, until it was shattered by what felt like a white-hot knife slicing through the center of my brain like room temperature butter, some people might consider this over-sharing.
It took a good fifteen minutes for the pain to begin to subside and without the popping of five Ibuprofen and his gentle massaging I believe it would have taken even longer. As I lay curled up on the bed, all I could think about was how I had been robbed of an errupting orgasmn by the exploding of my head.
“It was gonna be so good,” I whimpered.
“Shh,” he soothed, “You’ll have other orgasms honey.”
“But I wanted that one,” I whined.
A few days later, I had worked up the courage to try again—this time alone. My vibrator buzzed between my thighs as I remembered his hands and mouth on me. The buildup to release progressed at the usual pace when I’m solo. (about two minutes for those who are wondering) And just a I was going to get relief, it happened again.
This time there was no one present to ease the tension with caring hands. By myself, in the dark, I waited for the misery to wane. But when it finally eased, it had been replaced with a new hurt—the ominous throb of loneliness and the chilling fear of my own orgasms.