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I got both hands on her shoulder, planted a foot, and yanked her over my hip with all the judo I remembered from one term in 2016.
It worked, almost. Kat sailed over my shoulder in the air. Then she turned, because she was an ex-gymnast, and landed on her feet like a cat. I, meanwhile, landed on the mat on my back, with a noise like a pig being stood on, and a bolt of pain went up the back of my thigh.
“Ow,” I said. “Ow. Ow.”
“Dani?”
“I’ve pulled my hamstring.”
Kat looked at me. She started to laugh. She laughed until she had to sit down, wheezing, tears running down her face, and I lay there swearing at the ceiling until I started laughing too, which hurt.
“Stay still,” she said, finally. She found an ice pack in the first-aid cupboard and knelt beside me. “Where is it?”
“Back of the thigh.”
She stripped my leggings down to my knee, very gently, and pressed the ice to the muscle, then began to massage it, firm strokes of her long fingers. They moved higher. And higher.
“Kat. That is not my hamstring.”
“I know,” she said, and kissed the inside of my thigh. “Can you move?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Perfect.”
She went down on me very slowly, one careful hand pinning my hips, and I came, trembling and frozen, with a bag of peas against my leg. It was the most careful orgasm of my life.
Ending 4 of 16: Pulled Hamstring. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.