The next day, when I woke up, my body's immediate protest was not subtle. My back felt like it had been run over by a diesel truck. Every muscle seemed locked in a searing, agonizing spasm.

​"Fuck, Willow did me bad," I groaned aloud, admitting defeat. She had utterly and completely destroyed me. Not only was she a master of the titty fuck, but she was a fucking exceptional dick rider, using every ounce of her youthful strength and tightness to leverage every millimeter of my cock.

​I tried to get off the bed, but the pain was instantly too much. A sharp, debilitating spike shot down my spine, forcing me to collapse back onto the mattress. This was unprecedented. Despite all the rough scenes and extreme positions I'd filmed, this was the first time I had ever experienced such debilitating back pain after having sex.

​"Okay, let's find out if I can treat this fucking pain," I muttered, gritting my teeth. I had three more scenes scheduled, and a CEO doesn't call in sick over a little spinal damage. I reached out for my phone on the table beside me, the movement itself requiring careful calculation.

​"Ugh, fuck. This shit is killing me," I groaned, finally grasping the device.

​I opened the phone and typed in my desperate query:

----------------------------

​[PHONE SEARCH]

​[Causes of back pain after having sex]

Common Causes of Post-Coital Back Pain

​Muscle Strain and Sprain: The most frequent cause. Aggressive thrusting, twisting, or maintaining awkward, sustained positions (especially deep-entry positions like missionary or doggy style, or high-intensity riding) can lead to acute strain in the lumbar spine, glutes, or hamstrings.

​Disc Issues (Herniation/Bulging): Less common, but deep, vigorous thrusting can place excessive pressure on the spinal discs, especially if the core muscles are fatigued (as often happens during prolonged or intense activity).

​Facet Joint Syndrome: Intense hyperextension (arching the back) during certain positions can irritate the facet joints, leading to sharp, localized pain. Given the aggressive nature of the riding position, this is a strong possibility.

​Underlying Fatigue: Entering a strenuous activity (like filming a demanding scene) while already fatigued (from the previous day's shoots) significantly increases susceptibility to injury.

---------------------------

​The screen provided immediate first-aid advice: apply heat or ice, rest, and take an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory.

-------------------------

​I rubbed my hand over my aching lower back, recognizing the truth in the results. It was definitely a combination of severe muscle strain and the aggressive hyperextension from the high-intensity riding position. Willow had worked me like a machine, and now the machine needed a repair.

​"I need to get my back fixed," I muttered, gritting my teeth against the searing ache.

​I had initially thought I could simply power through the pain and head to the set, but the sharp, stabbing spasms told me otherwise. Filming three more complex, high-impact scenes in this condition wasn't just unprofessional; it was putting myself at extreme risk of a serious, career-ending injury.

With a monumental effort, leaning heavily on the bedside table, I finally managed to haul myself off the bed, letting out a painful hiss as my weight settled onto my feet. I needed to get started on the heat and anti-inflammatories immediately.

​But before I could even make it to the bathroom, a rapid, insistent knocking hammered on the apartment door.

​"Yo Druski, open up motherfucker!!!!" Two Bit's loud, abrasive voice boomed through the wood.

​I sighed, rubbing my temples. "This motherfucker, man." Just what I needed—an early-morning, highly energized distraction.

​I shuffled toward the door, moving with the painful, agonizing slowness of an octogenarian.

​"Open up, motherfucker, we're late!!!" he yelled again, pounding on the door.

​"I'm fucking coming, dude! The fuck's wrong with you?" I snapped back, my annoyance fueled by the pain.

​I unlocked the door and swung it open, immediately leaning against the frame for support. Two Bit stood there, already dressed in his usual flashy street gear, vibrating with impatience.

​"Yo, the fuck's going on with you? You look sick?" Two Bit asked, his eyes scanning my pale, strained face and the obvious stiffness in my posture.

I immediately dropped the attempt to look normal. There was no hiding the stiff, unnatural way I was leaning on the doorframe.

​"Sick? Nah, man," I sighed, wincing as I tried to shift my weight. "I'm fucked up. Willow damn near snapped my spine yesterday."

​Two Bit blinked, processing the information. Then his face crumpled into a wide, disbelieving grin. He threw his head back and let out a booming, infectious roar of laughter that bounced off the hallway walls.

​"HAHAHAHA! No way! The CEO of sex got his back broke by a chick!" He slapped his thigh, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "You're telling me you can dominate the whole city but you can't handle a tiny girl riding your dick?"

​"Shut the hell up, dude," I grumbled, deeply annoyed but unable to argue with the facts. "That wasn't just 'riding.' She was a fucking professional athlete on my cock. Aggressive hyperextension, man. I got a severe muscle strain from that crazy bedroom scene."

​He struggled to regain control, wiping his eyes. "Man, that's priceless. You need to put that in the credits: 'Druski sat out the next scene due to workplace injury.'" He took a deep breath, his mood instantly sobered by the implications of the pain. "So, you can't work today?"

​"No," I confirmed. "I can barely walk. I need heat, ice, and anti-inflammatories, ASAP. We need to call Holmes."

​"Give me the phone," I instructed Two Bit, leaning heavily on the doorframe. I couldn't waste time trying to move to the kitchen.

​He handed me the device, still chuckling softly. I navigated to my contacts and found Mr. Holmes' number. It rang twice before the machine picked up.

​"Holmes," his voice was crisp and efficient, already sounding like he was on the set.

​"Holmes, it's Hart. I'm not going to be able to make it in today."

​A beat of silence—the longest I'd ever experienced on the phone with him. "Excuse me, Mr. Hart? We have the set dressed for 'The MILF's Demand,' and Ms. Yolanda Adams is en route. You were scheduled for three scenes today."

​Hearing the name Yolanda Adams made my soul sink deeper than the sudden back pain. "Yolanda Adams," I muttered, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I vividly remembered the interview—the firm resistance of her curvy ass as I drove into her from the back, the deep, luxurious moans she let out. That golden opportunity to properly fuck that thick MILF again was now slipping through my fingers.

​"Yeah, look, I physically can't do it. Willow did some serious damage to my lower back last night. I'm talking severe muscle strain. I can barely walk. If I shoot, I risk sidelining myself permanently," I explained, adding a professional layer of concern to the pain.

​Another brief silence. "I understand. Financial maximization requires a functioning asset," he stated, his voice losing none of its clinical edge. "We will adjust the schedule, but we cannot afford to lose the day's momentum."

​He paused, then his tone shifted, becoming more conspiratorial. "However, Mr. Hart, you still need to be making revenue and maintaining your commitment. If you can't come to the set..."

​I heard the shift in Holmes's tone—the familiar, calculating hum of a man who sees an obstacle not as a stop sign, but as a new logistical challenge.

​"What if I had an alternative to our problem?" he suggested, his voice low and pointed.

​"An alternative?" I repeated, my mind racing through possibilities. I wondered if he was suggesting a replacement actor, but that would violate the core premise of the series.

​"I'm listening..." I said, holding the phone tighter, my attention fully captured despite the throbbing in my back.

​

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