Last night I got a little greedy and ordered more than I could handle. I'd been snacking on and off all day, mostly soft foods like baked goods. I had been drinking for a little bit too and really had a craving for this mexican place in my town. I was feeling a little excessive and got a chimichanga (deep fried burrito) with tomatoes, and cheese sauce all over it. The burrito itself is huge, but the dinner I ordered comes with a side of rice and a side of beans that also had cheese on it, as well as some chips. I was naughty and snacked a little bit more while I waited for my delivery to arrive.
I love this meal, but about halfway through I started to feel really full. It doesn't reheat well, though, so I pushed through. I grabbed another drink and rallied on. By the time I was finished, my stomach felt rock hard and I couldn't lay back without uneasy, nauseous burps. I was feeling a little off, I definitely knew I was pushing it. I stood to get another drink, hoping that a little movement would help. Standing helped a little bit. I was able to burp and release some gas. I took small sips of my drink and controlled my breathing. I decided that I might try going outside for a smoke, hoping that would help me forget how full I was and help me control my breathing.
Fuck, was I wrong. One hit gone wrong and I started coughing. My stomach was so full, each cough got closer and closer to a heave. I was able to quell the pain in my throat with a few sips of my drink, but things weren't settling well. I felt so bloated, my stomach was groaning under my palm, chastising me for thinking I could eat five pounds of fried meat and cheese in one sitting. To be safe, I returned to my bathroom, leaning against the wall in front of my toilet while I groaned and tried to settle my stomach.
Between the painful groans were burps, each getting deeper and wetter than the other. Swallowing felt like a mistake, and none of my burps seemed to make me feel any better. If anything, I felt fuller with each belch. I leaned over the toilet and spit. I know it's only a matter of time now. The usual dizzy feeling or cold tingle down the spine that signal the need to vomit weren't present in this moment, the only thing I could think about was how full I was. Taking a deep breath is hard, my breathing becomes shallow and I'm worried with each inhale which exhale will be the one that finally releases it. I burp a few more times, some mucus hacks its way up my throat and I spit that in the toilet. I pat my hand against my stomach, it's hard and unwavering. I dare to take a deep breath and I feel my stomach clench. I don't throw up, not immediately, but I get up on my knees and steady myself, ready for what is to come.
As I shift positions, so do the contents of my stomach. I burp, wet and long. For a moment I think this is it, but my stomach doesn't yet heave. I leaves me breathless and disappointed, impatient and uncomfortable. All I can think about is how full I am, and how desperate I am to feel better. It hurts; it's a solid, churning stone settling in my stomach. It makes every bit of me feel stiff, difficult to move. I wish I could move, but I know that being anywhere other than hovering over my toilet right now is a severe mistake.
I burp, and I retch but still nothing comes. I can feel the pressure growing, though. My meal is sitting at the back of my throat, it is only a matter of time. The gasses in my stomach are growing, I burp a few more times. Each time could be the moment I spew. I only burp once or twice before finally, I get some relief.
The first time I vomit it's mostly just liquid, the sips of drinks I'd taken trying to settle my stomach before making the mistake of setting it off with a coughing fit. I heave twice, right after the other, puking up probably about a glass of liquid between the two heaves. I feel the pressure in my stomach growing, I ground both of my hands on the floor. It's about to get bad.
The first heave was large. It started with a burp, but quickly turned chunks of meat and beans and tortilla into projectiles towards the porcelain of my toilet bowl: chunky, but still liquidy with my drinks. The heave was deep, and long. In the middle of the heave, I burp, creating a second, more powerful wave of vomit to follow. I feel a squirt of liquid between my legs as I heave; not enough to leak through my pants, but enough for me to notice. I try to catch my breath.
I manage a few deep breaths before my stomach tries to heave up my dinner once more. I retch once, coughing up spit. I burp, and up with it comes a thick stream of chunks. Some of the toilet water splashes up and hits my face as my barely digested dinner plops into the bowl. I burp again, and realize I still don't feel any less full from before. I know the next heave is coming, nothing but stomach acid and a cough. Another heave produces only mucus. I rub my stomach, irritated that it has yet to find relief.
Rubbing my stomach is relieving only in the sense that it jostled it enough to try and retch productively again. I burp, I sit up a bit more, I know my stomach isn't finished yet. My stomach is reeling and I'm exhausted, I know I'm not finished yet but I'm ready to be. This dinner was a mistake, I am suffering the consequences.
Again, I heave a few more times but my retches are hardly productive. I feel a bubble start deep in my gut, it makes its way up my throat. I burp, deep and long. For a second I think it will be just that, but at the last second my stomach heaves and I throw up a bit of liquid. I cough, and retch a small bit of liquid up once more. For the second time, my stomach betrays me and retches again as I'm getting sick, producing a more powerful wave of vomit directly after the first. I'm able to take one breath before I'm getting sick again. The power from the first few retches isn't there, but there's still quantity. It's thick, I can feel chunks of it still rub against my throat as it's expelled. My stomach is tense, I'm not allowed to swallow or breathe until I've managed to bring up liquid one more time.
I sit up a little bit, I rest my forehead against my arm. I have a moment to breathe. I still feel bloated and full, but not as sick as before. My stomach still rumbles though, I feel my mouth water and struggle to swallow. I burp again, spitting into the chunks below. I try to catch my breath. I heave, and struggle to bring up thick chunks of my meal. My stomach contracts again, forcing up even more food. I wonder if this batch even got to digest, it feels so thick I could chew it. I spit, and wonder if my stomach will release any more of its contents.
My stomach is still upset, but it's not heaving anymore. After several seconds I lean back against my wall. I burp several times. I'm sure that if I'd had water to drink in that moment, that I would have gotten sick again, maybe before I was able to reach the toilet. I didn't have water, though, and that's probably for the better. I still felt full, but I didn't feel sick anymore.
That is, for about another twenty minutes or so....
This is from a few days ago I had overstuffed (cause I was blasted and the munchies hit hard) and it came back up. It was so fast I couldn't even record the start. After a couple of minutes I kept heaving but nothing came up so I had to use my fingers it felt sooooo good. I'll put the aftermath pic in pt2
It is currently 2:40 in the morning. Why am I awake at 2:3p in the morning you may ask. Well let me take you along for the ride.
Yesterday, my stomach had been a bit uncomfortable all day. Nothing out of the ordinary, just some benign grumbles and bloating mostly. So I decided to have an early dinner of a summer salad and sausages, then head to bed. Cut to me groggily waking up at about 2 am. It took me a minute to realise what had woken me up. My tummy had bloated out to about double its normal size and was hard to the touch. It was gurgling these long, liquidy gurgles and real loud whines. Once I had woken up properly, I had to jump out of bed and run to the toilet. I didnt get up fast enough though and vomited over myself. Once I got to the toilet, I knelt in front of it and proceeded to projectile vomit. It was so bad that I couldn't catch my breath because of how forcefully the salad was coming out. Halfway through puking, the pressure in my belly dropped. I couldn't do anything though because I was still forcefully ejecting my stomach contents. My bowels were filled to the brim with watery diarrhea though, and its not the sort one can hold in, so that started splattering into my pajama pants. After about 5 minutes, my stomach gave me a break and I was able to pull myself up and sit on the toilet and have explosive diarrhea and puke into the bathroom trash can for about 20 minutes. I only just got off the toilet and I can already feel my stomach gurgling for round 2.
Blaine had had some gluten-free cookies left over, but they were dry and a bit stale. They had been out of their oat milk, but Diego’s regular whole milk carton had been in there, and Blaine hadn’t thought it would be that big of a deal.
It had been so late at night, their apartment silent, Diego asleep in bed, and the kitchen dark except for the faint orange glow from the stove and the white light from inside the fridge. Blaine stood in the kitchen, barefoot, pajama pants borrowed from Diego and dragging on the floor. The world had felt pleasantly muffled and sleepy around them, following one of those long, hectic Saturdays at the cafe.
All Blaine wanted to do was unwind, enjoy a midnight snack, and scroll for a while on their phone. Something mindless and comforting. They had gotten themself a plate of cookies and a glass of milk, and they paired perfectly. Cold, thick, creamy, sweeter in a strange way than Blaine remembered it being, and they finished their milk before they even finished their cookies. They had to swallow the last couple dry.
While Blaine has technically been lactose intolerant their whole life, there are levels to it. If they have a whole grilled cheese, a milkshake, a bunch of dairy, yeah, they’re going to be absolutely tormented. A little bit usually isn’t a huge deal, though. A mild stomachache, a little bit of upset rumbling, sometimes regret and time spent on the toilet. If it’s a small enough amount, it’s not that catastrophic. They have much worse allergies than that.
But they had their oatmeal cookies and milk just around midnight, and they haven’t been able to fall asleep after that.
It’s like their body feels restless as it tries to digest their cookies and milk, though it’s not settling particularly well. It’s nearly three in the morning, and they’re laying on the couch so they don’t wake up Diego with their sleeplessness. The couch’s throw pillow is kicked down around their legs, and a strange, rumbling heat is gathering heavy and low in their gut. It feels like it’s bloating their belly tight, and they rub at the bloated curve of their lower belly slowly, absently, as they scroll.
Under their hand, their stomach feels too full, as if stretching out from the inside. A low growl grumbles through the shifting center, and they readjust on the sofa a little, pressing their palm harder into their middle.
The bloat and ache won’t move. Blaine starts to realize their stomach is upset, moreso than it might usually be from that amount of dairy. Still, it’s not surprising. They did still drink a glass of milk, and have a plate of cookies. It stands to reason that their stomach might have a little bit of a hard time handling that.
Blaine takes in a long breath through their mouth, then out through their nose with a glance towards the coffee table. Their plate still has a couple of crumbs, the glass a smear of milk, and their stomach gurgles again.
“Okay,” they murmur, rubbing their hand across their lower guts. They can feel a sluggish churn ripple through their tummy there, and they groan, readjusting again on the sofa, restless still. “Just dairy stuff. Just gotta let it digest.”
But a few minutes of scrolling later, during which Blaine is hardly able to focus on what they’re reading, the growing upset in their stomach still isn’t easing up. The uncomfortable fullness is becoming heavier, gassier, and tighter, and they shift again, trying to stretch the tightness bloating under their ribs.
“Ugh,” they groan, rubbing a slow circle over their bloated stomach. “Just need to let it settle.”
A low, wet gurgle answered them, and they grimace, shifting again as a churn rolled through their belly. A sour, heavy feeling is pooling low in their stomach, the thick weight of curdled milk and too much sugar. When a few bubbles of air gurgle through their tummy, they encourage the bubbles up. They bring with them a cold, sour taste that creeps up the back of their throat before they belch deeply, tasting sour milk and oatmeal cookies and curdled, milky stomach bile on their tongue.
Blaine groans, turning carefully onto their side. Their stomach sloshes with them, rolling over itself in a long, sluggish churn that seems to refuse to settle once they are actually laying on their side. The pressure in their belly makes them curl tighter up, knees pressed towards their chest, but that pushes on their bloated belly in a way that makes them burp again, sour and gross.
“Fuck,” Blaine curses, closing their eyes as their stomach growls, low and wet, before more bubbles work through their guts. It sounds like hot burbling through a thick soup, and their mouth waters so much they have to swallow.
Pressing a hand to their sternum, Blaine rubs hard there and tries to work up another burp. They’re not coming from their chest, though, they’re only coming from their bloated belly right now.
They can hear the clock on the wall ticking, every second dragging as they become more and more aware of their body and their belly. Putting their phone aside, they put both hands over the center of their belly. The pressure and bloat makes their tummy feel solid, but upset and gurgling at the same time. Inside the too-round swell of their belly, there’s another snarl, louder and deeper, and they groan again.
Inside, it feels like the churning is shifting around everywhere. It slides under their ribs, squelches through the middle of their belly, then gathers low again, unsettled and rumbling. Their stomach groans loudly, and Blaine takes a deep breath as their guts give a sloshing, liquidy gurgle.
Blaine tries to breathe through it, speaking aloud to tell themself, “You’re okay. Just breathe. It’s just milk. You can digest it.” To their stomach, they beg, “Just settle down, please.”
The milk and cookies in their belly doesn’t seem to want to settle, though. Nothing is sitting right, like everything they ate and drank is squirming around in their stomach right now. They keep trying to rub their stomach in slow circles, their knees bent up, trying anything to ease the pressure in their belly, but nothing seems to be able to calm it down right now.
Briefly, Blaine entertains the idea of getting up to get Pepto, but every slight movement seems to jostle everything in their belly, making the milk and cookies shift around again before another small burp comes up. It tastes and smells like sour milk, and they groan, upset at how poorly their stomach is handling this.
It almost feels like the cookies are just sitting there in clumps inside of them, heavy lumps that refuse to digest in the swamp of gurgling, bubbling milk curdling and churning in their belly. They burp again, feeling their stomach turn over slow and thick; still, everything inside feels like it’s just sitting there, too heavy and unmoving. They can feel every bubble forcing its way through their tummy, an upset string that gurgles in the worst way.
Their skin prickled with heat and discomfort. The air around them seemed thick, their pajama shirt and pants clinging to their skin with humidity. Their next swallow feels too thick and they hiccup, then groan as a wave of queasiness rolls through their belly.
Clearly laying on their side isn’t helping, and so Blaine makes themself sit upright. For a moment, they lean forward with their elbows on their knees, trying to relieve the pressure bloating up their belly that way. It doesn’t work; they try rubbing along the bloated upper crest of their belly, hoping to coax out some of the sour air, but they only manage to make a bubbling growl curl through their guts.
Rising to stand, Blaine tries walking back and forth across the living room, hoping the motion of walking will help. The motion makes the heaviness in their belly feel like it shifts up and down at the same time, a sluggish weight that rises and falls. They walk through the living room to the kitchen, feeling another grumble snarl through their guts, and they have to stop to put their hand on the counter and breathe.
Blaine closes their eyes, taking slow breaths in through their nose and out through their mouth. Even the faint orange light off the stove feels too bright right now; Blaine squints against it, then has another sour burp bubble out of them, taking thick and disgusting in the back of their throat.
It’s so sour that Blaine has a suspicion, and they cross to the fridge again. Opening it up, squinting again against the brighter light inside, they reach for the milk carton they drank a whole glass from earlier. Just looking at it makes their stomach turn, rolling over itself, queasiness swelling a little.
Frowning, bringing the carton up to find the expiration date, they discover the printed numbers. Though they’re faded from condensation and age, the date is clear. They blinked at it once, twice, then whispered, “Fuck.”
It isn’t just lactose intolerance, they’re realizing now. It’s that and the fact that this carton of milk seemed to have expired two weeks ago.
The realization comes with a wave of something that is a mix of panic and nausea, a full-body rush of awareness that something is in motion inside of their belly that they can’t undo now. They shut the fridge quickly, bringing the milk to the sink and turning it over to empty out.
As they dump out the milk, they can see the clumps in it, can smell the sour spoiled milk, and they have to breathe heavily through their mouth as they set the carton down hard inside the sink. They grip the edge of the counter, just trying to ground themself, and take a deep breath.
“Okay,” they say to themself before they hiccup again, their lower guts grumbling. “Okay. That’s fine. It’s fine. Just digest. It’ll be fine once it all digests.”
Their stomach rolls uneasily, and Blaine, unable to smell the milk in the sink anymore, makes their way back to the sofa in the living room. Sitting down this time makes them grimace as it puts more pressure on their stomach, rounded and sitting heavily in their lap. The noises in their tummy are constant now, their stomach restless and upset as they rub their hands over their middle with increasing desperation.
By the time the clock chimed for four o’clock, Blaine could no longer pretend they would be able to digest this.
Their stomach hurts. Not something they can digest, or something they can rub away, or something that will disappear with one good belch. It’s a deep, uneasy, churning stomachache that is driving their nausea up with each snarling grumble through their upset belly.
Their stomach was trying to work around the milk and cookies brewing up horribly inside them, but it wasn’t working. Soft cramps were starting to build and crest in their stomach, leaving a soreness behind when they briefly fade before the next one comes.
Blaine presses the heel of their hand into the center of their belly and try to rub again, their mouth watering thickly. They swallow as their stomach lurches, the milk inside them bubbling like a chemistry experiment gone wrong.
“Should’ve checked the date,” Blaine grumbles to themself. “You absolute idiot. Shouldn’t have had milk at all.”
They stop and swallow again around the lump growing in their throat. They’re usually pretty good, and yet now, they fucked up. They’re a grown adult and they know better. They’ve had allergies for years.
And yet here they are, shaking and clammy, trying to talk their stomach into staying put.
Briefly, Blaine considers going to the bathroom, but the idea of standing up and moving right now feels unbearable. Instead, they curl up tighter beneath their blanket on the sofa, breathing shallow and slow as their stomach groans around another gurgle before it lurches and makes them burp sickly again.
Then another hiccup comes up, sharp and sudden. It makes their chest burn, and Blaine rubs it before another burp comes up, bringing with it a low, ominous gurgle. Another burp comes up of its own accord, though it doesn’t feel like it relieves any of the bloat. It only brings another deep, wet, burbling sound that rolls through his gut, as loud as thunder.
A series of burps comes up next, almost overlapping each other. Blaine has to sit up again, rubbing their stomach to try and help them along, but each one is wetter and more uncomfortable than the last.
With a groan, Blaine curled forward, making noises like a boiling swamp failing to digest a car. Their mouth waters again, and they swallow again as they groan through the nausea that hits like a wave then— slow at first before it crashes over them with force.
Their stomach sloshed, the sensation followed by a churning gurgle they can hear and feel. They could practically feel the milk and cookies fighting inside them, bubbling like a cauldron. The burps and hiccups won’t stop now, with every hiccup making their stomach lurch and every burp tasting sour like spoiled, curdled milk.
Another grumble comes, low in their guts, gurgling unhappily through their lower belly. Another loud, sloshy gurgle squelched through their bloated belly, followed by a growling snarl that rumbled through their distended lower tummy with a ripple.
A wave of nausea washes over them again. A heavy, wet churn rolls through their stomach and their guts simultaneously, right before an uneasy bubbling sloshes and shifts their lower tummy, making a sharp cramp twist there. The feeling of fullness in their stomach refuses to settle, and the restless, uncomfortable, queasy heaviness makes it impossible for them to keep sitting upright and still like this.
A new gurgle echoes low and deep. It feels like it moves through their stomach and further down, stirring up their intestines, their guts. It's like some of what won't digest is going straight through them, upsetting their tummy further and making their lower belly gurgle roughly. Waves of rolling nausea press up and down alternatingly, the sour heaviness spreading through their intestines and up behind their ribs at the same time.
Blaine presses both hands over their belly and rocks slightly, trying to ease the pressure and nausea. When their stomach growls again, another full-body clammy wave of nausea washing over them, they curl forward with their elbows on their knees, rubbing hard over their bloated stomach and gurgling lower belly, shifting slightly with a groan.
“Oh, fuck, I don’t feel good,” Blaine complains to nobody except themself. A low rumble moves through them, and a sick, long fart comes out of them, turning their stomach as it does. A sour burp rolls up, curdled milk in their throat. With a groan, “I really don’t feel good.”
They belch as their lower guts gurgle again, and they lurch upwards at the same time their stomach does. Blaine all but sprints for the bathroom, barely managing to make it to the toilet before their stomach rolled upwards again, pushing a wet belch of milk out of them with a harsh retch.
Their lower belly rumbles loudly and they fart again before they burp, sweating all over. They clench hard as another burp comes up, and then they’re belching up a thick wave of sour, chunky vomit that splashes into the bowl under their chin. Their stomach lurches again, growling, and they groan, hiccuping mid-retch, making their chest burn. A horrible, miserable sound catches and they belch again, their stomach cramping hard.
They barely have enough time to lunge upwards and sit themself on the toilet before they’re unable to hold back. Everything just feels like it opens up, their guts turning to water and emptying out in a dizzying rush.
Another lurch of their stomach tells them they aren’t getting a break from vomiting just yet. They lean forward, their bloated belly pressing heavily into their lap. It forces up a thick belch; they barely manage to grab the trash can before another wave of vomit is burping up and out of them into the can at the same time another wave of diarrhea comes out the other end.
They can hardly breathe as their body wrings itself out. All they can taste is sour, expired milk; they burp halfway through another hiccup, then belch as their upset stomach rumbles loudly and forces up as much as it can at once.
It’s clear their tummy wants to get everything out as quickly and forcefully as possible. They don’t know how long they’re there, slumped over the trash can in their lap as their body empties itself from both ends violently, but it feels like days. Their belly just won’t stop gurgling, still feeling unsettled and sick no matter how much comes out of them. Even when they think they can get a break, in the next minute, another wave would hit— a burp, a hiccup, a gurgle, a cramp, a growl— and the next thing they know, they’re vomiting again, shitting again, or both.
Their stomach feels like an actual war zone. Loud, wet burbling can be heard echoing through the bathroom, accompanied by sharp cramps and tight bloating that makes them groan as they burp again. Their belly is so bloated and noisy, every shift of their body or churn of their stomach triggering another round of nausea that either has them retching into the can or urgently sitting back down on the toilet.
By the time they can breathe again, their mouth tastes like sour milk and vomit and nothing else. Their clothes cling to them with sweat, and the bathroom smells horrible, soured milk and stomach contents having come out in both ways. Their legs are shaking so bad they’re not sure they can stand, and they groan as they clutch the trash can and slump to the side, letting their forehead press against the cool tile wall. Another hiccup jolts up, and they groan, letting their eyes close.
When the morning light starts coming through the small bathroom window, Blaine can almost see it through their closed eyelids. They take a deep breath, and their stomach twists, reminding them of how upset it is and why, that it’s not just lactose intolerance but obviously food poisoning from the expired milk.
Their stomach feels fragile and sensitive, as well as still being bloated and tight and tense. They burp again, and when nothing more comes up with it, they slowly rise to empty out the trash can into the toilet.
Of course, it’s so disgusting this triggers another gag. They flush quickly, setting the trash can in the shower and turning it on to rinse it out before they lurch for the sink to burp up another wave of sour milk. It feels like more is coming out than went in somehow.
They move slowly, closing their eyes to flush the toilet again and close it before they empty out the trash can, rinse it one more time, and set it on the floor again. Twisting the shower off, they return to the sink, then take a slow, careful sip of cold water from the tap through their cupped hands. It tastes clean and cool and smooth compared to everything else that’s just come in and out of them, and they set their hand against their sensitive, upset, rumbling belly as the water hits it. They can feel the wet, liquidy grumbling. There’s a few bubbles before they burp again. The water churns their belly, but nothing comes up, so they take a deep breath.
A dull heaviness lingers in their belly. Their guts are still growling, and their stomach is still bloated. More than that, their tummy is still clearly upset, their belly aching and nausea still roiling inside them in both directions.
They don’t want to be in the bathroom or on the sofa any longer, though. They instead make their way to their bedroom, finding Diego sprawled out and fast asleep, and they curl up beside him, knees drawn up, arms around their rumbling stomach as a shallow burp rolls up. They cover it with their fist before their hands sink down to rub their belly slowly, hoping to calm it enough to let them sleep a little bit.
Blaine’s body aches, every inch of them clammy, sore, and shaking. Their belly is still so bloated and noisy, it’s a wonder that Diego doesn’t wake up from its sloshing gurgles and wet, bubbling churns that feel too loud in their quiet bedroom.
They stay curled on their side, knees tucked up, one hand slowly rubbing their belly. The pressure almost feels like it’s helping a little. Just not enough.
A hiccup jolts through them, followed by a burp that tastes like curdled milk. Their mouth waters again, thick and nauseating, and they swallow hard, willing everything to stay down and let them rest for a while. They’re hoping whatever’s left can digest and come out when they wake up and end this torment.
The nausea won’t leave, though. It’s almost like it works its way into them to become part of them, like a storm cloud gathering and hanging low and dark and heavy, waiting for the right moment to open up again.
Their stomach gives a long, wet gurgle, and Blaine groans, knowing their upset stomach is likely nowhere near done with them, not even close. Regardless, sleeps tugs at them; they’ve had a long night, and their eyelids are heavy, their limbs like lead. The exhaustion is so bone-deep that they’re being dragged under even as their lower guts continue to twitch and burble and protest, and their tummy continues to gurgle and snarl and churn.
Even as they’re falling asleep, they can feel the way their belly shifts with every breath that’s a little too deep. The nausea curls tighter every time they move, and so they hold as still as they can as their intestines and tummy gurgle and bubble like they’re still deciding which direction to move through next and when.
Blaine isn’t going to sleep for very long. They know that much. With how upset their tummy is, wanting to get the milk out and prove to Blaine how stupid they were to drink it in the first place, they’ll be waking up soon— maybe in a few minutes, or an hour or two— with another horrible round of nausea and gurgling and cramps, and they’ll have to sprint to the bathroom for another series of waves of nausea and sour milk vomit and miserable sickness.
For now, they force their body to drift.
In their sweat-clinging clothes and humid sheets, their stomach groaning and sloshing and gurgling like a clogged and haunted old pipe, Blaine closes their eyes and breathes until they can sleep. It’s fitful and uneasy, with the taste of spoiled milk heavy in their mouth, but at least they can get some rest before the next round. And maybe Diego will be able to comfort them when it’s happening this time.
"What about someone who's lactose intolerant deciding to have a dairy product, but they don't realize that it's gone bad. And then it all either just goes straight through them or makes them sick from both ends. That's the best I can come up with- If you do write it, I hope you enjoyed the prompt. And if not then I hope you have a good day!" (Anonymous)
"I saw this one once before and it might be a little gross but Whatever. Someone who's lactose intolerant drinking milk and not realizing beforehand that it was spoiled (would LOVE to find the og fic that came from this prompt, but i just find it so specifically nasty that i needed to share <3)" (Anonymous)
"can you make a sickfic where a character has food poisoning or lactose intolerance from eating too much and results in having a full upset belly that gurgles along with burping hiccups and bowel troubles with diarrhea?" (Anonymous)
imagine a cute sickie. you're holding their too-hot body on your lap, laid back on the couch. they shift a little, hands clutching their bloated belly in obvious discomfort.
"oh, poor baby. feeling sick again?" you kiss their forehead as you lean to grab a bucket.
sickie doesn't dare to nod, just staring forward with intense concentraction. "y-yeah, a little bit...." they sit up and a gag catches in their throat.
"oh...it's okay, i got you." you help sit them up as they quietly gag again, soft little tongue shooting out and dripping saliva into the bucket.
"ah...ugghh......my stomach feels g-gross..."
"shhh, shhh." you rub their swollen belly, feeling it gurgle and clench under your hands. "you'll feel so much better once you get it all up."
"ahh.....hhhrggh!" they gag again, heaving over, but nothing came up.
"you can do it baby, get it up. it's okay." you encourage them.
finally a thin retch manages to bring up a spurt of hot stomach contents spattering into the bucket. they gasp and spit.
"ohhh, that's good. good job. come on now," you can see their throat bobbing and you press a little harder on their stomach.
"HuuRRRRRGHHHH!" they let go a thick gush of puke. A breath, a whimper, and then they burped up another stream.
"you're doing so good," you pat them on the back and help them wipe their lips off. "do you think you need to be sick some more?"
"i--" they burp behind a hand, trying to control their nausea. the relief that came from vomiting was starting to fade. "i think i'm do-- uurrrp!" they can't help but belch again, and it turns into a wet gag.
"easy,easy. looks like you got a little more to go, huh?" you press your thumbs into their lower belly and hear it whine and gurgle. they gag again, a cute rounded O-shaped mouth with soft tongue shooting out.
you kiss them. "alright, one more for me.you'll feel better, promise. you can give me one more."
"i....hhhnnnn...." they try to hold back the tidal wave, but the smell of vomit in the bucket pushes them over the edge. a cough turns into a sputtering gush of liquid, all over their face and chest and your legs. "I- I'm sor -- uurrhhhlp!"
you sigh, pressed against their undulating stomach as you hold the bucket still. "that's okay, that's okay. you're doing so good baby."
they look so miserable, you put the bucket aside and take them in your arms.
"but i'm-" they burp thickly and swallow bwfore continuing. "i still feel sick, i don't wanna make a mess on you...."
"shhh, baby its okay. you just relax." you pet their hair, speaking quietly and soothingly. even when their body jerks in a heave again, you don't recoil.
"i'm sorry, i....guhh. ohh, i don't thin-" they burped again and it turned wet halfway through. you feel warmth spread down your front as your little sickie can't help but spew into your shirt.
you rub their back and scoot your middle closer to their churning stomach. it coaxes another heave out of them and a gush of vomit. you sigh again. "that's alright baby, get it all out...."
I absolutely love this man. He always gives me a boner with his sounds when he vomits. This is perfect where you can see his big belly as it pushes back up his stomach contents and the sexy, tasty sound he makes while doing it. Daddy AF. I wish he would make more soon.
Contents & Reason: He ate a whole Caroline Double Whopper from BK and shotgunned a full 24oz Bud Light beer until his stomach gave up.
Send me puking audios and videos. Tell me how sick you feel and then just as you’re about to be sick go ‘ughh… I’m going to be sick’. Show me how you’re rubbing your tummy and how your fucking your throat with your fingers. Better yet send me videos of you puking down your body, your chest and tummy covered in your messy puke. Daddy need something to cum to ;)
This video goes with the audio named “Nonstop bucket vomit”. 5 rounds in one night and my first time in a bucket on the bed. I was tired 🤷🏻♀️
Anyway, this isn’t too good but it qualifies as emeto content so, here it is. Let me know what you think of this.
By the way, these are very summarized since it was mostly spitting, coughing and unproductive retching. I thought it would be too boring to leave that in the clip.
The aftermath was posted in the YouTube link I posted the first time but I think I will delete now so here they are.
this is probably the sickest i’ve been and the worst pain my tummy has ever experienced. I had undercooked chicken at a restaurant yesterday evening and i woke up this morning in so much pain. my tummy is so bloated and it hurts so bad i’ve been throwing up so much and it won’t settle this is definitely the sickest i’ve been it hurts so bad i can’t even describe it
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
jimmyeatworldofficial
