My first post. This was from last weekend, but I’m so fucking horny I decided to share. Had my regular protein shake for lunch, and it made my stomach hurt really bad. I went to go lay down, thinking it would pass, but I really didn’t feel good. I was sweating. My stomach was gurgling. I couldn’t stop burping. All of a sudden I got the intense urge to gag. There was this awful, nauseating pressure in my chest. I felt like I was about to throw up everywhere! I never vomit so this was a surprise. I ran to the bathroom and started recording. I brought up the protein shake and lots of coffee and bits of breakfast. I felt much better after getting it all up. Ugh. My dick is throbbing just thinking about it.
So this was unintentional. I made what was essentially spaghetti with bowtie noodles. I don't know if I overseasoned it or what but it was really good and I ate a LOT. Fast forward 3 hours later to brutal heartburn and waves of nausea. It came up in thick chunky but watery waves. At one point there is so much coming up you can even hear it leave my stomach. I had to squeeze my belly to help get it up.
shake me good || SKK Dazai/Chuuya NSFW Emetophilia
ao3! 2.9k - NSFW fanfic, Minors DNI! Please read the tags in the AO3 link for warnings!
“Hold on,” Chuuya says through a pleasured moan that turns into a huff of discomfort.
Dazai doesn’t stop completely, he just slows down, his hand deep in Chuuya’s tight, but unbuttoned pants, fondling his slowly hardening cock through his briefs.
“Mmm?” Dazai hums into his ear, of course ready to listen, but also half-stuck in the bliss of finally getting to fool around with Chuuya after not being touched for months, rubbing up against his ass through his pants like a horny dog.
“I don’t feel good,” Chuuya groans, a hand lifting up off the desk and over his belly with another pained groan, one that sounds erotic more than anything else - at least right now, to Dazai.
Dazai’s hand starts to drift up and out of Chuuya’s nearly-wet briefs to land over his belly, gently moving Chuuya’s hand out of the way. He has him pushed up against his desk right now, nearly leaning over it with the full intention of fucking him into it, but it looks like things are taking a turn. That’s fine, he’s a man of many, many kinks.
He was thinking earlier, when he first pushed him up against the desk and started sneaking his hand into his pants, that his belly felt a little tense, a little pudgy over the waistband of his briefs. He has a habit of eating too much and giving himself a bellyache, especially when he’s hd a drink or two - and of course, now with having his belly abused and pushed up against the hard edge of the desk, he must be feeling a little sick.
Dazai presses against Chuuya’s soft tummy, a little harder than he should, just to see where he’s at with his nausea. Is he going to get the runs? Does he need to puke, or just get some of the gas up? Does he want to add this to their little session?
“Mmmgh…” he groans, his whole body tensing up now, one hand bracing himself up against the desk and the other hovering over Dazai’s hand, leading him back to his tummy. He lets out a deep, thick burp and punctuates it with a pleasured moan, clearly, feeling good.
“Too much to eat?” Dazai murmurs into his ear, enjoying the way Chuuya shivers at the feeling of his hot breath.
“Way too much,” Chuuya groans, “sorry, I thought…uhhURP - ughh…”
“You thought what, babe?” Dazai urges on, putting his hand back into motion, rubbing Chuuya’s turbulent belly, not pressing as hard this time.
“I thought I wouldn’t - feel all…ghhmm - nauseous…” he murmurs, his whole body rolling through another moan. Dazai’s intrigued. Clearly, his belly is full and sore and sick, but it sounds like he’s really feeling good, having his belly rubbed - he sounds even better now than he did when Dazai’s hand was over his cock.
“You should know better than to eat so much,” Dazai tells him. Chuuya is no stranger to making himself sick by over-eating, but it’s never landing him in trouble in the middle of something like this - at least, not with Dazai.
“Shut…shut up,” Chuuya groans, his other hand joining his first to brace himself against the desk. Dazai keeps his hand over his belly, rubbing gentle circles, one a little bit harder than the others, just to see if he could get something out of him - and Chuuya brings a hand up to his mouth to stifle a wet burp. “Fuck, I think I - I think I might actually throw up.”
“What do you want from me?” Dazai asks, low and quiet in his ear. He’s certainly not opposed to making this interesting, he just wants to make sure Chuuya’s on the same page. They’ve joked about this before, but being in the situation without any planning could be different.
“Just…ghhmm - stay there,” Chuuya groans, breathing a little heavy through his mouth now, clear, stringy saliva dripping down from his wet lips onto the loose sheets of paper that have long since been shuffled around. He burps again, this time with the intention of trying to force something up, and a little unproductive gag forces its way up instead, bringing nothing but more saliva up and splattering over the papers, soaking and spreading the ink. “Mmmhhf - fuck, I can feel it…”
“Right here?” Dazai asks, his free hand, previously on Chuuya waist, traveling up to the spot right between his collarbones, gently rubbing over it with two of his long fingers.
“Yeah…Dazai, I - you - breathing into my ear like that…” Chuuya mumbles through a low moan, shuddering again and Dazai laughs through his nose, amused by how utterly turned on Chuuya is right now. It’s usually a little difficult to get him this sensitive. He lets up a bit of a violent-sounding burp, guttural and wet, not one he meant to bring up on purpose. Dazai almost thought he threw up.
“Did no one ever teach you to say excuse me?” Dazai growls into his ear, and that alone is enough to make Chuuya moan, a little higher pitched than normal, out of his control. Dazai normally enjoys Chuuya doing all the work, but it’s really fun to tease him and get him so worked up like this - especially in a sexual situation.
Dazai moves his hand back down, this time, both of them over Chuuya’s sick and churning belly, deciding he’s going to press on it a bit more to see if he can help him along. He pushes him a bit too far up and Chuuya and up with a hand flat on the desk and one over Dazai’s hands as some sort of reflex when Dazai presses deep into his belly. He moans, nearly retches, but only spits up.
“Oh…fuck, it’s getting on…” he starts, a nauseous groan stopping him halfway through and forcing up a suspiciously wet burp, “my papers, I should -”
And there it finally goes, Dazai gets a first-class seat to the first mouthful of puke that makes its way out of Chuuya’s belly, right into his hand in some sort of attempt to save his already spit-soaked papers on his desk. Dazai can’t help but rub himself on Chuuya again, seeing that, his cheeks red and hot and breathing heavy into the hot vomit in his hand, still tethered to his mouth with chunky strings of spit and vomit.
Being so close to his throat, he hears something even better - his belly brings up another mouthful that has him closing his mouth, this time, and swallowing it back in some vain attempt to stop the flood. Dazai moans in his ear, amused by this, really, because it’s plainly obvious that Chuuya is nowhere near done.
“Don’t want to get your papers dirty, sugar?” Dazai breathes into his ear, feeling his own briefs start to soak up, “you better swallow back what’s in your hand, too.”
Chuuya moans, more like a squeak, but he feels his smaller body start to rub himself against the hard edge of the table, clear enough that this is more than okay with him. He can’t quite get himself to do it, though, so Dazai wraps his long, thin fingers around Chuuya’s wrist and brings the chunky, thick vomit right up to his lips.
“Go on now, eat it like a good dog,” Dazai hums, “while it’s still warm, yeah?”
“Fuck,” Chuuya moans, parting his lips but not entirely sure he’s brave enough to lick up his own puke, Dazai feels like he’s about to come, so he slows down on pleasuring himself against Chuuya, because he wants to keep this going for longer. This is just the beginning, after all.
“Eat up, Chuuya. Be a good boy,” he says, his voice lower than before.
Chuuya burps, sounding like he’s just swallowed back a little splash of stomach acid from the back of his throat, but he finally manages to part his lips and take a tiny mouthful of his puke back into his mouth, like he’s licking up porridge from a little bowl, but all of it is too much for him. Dazai’s watching the color drain from his face and the saliva drip past his lips like water because it’s disgusting, he’s eating his own digested food, his own vomit, and then finally, comes more.
A thick, violent stream of hot vomit shoots past his lips, splashing away whatever was left in his hand to join down on the table, coating any papers that had any hope of being saved and slashing outwards toward other stacks off to the side, reaching the other end and dripping over onto his too-expensive leather chair. Chuuya gasps in between breaths, evidently surprised with how much he had in him to puke up like this. It’s almost dripping from his nose, now completely covering his hand.
“Tell me everything you ate,” Dazai asks him, rubbing gentler circles into his poor belly as Chuuya reluctantly lays his hand down into his puke, needing to support himself as he’s no doubt dizzied from the exertion it took to shoot all of that out of him.
“Um…I, uh…” he mumbles, a little out of it before he burps, once and then again with a little coming up, spitting it into the rest of his puke. “Curry…curry rice with, uh, pork, and…a lot of…Tiramisu…”
“I see the rice in there,” Dazai says, now picking up his pace as he rubs his damp cock on Chuuya’s pants, imagining how much he must have stuffed himself to puke this much from only those things, how full and packed tight his belly must have been. “You’re such a little pig.”
“I think ‘m not done,” he groans, mouth hanging open over the table as he lets the spit drip into his mess. “UhhHHURP - ahh … mmghh…”
He tries to breathe a little easy, but one inhale is a little too much and ends up turning into a sickly burp, that only has him bringing up a mouthful of awfully chunky puke, thicker than his earlier wave, harder for him to get up - he gags through it, and lets up a little string of burps as relief on his tummy.
It’s not long until a hard, forceful gag catches Chuuya completely off guard, and ends with another forceful stream ejecting from his throat and all over the table, lasting a few seconds, pushing it up and exerting himself, pushing even more vomit off the other side and onto his seat, but his hand shoots underneath and over his cock. His legs shake.
“Did you come?” Dazai asks, his own hand sneaking down and checking to confirm his suspicion, gently pushing Chuuya’s hand out of the way to rub against Chuuya’s cock, dripping a wet, warm liquid that’s far to water-like to be come. “Oh, you wet yourself, hm?”
“Fuck…fuck, I…” he’s interrupted by another violent, thick burp that has his legs shake with the exterition it takes to keep the rest of his piss in his bladder, but Dazai keeps massaging, rubbing over his balls and palming his cock through his pants, letting him relax enough that his bladder decdies what it wants, and soaks the rest of his pants. He whines quietly. “Dazai, I…”
“More embarrassed about wetting yourself than puking all over your desk?” Dazai asks, chuckling with amusement, finding it adorable, really.
“Help me,” he whines, taking Dazai’s wrist and pulling his hand up to his mouth, asking him to help him puke. Chuuya gags before Dazai even has his hand in his mouth, but Dazai has a better idea, if Chuuya will let him get away with it.
“Can I use something else?” Dazai asks, two fingers over Chuuya’s wet, vomit-coated tongue to tease him, and Chuuya burps into his hand.
“You want a fuckin’ - blowjob?” Chuuya groans, breathing heavy over his hand with another wet, nasty burp. He’s still horribly nauseous, Dazai can see it in his face.
“No, no. I just want to gag you, I think it’d be hot,” Dazai tells him, and Chuuya is apparently interested, because he’s already turned around and getting on his knees. His arms are raised and working on undoing Dazai’s belt buckle, but his nausea seems too intense, he lets up a closed-mouth burp and covers his mouth with both hands. “I’ve got it, babe.”
Dazai makes quick work of undoing his pants before he frees his already near-stiff cock, and Chuuya stares it down like it’s another thing he’s being forced to eat when he doesn’t have even a handful of room left in his belly. His lips close around the very tip, and Dazai can see how bad his nausea is just in his face, but he’s determined.
“You don’t have to do anything fancy. Just gag on it, that’s all,” Dazai tells him, because he knows that will be more than enough to get him to puke, and probably just enough to get him to his own orgasm.
Chuuya lowers his head just for a second, letting up a deep belch from the put of his stomach and holding his hand under his mouth in case anything comes up, but it seems he’s off the hook. Dazai’s hips tense up the moment Chuuya’s lips are back around his tip, so excited for the outcome.
Dazai keeps Chuuya burp around the very tip, looking tempted to turn his head away, but Dazai reaches forward to grab onto his hair and keep him where he is. “I want you to puke on me, okay? Don’t let the floor have it when I’m asking so nicely.”
Chuuya nods, parting his lips even further to allow to Dazai’s cock to finally enter the hot warmth of his mouth, and Chuuya gags - hard - so hard that he sees tears form in the corners of his eyes, and Dazai already feels it coming, his cock sliding further in as chunks of Chuuya’s hot, slimy vomit push up and out of his throat in the other direction. Chuuya tries to pull away, still gagging on his cock, but Dazai keeps him where he is.
Dazai moans lout and unapologetic, a hand in Chuuya’s hair as he bobs back and forth on Dazai’s dick, another wave of vomit coming up this time, squirting out of his mouth past Dazai. Chuuya has to slide his mouth off, letting the vomit fall into his hands, coughing and gagging up what’s left, but respecting Dazai’s wish as another promising burp comes up.
“Brrppmmmf - uuLLGHHh -” he moans, lips wrapped back around Dazai and with a muffled sound, more hot vomit rushes up from this throat, and the tiny little moan that Chuuya lets out is enough to do him in, and he starts to come.
Dazai keeps his hand on Chuuya’s head as his hips sputter from the force of it, shooting his seed deep down into Chuuya’s throat, hoping he’ll just as soon bring that up with even more.
“Swallow it. Swallow it and bring it back up, okay? However you want,” Dazai says through out-of-breath moans, and Chuuya nods, sliding his mouth off of his cock and swallowing as much as he can, too nausous to get it all - a good bit slips past his lips and onto the floor.
Chuuya braces himself on the floor, palms flat against the ground as he groans. Dazai’s sure a hot laid of cum on top of everything is only making him feel more sick and disgusting. He kneels down in front of him, a hand under his chin, reveling in the look on his face. Fully spent, lips shining with spit, hairline wet with sweat.
Chuuya, in turn, burps up Dazai’s load back up onto his chest. It splashes up from his throat and hits the exposed parts of Dazai’s chest, sliding down his dress shirt but underneath, too, hot, wet and slimy.
“You’re disgusting, look at how filthy you are,” Dazai says, leaning forward to lick up the drool dripping from Chuuya’s chin.
“You’re…urrhHp…you’re gonna clean all this,” Chuuya groans, hips rocking back and forth where he’s knelt on all fours like a dog in heat, rubbing up against the seam of his tight pants like he always does.
Dazai puts a gentle hand on Chuuya’s chest to get him to sit back on his knees, and he scoots a little closer, cupping a hand underneath Chuuya’s still-clothed erection.
“How can I be of service?” he asks, breathing hot into his ear, but apparently, that was all he needed. He feels Chuuya’s hips shake and his pants soak full of come, moaning through a burp, another wave of sick spilling past his lips and sliding all down Dazai’s back.
“You - you have to be the one to puke…next t-ummgh…time…” Chuuya moans. “My…my stomach hurts so bad…”
“I’ll nurse you back to health, my sick little dog,” Dazai says, his hand still fondling Chuuya’s clothed balls.
Chuuya pulls his head back in front of Dazai’s face, staring him down for a second before he locks lips with him, much to Dazai’s surprise, but Dazai realizes Chuuya’s plan soon enough, when he burps up the last of what he has left into Dazai’s mouth, and Dazai moans at the taste. It’s sour, hot, still a few little chunks left, and he swallows it like it’s the last bit of water available in a vast desert, apparently that being more than enough for to him to come one last time. His stomach churns and turns at the idea that he’s just swallowed another man’s vomit, but he wants to keep it in. He swallows back the splash that shoots back up.
“Fuckin’...nasty,” Chuuya burps out, leaning his tired head onto Dazai’s shoulder.
Hit reblog if you just want nothing more than to find a good fanfic where one guy loving fucks this other guy who is sick and crying and throwing up and they’re both into it.
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.
Medieval high fantasy setting. The king rushes away in the middle of a banquet, and his bodyguard/not-so-secret lover follows.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
Caldina was standing just behind the king's chair in the banquet hall, still as a statue. She didn't expect any of the guests to attack His Majesty, but as his bodyguard and personal champion she wouldn't dream of leaving him unguarded at such a time.
She noticed that the king was pushing his supper around on his plate more than actually eating any of it. She stepped to the side a little and tried to catch his eye to silently ask if he was feeling all right, but he kept his gaze on the candelabra in the middle of the dining table.
Then he pushed his chair back a few inches, closed his eyes, and went still except for his throat, which bobbed with a hard swallow. He lifted his cloth napkin toward his mouth, then quickly lowered it and stood up. "Pardon me," he said in a slightly shaky voice before he turned and hurried from the room with the napkin held to his lips.
The guests exchanged curious glances, and Caldina heard one whisper something about the monarch looking ill. The crown prince frowned at her and made a tentative move as if to get up. She subtly shook her head, letting him know she would handle it, before slipping out of the banquet hall.
She half-expected to find the king bent over a fresh puddle of vomit, but the corridor was deserted. On a hunch, she headed toward the nearest privy. The door was shut but she heard him coughing wetly inside. She knocked. "Sire, it's just me," she said quietly.
The unmistakable sound of chunky vomit pouring into a bucket was her only answer. She tried the doorknob, but he had locked it. She stood helplessly, listening to her beloved heave himself inside out.
Eventually the door opened. A very pale king was leaning on the counter, panting for breath.
"So much for supper, huh?" she said, putting a comforting hand on his back.
"Ugh," he said emphatically. "I'd been holding that back for nearly an hour. I nearly lost it there at the table."
"Thankfully you didn't. The closest guests noticed you looked ill, but no one was too concerned."
He seemed to having difficulty standing up completely straight, and his frown deepened. "Not done," he muttered as he stooped over the bucket again. Within seconds his jaw opened with a croaking retch. He wrenched his stomach muscles twice more before a lumpy stream of barf ran out of his mouth and splashed into the pail.
"Oh, poor thing," she soothed, patting his heaving shoulders.
He gasped, trembled, then let out a rumbling belch and another flood of partially-digested material.
"It's all right, just get it all up," she said calmly.
The spasms in his gut transitioned to dry heaves soon after. He shuddered and gagged for another couple of minutes before he staggered to the ewer on the counter to rinse his mouth.
"I'll let the guests know you've fallen ill and won't be coming back to the table. Do you think you can make it back to your chambers on your own?"
"Of course," he wheezed. "I'm more than capable of--GURK!" Fruitless retching seized his throat until he spat up a wad of something pinkish-brown into the bucket. "Of being incredibly ill," he finished with a sigh.
"Hang on. I'll go make our excuses and then come back for you."
He nodded and sank down to sit on the floor with a low moan.
Weirdly obsessed at the moment with sickie having had too much coffee on an empty stomach, and them feeling all types of weird and nauseous because of it for the longest time. Then they accept defeat (and their own stupidity) and decides to wait it out in the bathroom. Except they don't have to wait. As soon as they see the toilet they throw up.
Last night I was taking a shower before heading to bed. About half way through I realize that I am feeling extremely bloated and I can not figure out why. My stomach felt hard and round inside of me and I was a little afraid to press on it. I remember to breathe, and try to focus on the next task in my routine. It works for a time, but my stomach is only feeling harder and rounder. I put my hand on my stomach and some air jostles free and up my esophagus. It's deep, and wet, and has me gagging at the end.
Gagging forced me to hunch over, and it's when I'm forced into that position that I realize that maybe I need to get sick. I stand up straighter and cradle underneath my stomach with one hand. With my other, I gently rub along the top of my stomach where it feels the tightest. That hand quickly flew up to my mouth as more gas was released. Standing upright I knew getting sick would be a challenge, but the moment I bent over......
I weighed my options: try and forget about it and move on or get sick and maybe feel better. I ran my face under the warm water of the shower. I tried to stand still and listen to my body. All I could feel was the tight drum of my stomach as I wondered what had bloated me so badly.
Fuck it, I think, realizing that my stomach is only getting more uncomfortably tight with time. Relieving some pressure will probably be a good thing. My hand stays gently splayed across my stomach as I open the shower curtain on one side and step part way out to lean over my sink. The sink is closer than the toilet, and easier to told onto. I bend over part way and feel the way the contents of my stomach shift. One small ripple of my gut and my mouth is open. I don't have to do any work, my stomach contracts and a gush of liquidy brown vomit surges out of my mouth and into the sink basin. I cough once, I burp a second time, my stomach heaves and sick flows out of me once more. I cough up a chunk of something, but I can't tell what. I hover over the basin for another few seconds. I'm not going to be sick again, so I return to my shower.
I'm feeling better, but my stomach is still somewhat firm. I'd eaten a good dinner, but that was a few hours ago. I hadn't been snacking too much tonight, nor did I think I'd consumed that much liquid. I tried to brush it off and continue my shower, but after another few minutes the tightness returns. I burp into my hand a few times. I'm careful as the loofah scrubs over my belly. I try to wash my legs without bending over. It's harder when washing my feet.
The belch that escaped me was long and continuous. A little bit of liquid came up. I stood up quickly, swallowing down the wave that was to come. I held my breath, I burped, it tasted like vomit in the back of my throat. I returned to my position over the sink, tongue heavily hanging limp in anticipation. My hands braced the sides of the sink as my stomach twitched, then rippled. I whimpered-an involuntary noise as my throat contracted and diaphragm pushed another warm, watery wave of vomit into my sink with so much force it filled the bottom of the basin and took a second to begin draining. There's a bit of food stuck in my throat. I cough and struggle to breathe for a moment, then another torrent of vomit comes up to dislodge it. I'm hunched over halfway, leaning most of my weight against my sink as I watch the drool from my tongue linger down the drain. I hiccup and spit up a few more mouthfuls of bile as I try and assess the situation at hand.
I can't possibly have more in me, so I return to finish my shower. I don't get sick again, but that familiar pressure and tightness had returned by the time I'd finished my shower and was drying off. I fell asleep on my side with a bin on the floor just in case.
