A professor delivers a speech at a conference while fighting off the stomach flu. When she's finally able to make it to the ladies' room, it's not pretty. One toilet and two orifices exploding means there's going to be a mess one way or another...
This story contains graphic descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea.
Shortly after arriving at the conference, Professor [name] ducked into a restroom and had an unexpectedly forceful and watery bowel movement. The pains in her stomach did not abate afterward as she had hoped they would, but she had no choice but to continue on to the auditorium.
She sat with her legs crossed, trying not to frown at the growing discomfort in her belly as she waited for the opening speaker to finish his remarks.
I think I'm coming down with something, she realized as her stomach gurgled. What horrible timing. She would just have to tough it out until after her speech, though.
She forced herself to smile charmingly at the crowd on her way to the podium. It was definitely more than nerves over speaking to so many people that was making her stomach churn uneasily. She hoped the microphone wouldn't pick up the sounds coming from her midsection.
She felt worse and worse as her speech went on, and began to cut a few bits for time. The burning pressure at her rectum told her the second round of diarrhea was ready to exit. Even more worrisome were the waves of nausea that swept over her with increasing frequency. She came to a place where she would naturally have paused, and took the opportunity to gulp down the thick saliva that had collected in her mouth. She wasn't entirely confident it would stay down, but it did…for now.
She leaned on the lectern, trying not to let on how much her stomach was hurting.
Almost done, she told herself. Just hold it another few minutes.
Her blouse was sticking to her back with cold sweat, and she was glad the podium hid her shaking legs.
It was no longer a matter of IF she threw up. It was definitely WHEN.
As soon as her speech was over, she swallowed hard to fend off the urge to gag, managed a somewhat subdued smile, and left the stage at a normal pace. Much as she wanted to get somewhere private quickly, she also didn't want to draw attention to her plight. Besides, hurrying might make her lose control. Which direction she was going to be sick in first was an open question.
There was probably a closer ladies' room than the one she had taken a dump in earlier, but she didn't know where, and she didn't dare stop to ask for directions. By the time she reached the restroom, stabbing pains in her rectum warned her not to delay. She wasn't happy to see two stalls in use, but there was nothing she could do about it. She went into the stall furthest from the door and quickly locked the door before spinning around to face the toilet. Doing so made her tongue lift in a shallow gag, but her bowels still seemed like the most immediate threat. She yanked down her skirt, slip, and panties in one motion and sat down heavily. The instant she stopped clenching her butt muscles, a cascade of mushy turds exploded into the bowl.
She bent forward with her arms crossed on her belly, wincing at the pain in her colon. A few almost-solid gobs of stool were mixed in with the mud-like feces that gushed out each time she pushed.
A sour, burning sensation in the back of her throat made her grimace. Her lunch wasn't going to stay down much longer. Her sickness was too extreme in both directions to hope that she wouldn't make some kind of mess on the floor.
The cramps waned as her nausea ramped up, so she quickly tried to wipe the worst of the diarrhea from her bottom, then stood up, turned around, and bent down with her hands on her knees. She had planned to pull up her pants, but there wasn't time before the sight of the brown flecks and streaks she had left inside the bowl pushed her over the edge. She gave a strangled heave as vomit crept up her throat. She bent over further, straining to get it started.
A deep retch rumbled through her, and she involuntarily opened her mouth as thick sludge gurgled up her throat and plopped into the toilet.
By now the restroom was empty, and likely to stay that way as long as she was being loudly sick.
It was an odd relief to stop fighting the nausea, and she bent into the heaves, eager to empty her stomach in one round.
Pain in her middle struck with a vengeance, and she bent her knees as an even stronger retch brought up a long gush of puke that splashed noisily into the toilet. Suddenly, she felt her sphincter let loose with a squirt of semi-liquid feces onto the tile floor.
Dang, she knew she was going to end up making a mess somehow.
She desperately tried to clench back the waste as she continued to throw up, but two more dollops hit the floor before she stopped heaving. As soon as her nausea ebbed, she turned around and sat back down on the toilet. She grimaced at the vile taste in her mouth and gave a light push. A second of painful pressure almost immediately yielded to a sputtering stream of brown sludge.
A small but messy puddle of the same was on the floor in front of her, and she desperately tried not to look at it. Smelling it was unavoidable, however, and a few minutes later she felt her throat spasm with a fresh heave.
Surely there wasn't anything left in her stomach…
A spurt of yellowish-brown vomit left her mouth and splattered onto the floor, partially covering the poop.
It took a half hour before she stopped puking and shitting her guts out. Cleaning up her feces-smeared rear end and upper thighs wasn't a quick or easy affair, especially when he had to pause to dry heave every few wipes.
She didn't even attempt to do anything about the puddle of her bodily fluids on the floor. She staggered out of the stall, narrowly avoiding stepping in it, and rinsed her mouth in the sink. She gave a low groan, decided her body was truly done ejecting the contents of her digestive tract, and hurried out of the conference center.
He doesn't really want to throw up, but he realizes he won't feel better until he does. The restroom door is locked, however, so he goes ahead and empties his stomach on the ground nearby.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
The teenager stopped by a street light and leaned on it with one hand while rubbing his belly with the other. He made a quiet noise of discomfort. His sister stopped beside him and put a hand on his back. "Any better?"
He shook his head. "I'm starting to think I won't feel better until I throw up."
"Eew, really?"
"Yeah. I've got this big, thick ball of 'ugh' right here," he said, laying a hand below his sternum, "and I need to get rid of it."
"We're not that far from home, now. Maybe if you can lie down for awhile--"
"Nuh-uh. I can tell. I just need to barf. You can go on ahead. I'll catch up after I'm done." He crossed the street toward a gas station. She didn't follow.
He felt worse after hurrying across the street and parking lot, and began to wonder if he would need to force it, after all. Yet the pulses of nausea that swept over him still weren't quite enough to trigger a heave. He tried the bathroom door and found it locked. Great. He took a few steps toward the back of the building, where the light wasn't as bright, and sat down on the curb.
He bowed his head between his knees and tried to think about puking. The sensation, the sound, the taste…
He gagged shallowly and let a stringy glob of thick saliva ooze down from his mouth to the pavement.
Come on, get it over with… He rubbed his stomach, pressing where he felt the worst, and felt a hot upwelling deep in his throat. Promising…
He coughed, artificially at first but swiftly becoming involuntary. An ominous gurgling sound grew deep in his throat, and with a particularly hard spasm he let out a splash of mostly-liquid vomit. Aha. He leaned into the heaves, pressing on his middle to encourage it along. The next retch brought up thicker material that plopped loudly onto the wet pavement. He tightly shut his eyes to avoid watching it accumulate.
The flow stopped before he felt true relief, and he resumed forcing himself to cough until it started up again. Chunky sludge poured forth in copious amounts, and he eagerly let it come.
He was vaguely aware that whomever had been in the men's room had emerged, made a startled noise at him, and then hurried away. There was no point in moving to the toilet now, so he stayed where he was as his stomach emptied with long, croaking retches.
He continued gagging and spitting up small flecks and upwellings of bile for well over ten minutes before he finally felt relief from the overwhelming nausea. He caught his breath before standing up, careful not to step in the impressive puddle of sickness he had produced, and hurried away.
He met his sister a block from their apartment. "There you are," she said. "I was getting worried."
"Had a full stomach," he rasped, not stopping to talk.
"Did you barf?"
He nodded emphatically.
"Feel better?"
"Think so."
"Good."
He went straight home to bed, but couldn't keep down anything solid for two days.
Wow! This blog now has 101 followers! Thank you all so much for the love. I may have a fetish that most people find disgusting, but at least I'm in good company!
A woman decides to spend her day off shopping and having lunch at a new cafe. Then things go downhill until she's bent over, having a relatively quiet but copious vomit session in an alley.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
She had had a lovely morning shopping downtown, then stopped to eat at a new cafe. She overindulged on a decadent sundae for dessert and then continued on her way.
Except lunch wasn't settling very well. At first she blamed it on overeating on sweets, but a sour feeling took over more and more as she walked.
She tried to ignore it and went inside a clothing store. She wandered for awhile but found herself unable to muster any enthusiasm for the merchandise. Her belly made an unhappy whining sound, and she could actually feel the contents of her full stomach sloshing around.
Damn, she was having such a nice day off, and then she had to go and ruin it by eating that huge dessert.
Maybe if she could just sit down for awhile and let it all digest…
She left the clothing store and looked around until she saw a wooden bench in the shade of a tree. Perfect. She sat down with a sigh and closed her eyes. Her stomach made a vaguely inquisitive sound. She laid a hand on her belly and slowly rubbed it, hoping that would help.
Minutes ticked by, and her queasiness didn't get any better. If anything, she felt a little worse, as actual pain took root deep in her middle.
Do I need to poop? she wondered. After a moment paying close attention to her body, she concluded that no, her discomfort wasn't from her bowels.
A hiccup surprised her, and afterward her throat felt funny.
Well, if sitting still wasn't helping, she should probably head for home so she could lie down or take some medicine. Much as she hated to cut short her shopping, she really didn't feel well.
As she walked toward the nearest subway station, she realized how fast saliva was welling up in her mouth. A hard swallow cleared it, but it came back quickly.
The last time that was happening, I ended up barfing, she thought with a frown. That's silly, though. I just ate too many sweets. I'm not that sick.
The sloshing noise from her gut was audible even over the traffic and other pedestrians. Cold sweat began to dampen her blouse, and she found herself bending slightly at the waist due to the growing pain in her middle.
Shit. Am I coming down with something?
A burp made her reflexively cover her mouth.
She had never been so glad to see a subway station. She went straight inside, swiped her fast pass, and found a seat near the garbage receptacle. After sitting down, she combined some of her purchases into fewer bags, freeing two plastic ones that could serve as barf bags if necessary.
I can't believe I'm thinking about that, she thought. Just because my stomach is upset doesn't mean I'm going to hurl.
The train began moving, and she kept her gaze inside the car after a glance outside made her feel worse.
She felt more than heard a gurgling in her belly, and squirmed uncomfortably.
Twice during the journey she felt a spike of nausea that made her lift a plastic bag to her mouth, but both times the urge to gag passed. Luckily no one was sitting near enough to notice her plight.
By the time she reached her stop she couldn't stand up straight and her knees were shaking. She moaned quietly as she left the depot. Four blocks lay between her and her own bed…and bathroom. If only she could make it that far…
She trudged off toward home. What else could she do?
As she walked, pulses of nausea made her hold her breath and choke back the feeling that she was going to be sick any second. As she waited for a crosswalk light to turn green, a cramp in her belly made her nearly double over, and a sour taste filled her mouth.
I'm not gonna make it home, she thought.
There were no public restrooms around, so she crossed the parking lot of a realty business and went into the alley between it and the shop next door. She set down her bags of purchases and took a few steps away before leaning on the wall with one hand. The grabbing pain coalesced into a distinct clenching of her abdomen, and she bent forward as her mouth opened involuntarily.
Then it happened, like she knew it would if she stopped fighting it. There was no loud heave, just an "Ulp!" sound before a hot stream of creamy sludge gushed up her throat, out of her mouth, and down onto the blacktop. It kept coming, requiring only a small belch now and then. There was a wet pattering sound as it accumulated in a lumpy puddle in front of her feet.
A brief lull gave her a chance to catch her breath, but she still couldn't straighten up, and soon a remarkably quiet "urk" started the flow up again. She folded her arms across her aching tummy as her shoulders jerked and vomit resumed spouting from her mouth.
How much had she eaten, anyway? It hadn't felt like this much going down…
"Hurk! Glurg!" Thick gobs of puke overflowed down her chin and onto the growing puddle of sickness. "GORK!" That was the loudest sound she had made so far, and it still wasn't enough to garner attention from anyone in the parking lot.
At least if I have to hurl in an alley I can do it in privacy, she thought, grasping for any silver lining to what had turned into a terrible afternoon.
Her breath caught in her throat along with a particularly large chunk, and she coughed violently. Bits of pinkish-brown vomit spattered onto the surrounding pavement. Eventually she recovered from that, just in time to fold into a rasping heave. This time it took some miserable retching to get anything up, and a thinner stream of speckled slime ran out.
A minute or two of dry heaving followed, until she staggered back from the hideous pile of vomit she had produced and was finally able to stand up straight.
I don't think I've ever thrown up that much, she thought in queasy awe.
She blew her nose on a tissue from her purse before continuing on her way home.
When she got there, she tossed her shopping bags on the floor inside the door and went straight to the bathroom. She rinsed her mouth and washed her face before looking at herself in the mirror and realizing she had flecks of puke on her blouse.
"Eew!" she cried out, whipping it off and tossing it into the shower.
This outburst made her nausea return just long enough to trigger four silent gags before she regained control and went to lie down.
A guy is surprised to learn that a noisy lunchroom isn't actually the worst place to puke unnoticed.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
He sat facing the wall in the back corner of the lunchroom, head bowed low and knees spread wide. He had forced himself to eat part of his lunch, despite the queasiness that had been plaguing him all day. This proved to be a big mistake, as he only felt worse afterward.
He closed his eyes and stifled a burp with his fist, concentrating on keeping his stomach contents where they were. As thick saliva collected in his mouth, he realized that probably wasn't going to be possible.
He glanced around for a garbage can, but none were close by. If he tried to reach one and lost control in front of his classmates, he'd never hear the end of it, so he decided to stay where he was. It was so noisy he could probably be sick on the floor back here and no one would even notice.
An involuntary swallow made him begin to cold sweat. It was definitely coming.
The strongest wave of nausea yet made him bend further at the waist, until his head was lower than the table. A wet cough tore from his throat, swiftly evolving into a heave. Hot mush began to gather in his gullet, but it took a second, harder retch to bring it up. He shuddered and opened his mouth wider as a few globs of barely-digested biscuits splatted onto the linoleum. The sight of this only made him sicker, and the next spasm brought up a longer flow of thick vomit.
He knew he was making quite a lot of noise, but no one seemed to notice over the din of the full lunchroom.
He sputtered and spat several times, trying to rid himself of the stringy saliva dangling from his lips. Before he could succeed, his stomach rebelled again. He doubled over with a deep, painful retch that produced a second flood of puke. The chunks pattered onto the thick pile of sickness that was already there until his stomach was utterly empty. He rocked with dry heaves for another minute or two before he finally began to feel better and was able to straighten up. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and scooted down the bench to where the smell of vomit wasn't as strong.
He actually felt quite a bit better after throwing up. Not ready to run a marathon, but the pain in his gut was much less, and nobody had noticed him hurling his guts out. He said a silent apology to the janitor who would discover the mess as he walked away.
Without warning, Queen Ziara gets sick on the floor in front of her entourage.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
"I need a moment," Queen Ziara whispered as she veered to the side of the castle corridor and sat down on a bench.
Her chief of staff frowned. He thought she looked pale, but she had waved off his questions about her health earlier. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer at first. She sat with her eyes closed, bent forward with one elbow on her knee. "I…" She gulped and began to tremble. "Throwing up," she said quickly, then leaned closer to the floor. A quiet burp left her mouth just before cloudy liquid began to drizzle onto the marble floor.
"Someone find a bucket," the chief of staff ordered while rushing to hold the royal hair back.
The queen groaned. "So sorry, I cou--" A slightly louder retch curled her tongue, and this time there were small gobs of half-digested food mixed in with the liquid that hit the floor.
"There, there, Your Majesty," he soothed. "Just let it come."
She shook with a rasping heave and expelled more mush.
Another aide sprinted over with a bucket and pushed it under her chin. "Here!"
She hugged the can against her chest and dipped her head so no one could see what was coming out of her mouth. From the sound of it, there was quite a lot.
Her chief of staff spoke in a quiet, calming voice. "It's all right, Your Highness. No one is around but your entourage. Try to get it all up so you'll feel better."
Ziara panted for a few seconds before lurching with the loudest heave yet. Rapid pattering noises announced how much puke was going into the can. She rocked and moaned, gagging and spitting, until she was reduced to retching up bile and then finally was able to straighten up. Her pale face was flushed, and she looked mildly disoriented.
"Oh dear," she said shakily. "That came on so quickly… Ugh." She pulled out her handkerchief to wipe her chin and lips.
Another aide approached to announce, "The royal healer has been summoned to your chambers, Your Grace."
She nodded to acknowledge this but took another minute to collect herself before getting to her feet.
"Watch your step, Your Majesty," an aide said.
She glanced down at the shining puddle of vomit and made a disgusted noise before turning away with the handkerchief to her mouth. She gagged but walked off down the hallway, eager to be in the comfort and relative privacy of her chambers.
Medieval fantasy setting. A nursemaid sits by the bedside of a young Prince Andres as he battles a stomach bug.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
The nurse patiently sat at Prince Andres' bedside, waiting for the anti-nausea medicine she had given to him to work. The prince squirmed and rubbed the back of his hand against his pale lips. She heard a sloshing noise a second before he gulped.
"Any better?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Keep lying still. It'll kick in eventually."
He made a quiet noise of distress, tightly closing his eyes.
Five minutes passed with the only sounds being his uneven breathing and the wet gurgles from his upset stomach.
Then, he sat up partway and leaned for the edge of the bed with one hand cupped over his mouth.
"Uh oh," she said, immediately grabbing the basin from the nightstand. She knew her patient well enough to know this was a real possibility, so she was prepared. "It's all right, Your Highness," she said. "If you need to, let it come."
Andres half-opened his eyes as his lips parted and a mouthful of frothy slime oozed downward onto the porcelain. "Don't want to," he muttered, then swallowed hard.
"It's not usually something you get to choose," she said mildly, brushing the prince's bangs off his forehead. "Best not to fight it, though."
His' tongue arched in a nearly silent gag, and he leaned closer to the basin. A rumbling belch built low in his throat, and when it reached the top it emerged with a loud splat of creamy vomit. He whimpered, trembling, before a second heave brought up much more sludge.
"That's it," she soothed, rubbing his back. "Get it all up, now."
He coughed, spraying flecks of peach-colored slime onto the porcelain around the puddle of his former lunch. Within seconds a river of thick puke was gushing out of his mouth.
"Good, good," she said calmly.
He gasped, then retched painfully hard. For a moment, she thought he might have emptied his stomach already, but after building pressure for a bit he bowed his head and threw up even more. Roughly triangular gobs of pale yellow fruit plopped into the mess in the basin, and she winced. Those weren't fun to bring up.
He panted for breath, then lurched with a violent heave that made a thick torrent of chunky barf fly out. There was a disgusting squelch as it hit the basin. Discolored liquid ran down his chin as he coughed a few times, then retched up one last gush of slimy vomit.
She felt him relax and knew his stomach was finally empty. "I bet now you feel better."
He nodded and accepted a tissue from her to wipe his nose and mouth. "I guess I just needed to do that," he said hoarsely.
"Sometimes there's no way around it, if you have a nasty stomach bug." She stood up. "If you're sure you're done, Your Highness, I'll get this out of here," she said, taking the basin.
He nodded and sank back into the pillow with a quiet moan.
At first the woman blames her upset stomach on the food from a new cafe, but, as she gets sicker and sicker in the ladies' room at work, she realizes it's something more serious.
This story contains graphic descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea.
She had lunch at a new cafe near her office, and was unimpressed with the quality of the food. Worse, it didn't seem to settle very well. She sat at her desk, feeling like a lump was sitting at the bottom of her stomach. Twinges of gas pain were growing more frequent and intense, and she realized a visit to the ladies' room was in order.
She wanted to finish some paperwork first, so she simply sat quietly and hoped the bellyache would pass. It didn't. To the contrary, her anus began to burn with pressure, and the unsettled sloshing in her gut grew louder.
Very well, she would have to finish this later. She stood up, and the room seemed to waver around her. She swayed briefly and gulped. Hmm. She was feeling quite a bit worse all of a sudden.
She hurried to the ladies' room at the end of the hallway and took the stall furthest from the door. The other women using the facilities were just finishing up. Her hands shook as she gathered up her skirt and pulled down her panties. She sat down heavily on the toilet and relaxed her sphincter. A lance of pain shot through her middle as she gave a light push, and a loud avalanche of soft turds showered into the bowl.
She bent forward with her arms crossed against her belly and closed her eyes as long squirts of loose stool sputtered out of her.
She wanted to blame the new cafe, but a sudden chill made her shiver, and she realized she felt feverish as well. Great. The last thing she needed was the flu.
She flushed as often as possible to keep the smell from building up too badly, but her nausea continued to worsen. A quiet burp made her clap a hand over her mouth and swallow with difficulty. For a moment she thought she would be sick and didn't relish making a mess on the floor, but the wave passed and she returned her attention to her bowels.
Blurts of gas propelled mud-like feces into the toilet, and she squirmed in discomfort.
The cramps relented somewhat after about ten minutes, and she dared to leave the stall. No one else had come into the restroom while she was shitting her guts out, for which she was extremely grateful.
She stood at the sink after washing her hands, trying to decide what to do next. She could go back to her office and sit quietly, hoping this would pass. She kind of felt like if she sat down again she could poop more, but surely she was empty for now.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and realized how pale she looked. Her stomach made a volatile gurgling noise, and she closed her eyes as a fresh wave of nausea rolled over her.
You're not going to vomit, she told herself fiercely. You have the diarrhea, but you're not going to vomit. Just hold it back, the moment will pass…
Except it didn't. Her throat began to clench in a silent gag, and she dashed back into the stall she had just vacated. A croaking noise came from deep in her throat as she bent over with her hands on her knees and aimed into the toilet.
She trembled and coughed for a few moments before a true heave gathered in her middle and built upward. She lurched with a painful retch, and a hot stream of pinkish-brown barf splashed into the bowl. She gasped and sank slowly to her knees on the cool tile floor. The next heave was just as strong, and brought up just as much of her ill-fated lunch.
She remained there, throwing up every minute or two, until her stomach was empty and she suffered a few rounds of dry heaves. Then she went back to sitting on the toilet for the second round of diarrhea.
Sadie comes home early with a bad stomach. Martin returns from work just in time to bring her the puke bucket.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up. Also mentions of diarrhea but nothing detailed.
Martin was surprised to find Sadie home already when he got back from work. She was curled up on the couch, looking unwell.
"Whoa, what are you doing home already?" he asked.
"Got the squirts," she said with a grimace. "At first I thought it was just a bad bellyache after having breakfast on the go, but a half hour later I was back on the toilet, shitting my guts out. I was sure I was going to fill my pants on the train, but I made it home--barely."
"Aww, Sadie, that's awful!"
"Tell me about it. I feel horrible. Pains in my gut…" She rubbed her belly. "And I'm pretty queasy, too. I thought that would get better once I laid still, but, uh…no. In fact…" She swallowed hard and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. "I'm starting to feel kinda barfy. Can you bring me the bucket?"
"On it." He hurried back with the discolored bucket they always used for times like this.
She mumbled her thanks and wedged it between herself and the arm of the couch.
"I'm going to go change. Holler if you need anything else."
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Martin took his time changing out of his suit and into a T-shirt and jeans. When he emerged from the bedroom, he found Sadie hunched in misery, aiming her mouth into the bucket.
"Uh oh…gonna spew?"
"Sure feel like I could," she said without parting her lips much.
Martin sorted the mail before coming to sit on the sofa chair diagonally across the coffee table. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"
She shook her head, then opened her mouth to let bubbly ooze drip toward the bucket. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and she made a shooing motion.
"It's okay, Sadie. It doesn't bother me that much when it's you. Just get it over with."
Her mouth opened as her tongue lifted in a silent gag. She coughed a little, then gave a low, gurgling belch. A second later her mouth rapidly overflowed with yellowish-brown sludge mixed with darker brown chunks. The vile substance hit the bottom of the bucket with a loud splat, then continued pattering as it began to pile up.
Martin looked away but kept up a comforting commentary of "It's okay, hon" and "Get it all up, now."
She gasped, then heaved harder and let out a torrent of lumpy vomit.
The instant reverse peristalsis ended, she shakily got to her feet, still hugging the bucket under her chin, and headed for the bathroom.
"Sadie?"
"Gotta shit," she managed to croak. Soon the sound of diarrhea pouring into the toilet came from down the hall. After a short time, she resumed retching too.
Medieval fantasy setting. When a wizard gets the stomach flu, it's up to the healer/sorceress he works with to find a remedy.
This story contains graphic descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea.
The healing magus Riya finished her errands and returned to the alchemy lab sooner than she had originally planned to, only to find her colleague, the wizard Nargalo, was not at his usual workstation. She found a note in his place that said simply, "Back tomorrow. No visitors."
She caught a whiff of something disgusting and looked down to see the inside of his garbage can spattered with lumpy vomit.
"No visitors, my ass," she grumbled as she started up the winding steps of Nargalo's tower.
"Go away," came a familiar, gruff voice when she knocked on the door at the top.
"It's me, Riya."
"I know. Go away."
"I'm a healer, remember? I can help you."
"I'm fine."
"There's barf in the garbage can at your desk."
"I'm fine now that I got rid of my lunch," he said with a bit less venom.
"Are you, though?"
"Well, I mean, I... I've been better."
"Don't be stubborn."
Shuffling footsteps approached, and he yanked open the door. She couldn't help a small gasp. Nargalo was as pale as she had ever seen him. His hair was a matted mess, obviously the result of being bedridden. He wore loose-fitting pants and an undershirt of linen discolored by sweat.
"You look like hell."
He made a move to shut the door in her face, but she reached out to keep it open.
He sighed and backed up to let her in the room, then shut the door behind her.
"Yeah, fine, so I've got the stomach flu." He staggered back to the bed and flopped down amid the tangled sheets. Various medicine bottles were scattered on the bedside table, and the garbage can from the bathroom sat on the floor next to the head of the bed.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here to help as soon as it started," she said.
"It came on all of a sudden. I was in the lab, minding my own business, when I started to feel a little queasy. Five minutes later, I started to puke. Got it all over my robes before I was able to aim into the can."
Riya shook her head in pity.
"I made it back here before I lost the rest of my lunch, then had the worst diarrhea I've had in more years than I care to count. Been lying low ever since."
"Have you been able to stay hydrated?"
He grimaced. "I doubt it. Haven't been able to keep down much of anything since it started. Been sipping water when I can, but…" He brushed a hand across his lips.
"You poor thing."
He sat up. "Ugh, I'm sorry, Riya, but getting up to answer the door… I've got to go again." He hurried into the privy, and seconds later she heard a messy fart echo in the commode. She went to the bathroom door and peeked in.
Nargalo sat on the toilet with his knees spread wide and his arms folded over his belly. His eyes were tightly shut, and he was leaning forward due to what were obviously painful cramps. He squirmed in misery, and every few seconds a squirt of liquid would come out of his ass.
She shook her head in pity. "I'm so sorry you're sick."
"Not half as sorry as I am," he moaned, then shivered.
She glanced past his quivering buttocks to see what he was expelling. It was little more than yellowish-brown water.
He leaned against her, and she put her arms around his shoulders, letting him rest his head against her hip as he rode out the waves of cramps. Even after the flow of diarrhea stopped, he didn't budge, wincing at the sharp spasms that continued to assault his colon.
When it finally got better again, Riya stood back while he gingerly cleaned his raw, burning asshole and then stood up.
"That's been every half hour or so," he said wearily as he washed his hands.
"That's terrible. You're obviously dehydrated."
He nodded and plodded back toward the bed, rubbing his belly.
"I'll need to make a strong potion to combat this. Hold on, I'll be right back."
He made a vague noise of acknowledgement and laid down with his eyes closed.
Riya scurried around the alchemy lab, mixing medicines and steeping herbs. Nargalo liked to turn up his nose at healing magic, so when he really needed it she had to prove her usefulness.
Twenty minutes later, she climbed back up his tower, carefully balancing a steaming teacup on a tray. She was afraid he might be in the privy again, but after a minute he answered the door looking just as pale and miserable as before. Without a word, he turned around and went back to bed.
"This should help quiet your bowels and get some much-needed fluids into you," she said, holding out the tray.
He reluctantly sat up against the headboard and took the cup. "I hope I can keep this down," he muttered before taking a tiny sip.
"It should help your nausea, too."
He looked skeptical but took another sip.
She sat down in a chair near the bed and made small talk about the things she had seen on her errands, and her latest experiemental spells to cure the Mire Pox.
Nargalo downed about half of the cup with increasingly reluctant sips before setting it on the bedside table.
"You really should try to finish that. I can heat it up if you want," she said.
He shook his head and pressed his lips together with a sour expression.
"All right, just let it settle for awhile. That's fine."
His stomach made a loud gurgling noise, and he flinched.
She continued telling him about her trip, but she could tell he wasn't really listening anymore.
He rubbed his lips and breathed shallowly. Unsettled gurgling noises continued to come from his belly.
"Any better?" she asked.
He shook his head emphatically. "Sorry, Riya, I…" He gulped hard. "I don't think it's going to stay down."
She came around the other side of the bed again and lifted the garbage can. He took it from her with shaking hands and sat hunched over it.
"Oh, this is just terrible," she said. "I used the strongest ingredients I had, but maybe I could try--"
He gave a half-belch, half-hiccup and spat a glob of slime into the can.
"--something else," she finished with a sigh.
The wizard rocked with overwhelming nausea, making gurgling burps every few seconds. Strings of saliva coursed from his mouth and dangled from his chin. Finally, he convulsed with a strong heave and began to throw up cloudy, light brown liquid. He quickly brought up the tea, then continued to retch miserably for several minutes until his stomach quieted down.
When it was over he set the garbage can on the floor and laid back with a cough and a moan. "I'm getting really tired of doing that," he said hoarsely.
"Poor thing," Riya said. "Let me go look up a spell. I think I have one that might help and doesn't involve you drinking anything."
A lady dragon finds it hard to fly while being sick in both directions.
This story contains graphic descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea.
As an ancient and magical being, the huge crimson dragon was well attuned to her own body. When the usual spells and remedies failed to settle her queasy stomach, she knew it was more than mere indigestion making her feel unwell.
She made an excuse about going to check on a rare plant a day's flight away, and left her mate with the brood. In reality she made it only a few miles away before pain in her belly made her circle down to land in a secluded valley. She clutched her abdomen with a moan, lifted her tail high, and expelled a violent burst of mushy feces onto the grass and wildflowers behind her. The sharp cramping continued for over ten minutes, until only light brown liquid oozed out.
She felt even worse now than she had before, but she wanted to make it further from home before fully surrendering to the flu bug. The point of leaving was to spare her mate and their children from witnessing--and possibly catching--her illness.
She gulped back a pulse of nausea and took to the air once more. As she flew, her butthole burned, and she felt hot liquid seeping out. Of more immediate importance was the increasing urge to lose her lunch. She rubbed a paw across her mouth and ordered her body to hold off just another few minutes.
As if in conscious defiance, her stomach lurched, and scorching mush surged up her throat. She tightly closed her mouth, causing her cheeks to puff out before she managed to force it all back down. Her eyes watered and the vile taste made her gag repeatedly, but her stomach contents stayed down for the moment.
She flew faster and spotted a cave along the river where she could be sick in the water and then rest in privacy afterward. She tucked in her wings and went into a steep dive even as her throat constricted with a fresh retch.
Lumpy, brownish-pink slime squirted out of her mouth and left an arc across the sand as she clumsily landed beside the river. She doubled over, holding her midsection, and let it come. Loud, painful heaves wracked her body as wave after wave of thick vomit gushed from her maw.
She was dimly aware of raising her tail to deposit more diarrhea, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.
It was hard to gauge how much she was getting up, since it dispersed in the river and went away in the current, but it was quite some time and her throat and ribs were sore when the flow of puke finally dwindled and stopped.
She rinsed her mouth in the river, gasping and coughing as she tried to regain control over her body.
A wet fart reminded her of the situation at that end, and she glanced back to see scattered brown clumps behind her on the sand. This made her gag, and it took another minute or two before she recovered.
When she was cleaned up and the evidence of her sickness was either downstream or buried in sand, she crawled into the cave to rest until the flu ran its course.
A man waits until his family is asleep to relieve his nausea.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
His family members were all sound asleep, and he wanted to keep it that way. He tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door before allowing himself a quiet moan. His stomach had been upset all evening, and twice he was convinced vomiting was imminent, but he hadn't, and kept his discomfort to himself. He didn't want the fuss and wanted to relieve his illness in privacy.
He stood in front of the toilet, slowly rubbing his belly. He felt awful, but didn't feel like losing his supper at that moment. Should he try to force it? That would probably involve louder retching than letting it come naturally, and he risked waking up the others.
Instead he paced in the narrow bathroom, trying to swallow air to force himself to burp. Acid stung his throat after a particularly deep rasp, and he turned back toward the toilet. Maybe…
He felt sick enough to sink into a squat in front of the commode. Thick saliva ran out as he opened his mouth over the bowl.
Come on, he told his body. Come on, just puke already. I really need to throw up…
A gag twisted his throat. Promising…
He pressed on his belly, squirming in misery, making quiet, wet burping noises. If he hadn't been able to hear and feel his supper rolling around, he would have wondered if his stomach was empty. Then a hiccup stuck in his craw, and he felt his body coil with unbearable tension for a few seconds before he shuddered with a strong heave. Immediately, a thunderous torrent of multicolored vomit spilled into the toilet.
Oh, finally!
He bent into the spasms, wrenching his throat as he tried to get everything up in one go. He didn't think he had eaten that much for supper, as queasy as he was, but apparently there was more than he realized. Wave after wave of thick barf splashed into the toilet, until he flushed just in case. There was no way to be quiet about what he was doing, and he expected someone to knock on the door any second.
The spasms ebbed, but he could tell his stomach wasn't empty yet. He rubbed his belly with rough, firm motions and let his mouth hang open. So sick… Come on…
A frustratingly brief gag made him bend further at the waist. He panted and moaned quietly, rocking back and forth with the surges of nausea that battered him.
"HORRRK!" The heave came with no warning, and the jet of vomit painted the back of the toilet seat before he was able to aim down into the bowl. This time it needed no coaxing. His throat pulsed with retch after retch as chunky sludge rained into the water.
He was drenched in sweat and trembling all over by the time he was empty and the heaving stopped. He flushed one last time before staggering to the sink to rinse his mouth and wash his face. He stood for a few minutes until his breathing returned to normal and he was sure he wasn't going to throw up any more before heading to bed.
A college student is excited about the big midwinter all on campus...until she starts to feel ill...
This story contains graphic descriptions of throwing up and diarrhea.
The midwinter ball was the biggest campus social event of the year. Julia was proud to have saved up enough to buy a formal gown, and even though she didn't have a date she was determined to enjoy herself.
At first she blamed her sour stomach on overeating at the banquet before the dance. Before she headed onto the dancefloor, though, she took a detour to the nearest bathroom, a single-occupancy unisex room. For a minute she just stood in front of the sink, rubbing her belly and trying to take stock of how she felt. Not well, to say the least. Everything she had eaten seemed congealed in a heavy ball behind her rib cage, and cramps lanced through her colon.
A sudden urge to move her bowels made her hurry to gather up her dark purple ballgown, yank down her panties, and plop down on the toilet. She took a deep breath and bent forward. After a split second of painful pressure, a thunderous rain of soft turds and light brown liquid exploded into the bowl. She moaned quietly and folded her arms across her stomach. Every time she pushed even a little bit, more of the foul sludge spurted out.
Pulses of nausea grew stronger by the minute, but this seemed a secondary concern at the moment. Loose stool splattered into the toilet in a seemingly endless supply, and she flushed as often as possible.
She had hoped the pain in her middle would subside after all that, but it didn't. At all.
She cleaned up with shaking hands, then returned to the sink. As she rubbed soap over her hands, a strange, precarious feeling in the back of her throat made her gulp involuntarily.
She rinsed her hands and then stood still, hunched over while leaning on the sink with one hand and cupping her mouth with the other. The nausea wasn't getting any better, she admitted to herself. Best head to the campus clinic right away. She didn't relish the thought of throwing up the enormous amount of food she had just eaten.
The thought of the banquet made her throat clench in a shallow gag, and she tightly closed her eyes as she fought back the urge to empty her stomach. After a moment the feeling receded, but she was now drenched in cold sweat and shaking even more.
Could she make it to the clinic? Or was her dorm closer?
A burning at her anus made her consider returning to the toilet, but she tried to ignore it and headed off in the direction of the clinic as quickly as she dared to walk.
Waves of nausea made her grimace and tightly press her lips together. Keep it down, she ordered herself. You don't want to make a scene…not to mention a mess…in public. Just hold it a few more minutes.
A half hiccup, half burp bubbled up her throat, and she made a panicked noise as she felt hot acid rising.
No no no! By sheer force of will she managed to swallow back the flood and keep on walking.
Meanwhile it felt like she was going to fill her pants with more diarrhea, but she stubbornly continued on.
She reeled dizzily, and the urgency of the latest surge of nausea warned her that the inevitable could not be delayed much longer. Luckily there was another bathroom just ahead. Giving up on the idea of making it to the clinic, she dashed through the door with a hand over her mouth.
A heave started seconds before she could reach the toilet, and she felt a stinging surge of vomit rushing up her throat. She tried to hold it in her cheeks while lunging for the toilet, but a squirt escaped onto her skirt and the floor. Bits of half-digested food stained the toilet seat as she leaned over the bowl, then stopped fighting. A startlingly loud retch seemed to come from all directions at once as a forceful fountain of puke erupted from her mouth.
As she had feared, bringing up an entire banquet's worth of food wasn't a quick, easy or pleasant affair. She doubled over, wracked by violent heaves, as seemingly endless waves of vomit cascaded out into the toilet. She tried to flush often, worried that the larger chunks she was getting up could clog the plumbing. It was a noisy situation, between the horrible sounds she was making to force up her stomach contents and the gushing, plopping noises of them hitting the water.
Julia had no idea how long she had been throwing up. Her knees were sore from sitting on the tile floor, and moisture streamed from her eyes and nose. Her throat was raw, making every retch doubly unpleasant.
She vaguely recognized the different courses, coming back in the reverse order from how she had eaten them.
A spike of pain at her other end reminded her of the extent of her sickness. There was definitely more diarrhea on the way, but she couldn't lift her head from the toilet as she coughed up gurgling streams of vomit.
She clenched her sphincter as she clung to the toilet, dredging up every last morsel from the bottom of her previously-full stomach.
When at long last her stomach calmed and even the dry heaves subsided, she stood on rubbery legs and attempted to clean the worst of the vomit from the toilet seat.
It would have to be enough. She couldn't hold it another second. She whirled around and sat down.
Her body apparently sensed she was sitting on the toilet again, for a stuttering flow of yellowy-brown liquid shot out. She moaned and leaned against the wall as her illness went in the other direction for awhile.
After a few minutes she felt her throat clench again, and she leaned over the trash can as her tongue lifted in a dry heave. She rasped miserably, only getting up a trickle of bile, while her bowels finished their assault.
When she was finally able to leave the bathroom, she staggered to the clinic, where they helped her rehydrate and gave her medicine.
It's not easy to plant seeds in the garden while coming down with a stomach bug.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
The gardener had been putting off planting the carrots, first to take care of his wife when she came down with the stomach flu, and then because the weather was lousy. Now the weather was cooperating, she was recovered and back at work, and he had to get the seeds in the ground today if he hoped to have them sprout during the optimal season.
The only problem was, he was pretty sure he was coming down with what his wife had had. Aches and chills shot through his body, and his breakfast was sloshing around like a pool in a hurricane.
He went to the garden anyway, hoping he could get work done before it struck him full force. He planted a row and a half while battling increasing discomfort in his belly. One time he knelt with his eyes closed, feeling hot acid trying to creep up his throat. No, he firmly told his body. Get these planted, then be sick, if you have to.
Bending over made his stomach feel worse, but there was no way to complete his task without doing so.
An unexpected cough tore from his throat, and his eyes widened in panic as the burning feeling began to rise. He clapped a hand over his mouth and locked his jaw shut, tightly closing his eyes. A muffled "GLURP" noise announced the arrival of vomit in his cheeks, but he gulped it back down somehow.
Great, now his eyes were watering and he had a foul taste in his mouth.
Next time I'll let it go, he thought. I might feel better afterward.
He got another four seeds planted, all the while listening to his stomach churn. If he simply opened his mouth, he was pretty sure he would barf, but he wasn't ready to surrender just yet. His hands began to shake as he dug a spot for the last plant in that row, and he felt his throat tighten in preparation for a heave.
He threw down his tools and staggered into the underbrush a short distance away. All right, fine. Get it over with.
A croaking retch lifted his tongue, and he bent over with his hands on his knees as a scorching flood of cloudy liquid flowed out of his mouth and onto the dirt. He pressed on his belly, hoping to rid himself of everything in one go, but the spasms stopped before anything solid came up.
He swore, spat, and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. Fine. He did that.
He staggered back to the garden and resumed planting. Pain continued to squeeze his midsection as he did his best to continue working. Once another six seeds were in the ground, he covered his mouth with a gurgling belch and turned aside to spew an arc of vomit onto the ground barely past the furrows. He stepped in that direction and bent over with an angry-sounding retch that brought up another splatter of puke. He spat repeatedly before returning to work.
Surely that was all that was left in his stomach from breakfast, right?
He finished that row and stood for a minute, rubbing his aching stomach.
Do we really need more carrots than that? he wondered. Probably not, but he needed to make back his investment on the seeds.
Very well. He crouched down, frowning at the way this enhanced the pain, and planted another. And another. And another. And then dashed off to the side to throw up a little bit more. He moaned, coughed, and clutched his gut.
Not much longer now, he told himself. He was able to control himself until the last eight seeds were in the ground, then stumbled over to sit on a bench. Okay, now he could give in to the illness.
He folded his arms across his stomach and bent forward with a cough. It didn't take much to get it started again. Thick clumps of vomit fell from his mouth and collected in the grass. This time he didn't hold back, and hurled up the rest of his breakfast with loud, unrestrained heaves. There was more left down there than he had thought, and it took a while to get rid of it all.
He moaned in relief when the last dollops of barf hit the ground, and was able to straighten up. Muttering curses under his breath, he plodded toward the house with plans to lie down immediately.
Medieval fantasy setting. A ranger is happy when his girlfriend comes to visit him in his remote cabin...until she suddenly gets sick.
This story contains graphic descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea (but the focus is on the vomiting)
The ranger politely ignored the sound of his girlfriend having a loud, messy-sounding bowel movement in the chamber pot in the other room of his cabin. He wasn't going to mention it at all, but when she rejoined him a few minutes later she raised the topic herself.
"Ohh, I don't feel well at all."
He looked up in concern and saw that she was paler than usual. "That's not good."
She slumped onto the bed and curled up, hugging a pillow to her belly. "Maybe if I lie still it'll get better," she mumbled.
"If you need anything, just ask."
She closed her eyes and said nothing more.
Over the next few minutes he could hear unhappy sloshing and rolling noises coming from her stomach.
"Any better?" he asked after ten minutes.
She was rubbing her lips and squirming slightly. "No," she said. "A… A bit worse, actually."
"I can look for some medicine. Not sure what I have on hand, but…"
She shook her head. "It's all right. I…" She gulped, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth.
He watched her warily, wondering if he should bring her the chamber pot to barf in despite the fresh deposit of diarrhea inside.
She sat up suddenly and dashed out the front door of his cabin. Seconds later he heard a long, hoarse retch from outside. He sprang to his feet and went after her.
She had made it about four steps past the door before losing control. She stood bent over with her hands on her knees, heaving up a chunky stream of pinkish-brown sludge onto the grass.
"Whoa," he said, steadying her with one arm around her shoulders.
"I--" she started to say before her throat filled with vomit again.
"Don't try to talk." He began rubbing her back. "Just get it out."
She shuddered with a violent heave and let out another flood of thick slime.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let it come."
She coughed, belched, and threw up some more. Soon she was gasping and shivering, unsuccessfully trying to spit away the long, viscous strings of slime that dangled from her lips.
He gave her his handkerchief, which she gratefully used to wipe her face. "I'm sorry," he said breathlessly. "I'm not sure where this came from, all of a sudden, but I'm really sick."
"Ssh, it's all right," he soothed. "I'm just sorry you're ill. Do you think you're done?"
She flinched and put a hand to her abdomen. "I'd better be. Now it's going back in the other direction." She elbowed past him and into the cabin again. By the time he followed her in, she had her pants around her ankles, her rear aimed into the chamber pot, and a copious flow of loose stool gushing from her anus.
Before he could ask her if he could do anything to help, she began dry-heaving into her palm. He gave her his handkerchief again, and she clutched it over her mouth to muffle the sickly gurgles she was making. There was no disguising the sound of liquid poop collecting in the porcelain, however.
Medieval fantasy setting. A nobleman hoping to see the king hold court has to make a hasty exit from the throne room when he realizes it's not simple indigestion making him feel so horrid.
If you’re not into emetophilia, stay away. This story includes graphic descriptions of throwing up.
The nobleman was feeling vaguely queasy when he arrived at the castle to watch the king hold court, but he blamed it on hurrying to eat lunch. As he sat on a bench in the back of the throne room, however, he began to suspect it was more than that. Pain took root deep in his middle, and he found himself sitting bent forward with his arms crossed over his belly.
It's indigestion, he told himself for the tenth time, but if it was only that, then why did he feel a chill in the crowded, ever-hot throne room? Even more paradoxically, sweat began to make his shirt feel damp under his jacket.
His stomach made a peculiar whining sound, and he felt his lunch sloshing uneasily.
Ignore it. It will settle on its own eventually, he thought.
Thick saliva had collected in his mouth, but he couldn't get himself to swallow it. The very thought made him nearly gag. In fact--
His throat tightened, and he briefly closed his eyes as a wave of nausea crashed over him. A faint belch brought a sour taste into his mouth.
It became suddenly and horribly clear that he was going to vomit. He shot to his feet, and the movement made him cover his mouth as he felt his stomach contents poised for exit at the bottom of his throat. Luckily the door was close, and he walked quickly out into the corridor.
An involuntary cough made him momentarily panic. If he had simply opened his mouth and let it come, he would have thrown up right there on the floor. Instead he tightly shut his mouth and used all his willpower to delay the inevitable.
He took off for the nearest privy as fast as he could while unable to quite stand up straight due to the pain in his gut. The corridors of the castle had never seemed so long.
Burning liquid welled up in his throat, and he gave a snorting cough as he battled to keep it down.
The next thing he knew he was bent over with his hands on his knees, spewing a copious fountain of chunky vomit onto the stone floor. It was coming up too quickly and forcefully for him to do anything other than let it happen. Loud, rasping heaves shook his entire body as his lunch exited the way it had come in. There was a fan of brown slime on the floor in front of him from the first surge, but what he threw up now landed in a lumpy puddle in front of his feet. The larger pieces made audible plops as they joined the mess.
He gasped and sobbed for breath, trying to regain control, but more barf overflowed his mouth. Even when every morsel he had eaten that day was splattered on the floor, he continued to dry heave for a few minutes. He felt light-headed and hideously embarrassed. He dearly hoped no one would come by and see a member of the high nobility blowing chunks in the hall.
When the spasms finally had mercy on him, he hastily blew his noise and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief before hurrying toward the exit.
