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October 15th, 2008 at 3:44 am
I Vomit
I know I shouldn’t do this - it’s perverted. I know it’s even harmful
if indulged in to excess. But being separated from the one I love and
not having any word from *HIM* for so long does weird things to my
mind, and sometimes I just *have* to find release. I need to rid myself
of the strange dark urges that build up in me when I am out of contact
with *HIM* for too long. So I carefully prepare for a session of self-
induced vomiting.
I take off my clothes and stand in the bathroom completely naked. I tie
my hair back in a ponytail, because it’s a nuisance to wash vomit out
of it. I wish *HE* were here to hold my hair while I throw up! *HE*
wouldn’t know I was doing it deliberately, but *HE* would hold my hair
out of the way, and stroke my back gently, and murmur soothing words…
and when I was finished, *HE* would comfort me in other ways… But for
now, all I can do is purge myself, alone.
Unlike some, I don’t eat a heavy meal beforehand. I had lunch a couple
of hours ago, and I’m neither stuffed nor starving. But I drink as many
glasses of water as I can, then I pour myself a slug of plain hydrogen
peroxide, and gulp it down fast so I don’t taste it. I know this will
work quickly, but I do a few things to encourage the onset of nausea. I
think about the most disgusting things I can imagine, like stepping
barefoot in dogshit. I spin my head around in circles like a
“headbanger” to induce motion sickness. Soon I’m feeling wretchedly
nauseated, but not quite sick enough to throw up yet. I let the feeling
build up and up - I *encourage* it to build up. The more desperately I
need the relief, the more relieved I will feel when I finally get it.
My stomach churns, and I begin to break out in a cold sweat, so I hurry
to the toilet.
I lift the seat up and kneel at the altar where I�m about to offer up
everything within me. I retch slightly and lean forward over the bowl.
This makes my nipples brush against the cold porcelain edge, sending a
tingle through my body that conflicts pleasantly with my increasing
misery. I shiver, which rubs my nipples against the cold edge again,
and soon they are so erect they almost hurt.
I retch a few more times, but all I bring up is a little bit of saliva.
I force myself to burp, thinking that might get things started, and I
taste vomit in the back of my throat, but it still doesn’t come. The
wretched churning in my gut is demanding release. I lean in closer over
the toilet, bringing my aching nipples into contact with the cold
porcelain again, and I moan softly; then I stick my first two fingers
as far down my throat as they will go. I gag violently, and bring up a
mouthful of bile, but as soon as I take my hand away, all I can seem to
do is retch ineffectively again. I’m really miserable now - I *HAVE* to
throw up! I stick my fingers down my throat again and leave them there,
stimulating my gag reflex continuously. I retch and spit again…
…and then the spew begins in earnest! My stomach contracts and a wave
of vomit gushes up, splashing noisily into the toilet, some of it
running down my arm and dripping from my elbow. The sour stench fills
the bathroom. With my fingers still down my throat, I can’t stop
gagging, and I immediately throw up again.
My eyes are streaming with tears, my nose is overflowing with snot and
puke, and now I don’t need my fingers any more. It looks as if
everything I’ve eaten for days is coming up. The sight and smell make
me even sicker, and I spew another load into the toilet, water and
vomit splattering my breasts. I gasp for air with a sobbing noise,
barely able to catch my breath in between heaves. I empty myself
completely, hurling up wave after wave of foul-smelling bile.
Finally there is nothing left to throw up. The emetic did its job *too*
well, though, and I can’t stop dry-heaving. I drag myself up to the
sink and try to drink some more water. It comes right back up before I
can even get back to the toilet, and it spills all over my breasts and
down the front of my body. I puke up all the water I just drank, and
drink a little more, and puke that up too.
This seems to end things, though; I’m still retching a bit, but there’s
nothing left in my stomach, and the urge is slowly subsiding. I wipe my
face, blow my nose, and flush the toilet. I’m dizzy and shaking, my
stomach muscles ache, my throat is burning, and I feel gloriously
empty. I’ve purged myself of whatever dark need forces me to do this.
Weakly, I try to clean myself off, and notice that my nipples are even
more painfully erect than before. And what’s this moisture between my
thighs? Did I puke so hard I pissed myself? No, it’s sexual juice - so
much that it’s dripping down my legs! I’m so unbearably aroused; if
only *HE* were here to satisfy me!
With the last of my strength, I stagger to the bedroom and lie down. My
body is empty, but filled with sexual need. I begin to finger myself,
wishing it could be *HIM* caressing my vomit-smeared breasts. I want to
feel *HIM* holding my shaking body, plunging himself into my wetness
and filling that emptiness back up, inside me… When I reach my solo
orgasm a few moments later, it’s as wrenching (and satisfying) as the
solo puke-fest I just enjoyed!