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The video on your phone starts with a low, staticky rumble. You can't immediately identify the sound, but it's deep, and loud enough to clip the audio. The frame jostles around as somebody fumbles to get the camera into position. It eventually comes to rest on Drew, sitting at their desk. With the mic farther from the source, the sound stops clipping, resolving into a lengthy, rolling belch pouring from your partner's open mouth.

"—UUUuurrUUOorrrorrgghhp!"

Drew's eyes are angled down and away from the camera, brow furrowed in concentration as they coax out the enormous belch. Its volume peaks and dips repeatedly, dragging on for an absurd amount of time before ending with a low, gurgling growl.

"Oof!" Drew gasps, clearly winded. They give their chest a few pats, then let up a small after-burp that seems to catch them by surprise. They flinch, peering up at the camera with a sheepish expression. “Sorry! That came on too fast to hit record. I tried to hold it, but...well, you heard how that went."

They reach for a 2 liter of orange soda next to them. A small portion has already been drunk. Drew gives the contents a swish.

"Don't know why I tried drinking some before I started recording." They give their head a rueful shake. "Guess I'm just nervous. I know you wanted me to do this, but it's still kinda embarrass—AuUOorp"

They gasp at the unexpected burp, covering their mouth belatedly, “Excuse me—!" then pause, confused. "Uh, no. I guess I shouldn't say 'excuse me'?" They huff a laugh. "Let's try that again."

Drew tips back their soda, drinking for several long seconds. The vibrant, orange liquid disappears as they decant the bottle into their stomach, throat muscles bobbing on each swallow.

When they finally pull away, they're out of breath. "Ugh...It's so cold." With the hand not holding the bottle, they rub at their chest like they're hoping to warm it. On their next exhale they belch. Massive, urgent, and clearly involuntary.

"Oops!" A hand flies to their mouth, and Drew visibly swallows down another burp. "That was...wow."  They scratch at the back of their neck, huffing a laugh. "That might have, uh, clipped the mic. Fuck if it didn't feel nice, though..."

They seem to momentarily forget they're recording, eyes fluttering back, and rubbing their belly in relief. The pause lasts for only a few seconds before their eyes alight on the camera, and they straighten in their seat. Drew blushes, seeming like they might say more, maybe even apologize again. Instead they shrug, and resume drinking.

You count the bobs of their throat. One, two, three, four, gulps before they need to stop for breath. "Fuuuck, that's bubbly."

An audible glug from their stomach announces those same bubbles attempting a reappearance. Drew swallows them down instinctively, then seems to realize their mistake. "Whoops. I keep suppressing it. It just feels so weird trying to burp as loud as I can...N-not bad though!" They reassure you, "Actually, it's kind of..."

Face turning an even more vibrant shade of red, Drew seems to think better of whatever they were going to say. "I'll try drinking more. Maybe that'll force one to come up. I'm hoping for another nice, long one like the burp that slipped out before I started recording." They palm their stomach. "Felt like I was deflating."

With a determined look in their eye, Drew brings the bottle to their lips, taking deep, rhythmic gulps. The motion of their throat is almost hypnotic as they force more and more of the soda into their already very full stomach. This time, they drain about a quarter of the bottle in one go before slamming it down on their desk with a pained gasp..

“God...hgn...My stomach hurts.”

Trying to draw up a burp, they straighten in their seat, tucking in their chin and taking a few careful breaths. A loud croak issues from their throat, and they open their mouth in anticipation, but nothing else wants to come up. They give their chest a few experimental thumps.

“I must have stage fright." They throw you a smile. "Usually this far into one of these, the challenge is not burping.” Drew goes to drink again, but can't bring themself to. They let out a sad little whimper instead. "Not that I'm ever going to want orange soda again after this. Urf—Why can't I burp?"

They knead their fists into their tummy, and you can see there's less give than usual. They're bloated taut with soda fizz. In their desperation, Drew's motions are clumsy, almost violent. Pushing up on the usually soft flesh like they're giving themself the Heimlich. It pays off.

"BluUUurrghhp!"

The belch tears out of Drew like a hurricane, complete with the wet sounds of the soda slopping around in their belly as their stomach muscles knead into the glut of air. They gasp at the end of it, palming their chest

"guuoh god—!" Only to be cut off by a series burps so urgent they seem to practically overlap on their way out

BwoOorghp—

—OoURPh

Bluurrrurp...rrrp

It takes about 30 seconds before the soda gas finally stops using their throat as a thoroughfare. Drew is left sagging forward, elbow braced on their desk. A whimpery moan falls from their lips. It’s reminiscent of sounds you've heard from them before, but only in a far more intimate context. Drew cuts it short the moment they notice it's happening.

Cheeks darkening, they dart their eyes to the camera. “God, this is embarrassing, heh. But I like knowing you like seeing, uh, this..." they gesture awkwardly to themself, the soda, the entire scene. "Me being like this.” Another little burp underscores their point, and they shudder at the relief.

Evidently feeling refreshed by finally venting some of the soda gas, that determined look returns to Drew's face. They flash a teasing grin. "That was impressive, but I think I can still top it."

A few preparatory deep breaths, and then the soda is back at their lips. Gas and liquid drain into their belly at an impressive rate, filling up any space left by the air they managed to burp up. They seem set on emptying the bottle. Drew's brow is screwed up in a pained look of concentration, and their hand hovers over their bubbly stomach, ready to provide comfort if needed.

Soon enough they're slowing, liquid backing up in their mouth, unable to swallow past the push of gas crawling up their esophagus. They’re forced to pull away, audibly swallowing back a huge burp.

"I'm trying to let the pressure—ulp—build up," they explain, sounding terribly uncomfortable. "Wanna finish the—rrp—b-bottle before I try to burp again."

They eye their drink apprehensively, then resume slugging it back. Drew only gets down one mouthful before they're pulling back with a filthy, wet belch.

"GwuUrmmpp—"

They slam their mouth shut, doing their best to cut it off. "N-not yet," they grunt. You wonder if they're talking to their stomach or you. They're so focused, they hardly even seem to be aware of the camera anymore.

The bottle is almost empty now. They drag in one more shaky inhale, then return to their task with an almost fatalistic resolve. But it's clear they're nearing their limit. At this point, one or two gulps is all Drew can manage without a break. It's slow going, but they're making progress. Gulp. Pause. Gulp. Pause.

On their next pause, they let their head loll forward with a pained moan. "Holy hell, I need to burp. I—" eyes flaring, they clamp their lips shut as a horrifying churn emanates from their stomach. They catch the would-be belch before it can explode up their gullet, looking equal parts relieved, and miserable about it. "M-maybe I won't—ulp—Talk anymore..."

Gulp. Pause. Gulp. Pause. Gulp. Pause. Again and again until, mercifully, the last fluorescent orange drop slides into their mouth, and they're sucking on air. Drew yanks the bottle from their lips with a suctioning pop, and tosses it to the floor. They gasp for air, clutching at their belly, and almost doubling over.

A low whine leaves their throat. “Oh god, I might have overdone it. I’m gonna burp so fucking hard. Fuck...”

Just then, there's a faint noise from somewhere beyond their bedroom door. Drew freezes in place, eyes blowing wide. "That's my roommate. I, um, I guess I should hold it?...Who am I even asking? You can't—mmmmmrrrhhhp!"

Fed up with them using their mouth as anything other than a pressure valve, their stomach co-opts the end of Drew's sentence for the silliest, longest closed-mouth burp you've ever heard. Their cheeks puff  like a chipmunk's, filling up with gas faster than they're able to exhale it through their nostrils.

Desperate to contain the sound if not the air itself, Drew brings up a fist mid burp, trying to keep their lips from blowing open. The effort leaves them breathless and slightly red faced. They try to say something, but are immediately hit by another barely-contained burp. Then several more in such quick succession that you lose count.

When the fit finally subsides, Drew turns to look into their camera with wide, slightly impressed eyes. "Did you hear—hilc!—Oh hell..." Another hard hiccup jostles them, and you can hear their belly slosh. They clutch at it, groaning. "Hiccups always make me—hic-uRp!" They slam a fist to their mouth a second too late.

That was loud.

Immediately Drew's whole body goes bowstring tight. They turn to face their door, suppressing hiccups as best they can. The seconds drag on, both of you waiting to see if they've been caught.

There's a knock on the door.

Drew winces dramatically, but keeps their voice light as they call out, "Come in."

They turn towards the door, laying their phone camera-down on the desk, and obscuring your view. But the recording is still going, and you hear the voice of Drew's roommate.

"Hey! Do you know where the stain remover is?"

"Uh, yeah. In the—hlk—‘scuse me. In the closet. Top shelf by the—hic-AuUUuuoOrrrp!"

You also hear Drew explode into a massively gassy hiccup-belch that sounds like it might have caused them to explode if they'd successfully kept it in.

Drew's roommate yelps in shock.

"Hic—h-hiccups! Sorry, excuse me!" you don't need to see your partner to hear that they're mortified.

She assures them it's fine, but that doesn't stop Drew from stammering through a few more unnecessary explanations and apologies. Mercifully, she doesn't stay long. You hear the door close, and then Drew is picking their phone back up, face bright red, and one hand covering their eyes.

"God, that one reeked of soda," they moan. "And it was like, right at her. We were making eye contact...” But when they peek out from between their fingers, you're surprised by a slight twinkle in their eye "And you didn't even get to see. What a damn waste."

Drew pulls an energy drink from their drawer. "She's heading to the laundry room, so we get one last try." They pop the tab with a satisfying fizz. "This stuff always messes up my stomach. Maybe I can get one more good one for you." They wink.

That feels like a terrible idea. You can still hear some of the louder glorps and glugs from Drew's severely over-carbonated gut. More bubbles are the absolute last thing they need. Unfortunately, this is a recording, and you don't get a say.

Against all good sense, Drew tilts the can back and begins to drink. They down it quicker than you would have thought possible, and the moment they do, they double over, wrapping an arm around their middle.

“S-shit." You hear a deep, wet rumble from the depths of their soda-keg of a belly. Their eyes widen in panic. "Shouldn’t have done that...t-too much." Their eyes dart to their wall. "Oh god, my neighbors might hear this..."

A sound gurgles out of their stomach like a gutter emptying into a storm drain. Both hands clutch at their chest. "I can’t—hgn, it’s gonna come out. I—"

The burp that tears up Drew's gullet gives the auditory and visual impression that they're having a demon exorcised. It's deep and guttural and booming. They lurch forward from the force of it, their whole body tensed with the effort of expelling the gas, hands braced on the desk to ground themself. It drags out of them in bubbly layers of sound, deepening, growing gurglier, airier, wetter, hitting different tones. All they can do is surrender to their body as it desperately works to throat out a burp too big for their mouth.

It comes to a sudden close, loud, jarring, and followed by an encore of sharp, desperate after-burps. Short bursts of stomach gas that punch out of Drew, rocking their body forward with each one.

Finally, after what feels like minutes, Drew’s body settles, and they sag back in their chair. One last hard BruUP trails into a filthy sounding moan, and they rub languidly at their belly. “Fuuuuck, that was good," they pant. "I really—urp—needed that. Feels like I just burped half my weight in soda bubbles—"

Once again seeming to remember the camera too late, a deep blush blooms on their cheeks. They're too spent to correct their lewd posture this time, though. They offer you a sheepish grin, scratching at the back of their neck. “Hell, I know you’ll like this but I’m…I’m not gonna want to send it to you. That was kind of a lot..." They laugh weakly, grabbing the phone to end the recording.

"You better say nice things. I want rave reviews.”