18+!! k!nk blog

Her heart broke all over again at the sight before her. Jay was curled up on the tiled bathroom floor, head on a towel near the toilet, arms tightly cradling his belly which was bloated enough that she could see a sliver of pale skin between his shirt and pants. Pants that were unbuttoned and unzipped. His eyes met hers, and God, she didn't know her heart could break more. He looked exhausted, sad and pained, eyes wet with unshed tears.

"Oh baby boy." She whispered, crouching down in front on him and running her fingers through his sweaty hair.

"Hope... I... fuck." His voice was gravelly and raw, and she considered maybe his eyes weren't glistening from trying not to cry, but we're wet because he'd already cried. Alone on the bathroom floor. Her own stomach clenched at the thought.

"Shh. No. I know you're about to apologise and I don't want to hear it. You did nothing wrong." She moved from a crouch to fully sitting on the cold ground, shifting Jay gently so his head was tucked in her lap and she continued running her fingers through his hair.

"My stomach hurts so much." His quiet whine tugged at her emotions, and she slipped her other hand under his shirt and over his belly. He was insanely bloated, his usually flat belly domed outwards, especially under his ribs. All of the food must be sitting in his stomach still, meaning she can't have come home long after the binge had happened.

"I know baby. Have you thrown up yet?" She was sure she knew the answer was no judging by just how packed tight his stomach felt under her fingers as she traced gentle circles over it. But she also knew that Jay could have already puked and he was just that full that it hadn't made a difference. And of course, there was that anxiety inducing thought that always tickled the back of her brain when she'd found him after a binge that he'd thrown up by his own hand and that they would be not only facing a binge eating relapse, but one that involved purging too.

"No. But I feel so sick." Jay sighed, burying his face in her thigh.

"I know you do baby. Do you think we can salvage this with some pepto and belly rubs?" She asked despite already knowing the answer.

He shook his head against her, and his belly let out a loud miserable gurgle as if to drive the point home.

"No..." He gulped audibly, "i definitely am going to throw up. But it hasn't happened yet. I just want it over with."

She heard the underlying statement. The fact that he absolutely could have got it over and done with, and was actively choosing to suffer through his nausea and stomach ache. Cementing, whether to her or himself, that he would not allow himself back down that road. She leant forward, pressing a firm kiss against his sweaty temple.

"I am right here. Tell me what you need. Water? More pressure? Me to shut up?" She asked, the last question had Jay turn so she could see his face, and she spotted the ghost of a smirk before it was quickly replaced with a wince.

"Just... talk to me? Tell me about your day. And more pressure, to get things moving, please."

Mission understood. Distraction and belly rubs were something Hope was insanely good at if she did say so herself.

She filled him in on her day, going into every inane interaction and task just to keep the monologue going and stop him from having a free second to dip back into his thoughts. Her hand pressed slightly deeper into his stomach, fingers applying pressure just below his ribs where the majority of the bloating sat.

When she got to telling him what she had for lunch, she made a choice. It was maybe unfair, but she knew that Jay was going to throw up eventually, and if she could help it along faster then she would.

"So, the canteen was serving fancy seafood stuff today. It was gifted by a client as a thank you for our collaboration on their new accounting software. Jay it was amazing, like literally the best seafood I've ever had. I'll take you to their restaurant one day. There was buttered lobster. Lobster Jay. It was so creamy and fresh, honestly the lobster meat just fell apart in my mouth, and god it came with this garlic sauce..." She watched as his face went several shades paler and continued, "and the prawns. Holy shit, they were like the size of my thumb! But they weren't peeled and still had the eyes on, you know how I feel about their beady little black eyes looking at me when im about to eat them."

"Fuc..ughhurpp" Jay jolted up as the gag hit, throwing himself over the toilet just in time to violently heave a large gush of puke into the water.

Hope sighed, gently rubbing his back as the muscles contracted harshly.

"Alright baby, get it up." With her free hand she slowly carded her fingers through his sweaty soaked hair as the next heave had him bringing up a larger, chunky round of sick. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, a mix of stomach acid and now rancid alfredo sauce, and she closed her eyes.

The next few heaves each reduced in quantity of puke before Jay was just dry heaving.

"You're empty Jay. Youre done. Breathe." Hope rested her head against his back, softly peppering his shoulder blade with light kisses. It had the intended affect and Jay relaxed slightly, the heaving moving into panting.

"Fuck." He groaned, spitting into the toilet one last time before flushing, "Fuck. Hope. I am so -"

"-I swear to God Jay, if the next word out of your mouth is sorry I am shoving your head in the toilet and drowning you. Don't. Just don't." She pressed a harder kiss to his shoulder this time before guiding him to sit and wiping his mouth with toilet paper. "You do not need to be sorry. Not for this. Never for this."

His face reddened, pale skin now pink over his cheeks.

"It's embarrassing. I'm embarrassing. Pathetic. How are you not disgusted?" His expression was tight, angry at himself. Hope simultaneously wanted to kiss him and punch him.

"Don't talk about my boyfriend like that." She scolded gently as she ran her thumbs slowly across his cheek bones, "there are many things my boyfriend is. Kind, loving, generous, funny, romantic, sexy as fuck, the list goes on. You know what's not on that list? Embarrassing. Pathetic. Disgusting."

Jay blushed deeper, but lent forward and pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, like she could physically hold him together.

"I fucking love you." He murmured, his lips vibrating against her skin.

"I love you too." She kissed the top of his head and held him just a little tighter, breathing in the scent of his hair. They didn't move or speak again for several minutes.

"I need to brush my teeth." Jay finally broke the silence, and Hope released her vice-like grip as he pulled away, standing as he rubbed a hand over his jaw.

"Okay. I'll go get you some water. And maybe some pepto now?" She asked as she also stood, knowing that he needed a few minutes alone to gather himself.

"Please." He replied. His voice was still too quiet. Too sad. She pressed one last kiss to his temple and left the bathroom.

The first thing she did upon entering the kitchen was throw away any evidence of his binge and place the dishes in the dishwasher. He didn't need any extra reminders of what happened. As she filled up a glass from the tap for each of them, she released a sigh, forcing her shoulders to untense. She hated times like these. She felt useless, like all she could do was pick up the fragile pieces.

After grabbing the pepto, she went into the bedroom where Jay was already laying on his back on the bed in just his boxers. His stomach was still bloated, not as tight as before but still definitely rounded.

"Sit up." She instructed as she poured out a dose of pepto.

He took it like a shot, nose crinkling as always at the taste, then lay back down.

Hope quickly changed into one of his tops and crawled into bed beside him, resting her head on his chest and sliding one arm under his back.

"Want me to rub your tummy?" She asked, hand hovering questioningly in the air above his stomach. Usually he would say yes, but sometimes after a binge he would hate having his stomach touched, so she always asked.

"Mmm, please." He exhaled, and she placed her hand flat on his stomach, fingers tenderly stroking the tight skin.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Not knowing what had triggered this was hard for Hope, her type A personality needing all of the information so she could create solutions. So she could fix whatever made the man she would move heaven and earth for so distressed.

He pressed his face against the top of her head, and she could feel his shaky breathing in her hair as he shook his head.

"Not tonight. I just... I just need you." His voice wavered, and she held him tighter.

Later on each businessman is asked to go back to their respective seats and buckle up, some rounds of turbulence were expected. The man finds a seat for himself. His boss ends up in the seat next to him, which makes him feel awfully squirmy. His anxiety only spikes once the turbulence starts. The shaking swirling around all the heavy food in his tummy. It feels like it moves his stomach more than the rest of him. Almost like the weight of all the food made it rise and fall with more force. It was disorienting and made him feel queasy. His face pales when a groan comes from underneath his suit, a sudden stop in turbulence making the sound clear as a bell.

He silently goes to unbuckle his belt to make a quick run to the bathroom, but an attendant is at his side immediately.

“You need to stay in your seat, sir”

She sounded a bit irritated, he guessed that having to work while a bunch of rich businessmen have a get together would sour anyone’s mood.

His boss kindly offers him a sick bag, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s not what that noise meant. He’s glad the man isn’t put off by his unwellness though. If anything, he actually seemed concerned! The extra attention made his belly flutter a little, and he tried to soothe the extra movement with a palm against his middle. Butterflies didn’t feel too good when you had a nasty tummyache.

So he sits in silence the best he can. The assumed motion sickness gives him an excuse to wrap his arms around his tummy to muffle its groans. He feels his hole twitch a little in his dress pants, clearly desperate to get this rich food out of his system. The plane has started to bounce again and his stomach feels like a shaken soda can. Speaking of-his boss has very kindly offered him some ginger ale, a concerned smile pinching his face.

“You look like you need it, remember the bag is here for you too.”

He downs the can in a display of faux gratefulness, and he really is grateful that his boss is so caring. It’s just that his help is adding carbonation to his already groaning stomach. The soda feels like it’s angrily fizzing against his insides, protesting along with everything else he’s put in there.

He has to muffle a few burps into his fist, each contraction pushing the gas up also making his asshole flutter. He’s able to keep it closed, but he can already feel burning mush right at his opening. If he drops his guard at any point there will surely be a mess in his pants. Another growl from his guts does just that. It’s so intense that he can feel it in the top of his tummy all the way down to his asshole. He gasps and he feels his ass give a little. A small bit of sludge just barely escapes, and he can feel the slime coating his asshole.

“You sure you’re alright, kid?”

His boss is looking at him again. God, he wished he wouldn’t. His eyes just made his face burn hotter and his tummy churn harder.

“I don’t know if I can…keep holding it” the man admits quietly. Squirming a little in his seat as another cramp squeezes him.

“It’s alright if you can’t, that’s why we have the bag” he smiles and gently pats him on the back, the gesture is so comforting. He wants to lean into his boss and demand more of that comfort. Curl up in his lap while his tummy tortures him. But he needed to be professional. He couldn’t afford any stains on his reputation now that he had come so far.

The muscles in his abdomen are literally quivering by the time the turbulence lights switch off. Finally. He can shit. He just needs to make it to the back of the plane without looking too desperate. A flash of heat traveling down his spine erases that thought, and he’s fumbling with his seatbelt before practically throwing himself out of his seat. He does a humiliating half waddle run as cramps start to build in his belly.

The door to the tiny bathroom slams shut and now he’s working through the last barrier between him and relief, his pants. He fumbles with the button, his hands are pressed against his stomach and he can feel the vibrations against his hands. His tummy his swirling and filled to the brim with diarrhea and he wants it out so bad.

He shoves his pants and boxers down and is finally given sweet relief. He feels his tummy contract as it forces out the mess as hard as possible.

“Mmmmghgg!” There’s literally nothing he can do to stop the sounds coming from him. His belly is tightening so viciously and his sphincter is pushing so terribly hard. It’d be like trying to stay silent while you get punched in the stomach.

The heat hits him again, it’s a sticky feeling that feels like it’s clogging his lungs. He feels his vision start to go. He tries to push away rising panic and slumps to the side, resting his head against the wall that’s way too close to him. He gulps in deep breaths in between pushes, which does the trick and that horrible icky panic fades with each round of slop splashing into the toilet.

“Ah! Owowow fuckkkgh” a boiling cramp launches him into another push. He feels half formed chunks of shit pop past his burning hole. The rest is just a pure mudslide of sickness. He gasps as the cramps let up, and is horrified at the hitch in his breathing. He’s really going to cry over this?? But his tummy just hurts so bad, he feels so embarrassed and he’s been so stressed that waves of emotions are bombarding him now, his body wants to release in every way. The thought that his colleagues can definitely hear everything that’s happening sends him over the edge. He feels fat tears start to run over his nose, down to his lips bringing the taste of salt.

His lips wobble around a sob while he bends over at the middle, a spluttering fart sends a little more mess into the filled bowl. He’s not shitting as much anymore, but his stomach still feels terribly unsettled. Like one poke or jostle will launch him into another round. He leans back and puts both hands to his bloated gut, pushing in a little to see if his theory is true. All it does is push out a deafening fart that has him gasping with relief. The gasp ends with an ugly sound as he chokes on a second sob.

He’s so upset. He desperately wanted to make a good impression on his boss. And everyone there for that matter. They had been kind enough to invite him and his boss had even been patient when he thought he was airsick. And now he’s literally crying and shitting in the man’s private jet. He spends the next several minutes trying to recover from his meltdown. He’s gotten his sobs under control, and no matter how hard he pushes nothing else is leaving his body. He flushes at the sound of his ass opening and closing as he gives a few more repetitive pushes.

He tenses when he hears a knock at the door, eyes wide. It’s the attendant from earlier. She’s letting him know he’ll need to leave the leave the bathroom and prepare for another round of turbulence.

He gives a shuddering sigh and tells her that he’ll be out in a moment. The toilet paper is harsh against his puffy hole while he cleans up. The cool water from the small sink is soothing, and he splashes some on his face. Hoping the chill will soothe some of the puffiness in his eyes.

He keeps his head down as he sits back down in his seat, offering a small, quiet apology to his boss. His kindly boss is having non of it, however.

“Why didn’t you say you were feeling that kind of sick!”

His hand is on his back again, staying this time instead of the chaste pats he was offered earlier.

A couple of gross jokes are thrown his way, one man is clearly mimicking his grunts and he feels his face burn with shame. A couple snaps from beside him quickly shut up the jokesters.

His boss reassures him that they’ll be off the plane soon, and that he doesn’t need to worry about anything work related until his stomach is feeling better. He smiles at his words, feeling a bit less like his world was crashing down.