Tummy Aches? Tummy Aches

How you're silently negociating with your belly to keep it down, not knowing if you'll be able to make it.

I'm Sure you'd look so good

First i'd feed you. Not to the point of being nauseous but slightly queasy.

Then i'd walk you to the car get you all settled with a drink and bags in case we are successful.

And then i'd hand you glasses. Glasses that make your whole view blurred. Imagine having clear view in your peripherals, blurred in Front of you, while your moving, not able to really see where to. Your last meal tumbling around inside your too full gut, just rolling around with your disoriented body.

Not the mention my hand that is rubbing over the confused organ, randomly adding pressure.

Think your stomach could handle windy roads in those circumstances?

Ohhh my head’s spinning just from thinking about this….

I’m not much of a drinker but my solid frame gives me a pretty decent tolerance now. I just….cant hold my liquor once I get that drunk. I’ve never actually been that drunk

I’d have to start drinking with dinner. Make sure I get into the car when I’m silly and just starting to slur my words. When the alcohol stops tasting like anything so taking gulps from my bottle will be no problem. Make it a fruity drink. One I love the taste of (so you can ruin it for me forever). I’ll be sloppy drunk in no time.

I wouldn’t be able to notice that my burps are getting heavier when we hit the curviest part of our road trip. Wouldn’t feel the violent bubbling rising from my belly. I’d even be inclined to take more sips to soothe my suddenly icky throat.

But you would.

You’d hear my burps get wetter. See my arm tighten around my waist, my eyebrows furrow and eyelids slam shut when I glance out the window. See me grip the plastic bag I somehow kept in my fingers. Hear the guttural “ohhhhhhhh” right before my forehead thumps against the glass. You’d ask if I’m alright, and when all I could do is shake my head you’d start to slow down. We’re alone on a distant road. You’re not worried about other cars.

All I’deed to hear from you is “don’t forget the sick bag in your hand” and I’d start gagging. And so drunk my gags would need no help to start pushing out the toxins.

We’d make eye contact in the review mirror when the first wave of drunk sick spills from my lips and down my chest. It’s mostly alcohol and juice and tastes so much like rotting fruit I start retching loudly. But once my body gets the excess liquid out, I’m all dry heaves and spit. I grip the bag and gag over and over but nothing. No relief: not from the nausea, not from the spinning, not from the fact that the pressure made me piss my pants and your car seat…

And my stomach? It’s humongous.

Not my lower belly. Not my middle guts. My stomach. The starch-filled, bread centric meal you fed me has formed a ball and clogged everything. I’m gripping my puke bag so tight my knuckles are white. It’s hard to even open my eyes but somehow I manage to burst out, “pull over!” And the force rips the wettest, sickest belch from beneath my ball of dinner that it ends with a sob.

Turns out…you already pulled over minutes ago. While I was busy making a complete mess of myself, you had turned off the car, unbuckled your own seatbelt, and started rubbing my back. So instead of following my request you take the opportunity to get out of the car, open my door, unbuckle me, and slide yourself between me and the passenger seat.

With both hands now holding me firmly by my belly (and the puke filled bags forgotten on the car floor), you get me on my knees. You ignore my whines of being too drunk to puke, put away the increasingly desperate and sick burps coming from me for later use, and whisper “Just follow my lead. I’ll make you feel better,” not a second before slipping two fingers in my mouth and a fist below the mass in my stomach.

My body’s response is so fast I almost pass out. The combined pressure you put on my stomach from beneath and the pull of the gags you elicit from above draw my dinner and the remaining alcohol from my tummy. Streams of chunky sick projectiles into the grass and dirt in front of us. I lose all power to hold myself up, so you do it for me, the arm used for gagging me now gripping my shoulder. We both feel my stomach deflate faster than we’ve ever experienced; you gasp in my ear as your hand quickly goes flat against my belly. Removing the food weight doesn’t stop my tummy from sloshing and swirling, but after a few massive gushes I’m back to dry heaving and spitting and dribbling in agony.

We’d stay like that for a while, both of us nervous to get back in the car and move me faster than 0mph. But the sun is starting to go down and we need to go back home. When you ask me if I think I can handle the car ride back I laugh…which triggers another round of gags and moans. I know you packed water and crackers for this exact situation, but I also know everything my stomach receives will be sent back swiftly and painfully. We’re on solid ground the but the world is still spinning behind my eyes. I feel like a human whirlpool. But eventually I agree and, with your help, climb back into my seat, which you let me lay all the way down so I can curl my knees into my sick tummy and cover my eyes from the moving window.

You’d go much easier on the way back. You’d have to. You took the first sharp turn too hard, and, having no bags to puke in anymore, I forced you to pull over again. Then again when you went too fast while I sat up to see where we were. Then again when we passed a McDonalds and I smelled the late night grease (and we pulled into their lot for revenge). By the time you got me home I’d be aching from head to toe, head throbbing and body hurling back up anything we put into it.

I went back to work today and forgot to eat from like 8:30 to 5. The only thing I really wanted was a fast food burger after I finished, so I got one and I think that was my first mistake. Too much beef and cheese and fries on an exhausted empty stomach. But then I made it worse and had an unknowable number of peanut butter cups…ohhhhh my tummy feels so baddddd.

So at some point overstuffing to the point of sickness would be your normal, which means that you'd have to make a concious effort to not accidentally make youself sick. Needing to be prepared for you to get sick at any point of our lifes. Our cars would need bags. Our handbags need to have them, the cupboard next to our dining table, our coffee table, bedside table, a few jackets and coats.All this and you still regularly overestimate your capacity and shower your poor belly in it's contents. Guess we'll add a change of clothes to our necessities i think as i look at you in your puke covered shirt, smiling down at your bloated belly

I’ve always had a super strong stomach. Getting me to puke at all is a task unless I’m sick. It’s also tough sensory wise for me to get that much food in my mouth without help.

But I’ve always quietly longed to be an easy puker. To be able to push myself to a sick tummied mess anytime I wanted to.

Sounds like your little game of tricking me to eat till I puke would get me my dream. Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Someone to play a game with my insides. Play tricks on my belly to make everything slosh and churn more violently.

*sighs* My tummy is feeling very tired, truthfully. My bloat’s gone down and i’ve actually had some really satisfying bathroom trips, but I stretched my belly to such a limit that everything feels strained at the smallest meal. I can tell my stomach needs rest.

Funny you say that….

I did in fact lug my stuffed backed up belly home as you mentioned. Wasn’t hungry at all this morning I was so stuffed…and the coffee I had as breakfast didn’t move anything at all. Even started feeling a little belly sick on the drive home when I didn’t have a bathroom for miles. But I was able to hold it…till I turned into my apartment’s parking lot.

My insides went on red alert - Cramping and burning and forcing me to grab just a few bags to take inside (I usually bring everything in a couple trips but I could not make it that long).

I couldn’t even unpack or check on my cat. I had to go right to the bathroom and was very overwhelmed with how fast so much came out of my belly…everything slipped out of me without any pushing at all. My belly must’ve been feeling so sick holding that in for so long.

Um….*blushes and groans*

Last night I spent three hours eating leftovers while video chatting my puppy and I my entire gut was full and screaming at me to stop. I don’t know if I’ve ever been that full before. Not just from what I ate in the moment but from putting it all on top of an already sore tummy, upset from days of eating and not enough trips to the bathroom. This is from right before I started eating for my boy. I was already so bloated and my guts weren’t exactly feeling very good from the start.

It had been a few hours since my burger and float dinner so luckily I was getting hungry. I planned for 2 large rectangle pieces of pizza and two chicken thighs….and that woulda been enough had I not been getting so much precious care and encouragement from my boy. But of course I just wanted to please him and get the biggest stomach possible, so I also ate the remaining two smaller squares of pizza, the left over ice cream, and some cookies (and some nectarines and coffee right before we started feasting together).

And getting down those last two pieces of pizza was so fucking hardddddd. I couldn’t swallow the chewed mass of cheese and bread so I had to chug sparkling water just to get each glob down my throat.

I had to eat the last slices sitting down but when I stood up? My belly was in such agony it cramped and pulsed with ache with every step. But god I looked so good like that. My sides were popped so far out and you could so easily make out the curves of all my poor bloated insides. I couldn’t think about anything but my fully tummy. I could barely speak. At one point I thought i should do the dishes and my tummy instantly fought back against the added movement. The cramps had me wrapping both arms around my tummy at one point 🥺

My pup asked me to suck in for him and after the first plate it hurt but I could do it. But after that last pizza? I couldn’t suck in AT ALL. The pain radiated through my whole abdomen and my gut had no space to contract like that.

And obviously all the rubs, pushes and sqeezes you desire to get sick for me

Prepare to have the whiniest, most demanding, tummy sick little princess ever…part of me thinks I don’t indulge in being babied often because I know how far I’d take it. Especially if you’re actively giving me a bloated, sick, belch filled belly…

I’d be such a brat to you in the store. Telling you what to buy, demanding all my favorite snacks and meals, putting your hand on my swollen tummy whenever you hesitate and remind you who did this to me in the first place.

Especially being passenger princess. I’d use the opportunity to eat and eat and eat while you rub my gut at every stop and slow road. Complaining that my gut hurts even worse after we get home from the restaurant (because I ate your leftovers and sipped a Coke as soon as we got in the car). Burping and hiccuping as we walk to the door, then falling onto the nearest soft surface once we enter, taking off my shirt and tight pants and letting the gas find freedom whatever direction it needs.

But you being you and knowing my weaknesses have already started preparing my dessert, knowing I can’t say no to a rich chocolate cake. Before I know it you’re feeding me forkfuls of cake while I’m watching tv with small drinks of water. For digestion. Chewing and moaning and swallowing until… one second I’m bloated but happy and the next a big gag sends cake spilling down front my chin.

I stop your hand from feeding me another bite. The explosion of cake signaled another thing in my tummy: pain. Nauseating, overwhelming pain across the middle of my gut. I’ve hit my limit and I’m about to pay for it.

“Oh god no….” I moan as a hand flies to my mouth. I dart to the bathroom, almost failing to make it after seeing the cake’s container laid out on the counter in the kitchen. Your day of tummy control has caught up with me so fast. Everything I ate is hitting me in this moment. I’m so sick i drop to my knees in front of the shower, not even bothering with the small confines of the toilet. And as soon as my hands find support on the bathrooms edge my body lets go. A multicolored array of projectile vomit lines our shower (toned largely by the deep brown of the chocolate cake).

Expecting exactly this, you calmly drop beside me and put one hand gently on my swollen gut to feel it heaving, then mumble sweet nothings in my ear as I continue letting everything you stuffed inside me come raging out and into the tub. I’m a mess. My body aches and my tummy feels like a scrubbed out tube. All I want is your hands on my exhausted belly, helping me empty what is essentially your desire.

Work lunch hitting wrong can be so painful. There was this place I used to get lunch at and even though it was so good the beans and rice would make me so bloated I’d have to go home after a shift (spent ignoring how hard and round my belly felt) and lay down most of the time.

My parents don’t have a lot of vegetables so my gut is struggling with how many salty, heavy, greasy meals we’ve had the last couple days. Belly is struggling to let anything out, things are so clogged up. And when things do move my whole lower belly burns and cramps way before I can even make anything happen. But it’s still not much and has only happened 2x in the whole 4 days, despite eating much more than I’m used to every day.

I am so round. So gassy. So stuffed with food….my belly is gonna be very displeased with the huge fridge cleaning menu I have for my final night alone before I leave.

Ate a great breakfast and lunch, but dinner was brats and beans and chips and corn, and I just ate soooooo fucking fast. I’ve had a stomach ache ever since and it’s been over an hour.

-🐶💜