hey what's up welcome to my weird sneeze kink blog! call me m :)
i write snzkink things sometimes when i have the motivation - check out the tags #m writes for my longer pieces and #pollenfeathers for all my posts! it's generally original fiction but sometimes i write for media i like. i don't have a masterlist yet because i don't write enough lmao but my blog is pretty well-organised generally so have a look at my featured tags if you're looking for something specific. also im most comfortable chatting to queer people in their 20s, maybe 30s on here, drop me a message or an ask if you wanna say hi! :))
most things i post/reblog are snzkink-focused, with some tickling and d/s stuff sprinkled in. again i'm mostly into original fic but my biggest fandom phases so far have been stranger things, good omens, and voltron (unfortunately lol). generally i post on a queue just to keep things consistent so if i'm posting but not replying that's probably why. i tag nsfw as #nsft for those who want to avoid it. i won't block non-kink blogs if you have ur age listed, but please don't reblog from me to any non-kink blog! DO NOT INTERACT with ANYTHING on my blog if you’re a minor or don't have your age listed - this is not for you and i love my block button.
also DO NOT fucking interact if you’re a transphobe/terf, aphobe, pedo (this includes knowingly having any sort of interaction with minors on your kink blog), or pro-ED. anyone resembling any of these things or a porn/spam bot will get blocked.
list of things i do and don't like under the cut! :)
things i like:
allergies, inducing (especially with feathers and makeup brushes), hitching, 'stuck' sneezes, holdbacks, basically anything to do with the buildup / how much it tickles haha
general lesbian nsfw because i am one, although on this blog it's usually paired with the kink. if you're a lesbian you're welcome to message for my general nsfw blog ;)
some bdsm, i'm a soft domme <3
tickling
teasing, denial, edging
exhibitionism
a little bit of humiliation. as a treat.
things i won't write and would prefer people tag / don't send me:
RPF
heavy whump
emeto
breathplay
x reader
bodily fluids other than mess (im not even a mess fan tbh)
breeding/pregnancy
ageplay/ddlg
noncon
furry stuff
other body part fetishization. especially feet. absolutely nothing wrong with it, i just don't like them haha.
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hey guys my kink essentially vanished for a couple months but someone i've been sexting on my regular (nsft) blog mentioned they were getting a cold and suddenly i'm😵💫😵💫😵💫
A new werewolf, in human form, applying her favorite perfume for the first time after the bite, and realizing too late that her newly-sensitive nose means that perfume tickles it something FIERCE. She's struck by a cascade of sneezes and has to jump in the shower and wash it off before they'll stop.
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there’s something so deeply hot to me about sneezes that just don’t happen for one reason or another. sneezes that get stuck or held back for hours with no relief, with tickles that back off but never fully go away as the nose just gets more and more red and itchy and full with congestion
here’s a little steddie roomate au fic w some snz kink eddie at the end!
“hRRTtxt!”
Steve squashes a quick sneeze between two fingers, scowling and sniffling against his slightly runny nose.
One of his new roommates won’t stop smoking in their apartment, and it’s driving his allergies mad. He can feel the persistent itch growing in the back of his nose, forcing him to constantly sniffle to postpone the impending sneezing fit.
He takes another shaky breath before turning to the side and ducking into his elbow.
“Huh’CHXTTUh!”
He cringes at the uncomfortable spray that covers his bare arm.
He’s only wearing boxers at the moment. His hair is unusually messy since he just woke up. Of course, it’s 1 in the afternoon, but it’s a Saturday and he doesn’t have any plans for the day.
He scowls, opening the fridge and reaching for some leftover pizza. He curses under his breath, turning his back from the fridge and doubling over.
“ETCKTCHSHH!”
He shuts the fridge, forgetting about breakfast. His breath continues to hitch, but it only leads to false starts.
Cursing, he walks over to his room. He gets out his old record player and turns the volume all the way up, blasting Queen through their small apartment.
It only takes a few minutes for one of his roommates to knock on his door. It’s a softer knock, so he figures it’s not Eddie.
“Come in,” he calls, laying with his stomach facing up on his bed.
He grins a little when Robin walks in.
“Would you mind turning down the music?” Robin asks, raising her voice to be heard over the record.
“Sorry Rob. I’m trying to piss off Eddie,” Steve explains, a smirk playing on his lips. Robin raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything except, “I think it’s working.”
Steve smiles a little, but it’s replaced by a distant look. His nose starts twitching and his body snaps forward. He just barely manages to cup his hands over his face in time to catch two sneezes.
“Huh’CHXTTUh! Heh’TSSCHT!”
He lays back down, frowning and rubbing at his already itchy face.
“Bless you… so I take it you’re pissing off Eddie cause he won’t stop smoking in the apartment?” Robin asks.
Steve rolls to the side, shoulders moving with each hitching breath. He muffles another sneeze into cupped hands.
“H’hMPht!”
He rolls back over and rubs at his eyes again.
“Bless you. How long’s the volume gonna be up this loud? I’ve got some homework to do and it’s kind of,” she makes random gestures with her hands as her voice trails off.
Steve sighs, leaning over and turning down the music.
Robin smiles sympathetically, and starts walking out, but pauses.
“You know you could just take Eddie’s cigarettes,” Robin suggests before walking out.
Steve pauses, considering this for a moment. He pulls on a sweatshirt and sweatpants before walking out of his room. He hesitates at Eddie’s door as the burning sensation travels from the back of his nose to the center, buzzing intensely and causing him to snap forwards with a pinched, “k’NgxCht!”
He sniffs harshly and knocks on Eddie’s door, glowering at the “do not disturb” sign hanging at eye level.
He hears a groan and some shuffling noises before Eddie opens the door. His hair is tied in a messy bun, and he’s wearing a cropped metallica T-shirt and a cigarette is hanging loosely in his left hand. Steve rolls his eyes; of course Eddie looks incredibly attractive while he’s trying to be pissed off.
Steve’s breath immediately hitches from being this close to the smoke. He brings his sleeved arms up to his face and muffles a string of rapid sneezes.
When he turns back to Eddie the older boy looks slightly amused and has a smile playing at his lips. Steve frowns, scowling at the small stick in Eddie’s hand.
“Bless you,” Eddie teases. Steve scowls even deeper, eyebrows knitting together and arms crossing.
“Put out the cigarette,” Steve orders.
Eddie just smirks.
Steve’s breath hitches again, brows creasing and nose twitching.
With another unsteady breath he turns to the side, “hRRSTCxt! heh-,” Steve pauses before snapping forward again, “heh…H’NGSH!”
Eddie walks back into his room, placing his cigarette on a small ashtray.
“Bless you,” he says again.
Steve swears he can hear a little bit of guilt in the older boy’s voice, but he doesn’t look into it. He’s itchy and sneezy and pissed.
“Will you just… fuck -heh-hHRSTch! hehMPHt! Excuse me. Will you just go outside to smoke next time?” Steve asks, blushing a little.
Eddie shrugs and leans against the doorway casually. Steve’s gaze lingers a moment too long on the gap between Eddie’s crop top and his sweatpants.
“You’re an ass,” Steve comments before walking back to the kitchen. He hears Eddie scoff, but doesn’t say anything.
(shift to Eddie’s POV)
Eddie considers following Steve, but he settles on watching his sneezy roommate walk away - in Eddie’s defense, Steve has a great ass. He sighs, letting a grin overtake him. His stomach is filled with a warm, bubbly sensation.
He replays the sound of Steve’s sneezes, the way he struggled to even speak to Eddie, the way his breath hitched so delicately, and the way he immediately responded to the smoke, even from his room.
He hears a muffled sneeze from the kitchen and feels warmth flood to his lower stomach. He grabs a flannel from his floor and ties it around his waist, ‘as a precaution’ he thinks to himself. No way does he need Steve Harrington knowing he’s turned on by sneezes, let alone /his/ sneezes.
Eddie considers lighting the cigarette again, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, but he decides against it after hearing a particularly desperate set of sneezes from the kitchen.
“Hih- heh- TSCH-TSCH-Tshcieww!”
He makes his way to the kitchen, which doesn’t take long considering the size of the apartment. He swallows the urge to tease Steve as the allergic boy rolls his eyes dramatically.
“Here to set off a different allergy of mine?” Steve asks, punctuating the quip with a sniffle.
Steve scoffs, resulting in an unproductive allergic cough, which triggers the lingering itch in his nose. Eddie watches as Steve’s handsome features contort: his eyebrows furrow, his mouth opens slightly as his breath hitches, and his nostrils flare delicately. Eddie’s too enthralled with the oncoming sneeze(s) to think about anything else.
“Huhh’ISCHH! TSCH! hih’ESCH’iew!”
Steve buries his nose in his elbow, barely taking a breath before each allergic expulsion.
“Bless you,” Eddie says, swallowing his attraction to Steve and trying to sound sympathetic. Apparently, it doesn’t come off that way, “Munson, if you’re just going to stand around and tease me, can you at least change? You reek of cigarettes.”
A devilish grin spreads across Eddie’s handsome face, a clear sign that he’s up to no good. He swears Steve blushes as he smiles at his younger roommate, but he can’t be sure, “I’ll change in a second,” Eddie shrugs casually, “but I’ve got to eat first, I’m starving,”
This isn’t entirely true seeing as how Eddie just finished breakfast a half hour ago, but there’s no way in hell he’s passing up this opportunity. He reaches across the kitchen counter for a bagel, arm brushing against Steve’s chest lightly. Eddie watches as Steve’s nostrils flare, reacting to the lingering scent of cigarettes and smoke on Eddie’s clothes.
Steve presses a knuckle against the bottom of his nose, applying slight pressure to appease the itch; it does the opposite. His breath hitches suddenly and he pulls the hem of his shirt up to cover just in time, “hehnn’GKxt! GXZxT!”
Eddie shifts as he feels warmth spread to his lower stomach. Steve’s stifles caused his shoulders to jerk with their force, and they sounded especially desperate.
“Bless you again, big boy,” Eddie’s sure that Steve blushes at the nickname.
“Thangs,” Steve sniffles into his sleeve embarrassedly.
that’s all for now! sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors, i hope you enjoyed :)
here’s a little st/eddie fic i have sitting in docs from a while ago (i can’t remember if i’ve already posted it or not) !! featuring allergic e/ddie
Eddie takes a delicate breath as his nostrils flare: the telltale sign of a brewing sneeze. His mouth falls open, features going slack and brown eyes hazing over. He waves a hand in front of his face, a habit he picked up from Steve (despite his many taunts about it being unnecessary). His nostrils flare as his breath hitches a second time, "hhHng't!"
He stifles the sneeze into near silence, taking an experimental sniff before returning to his task: re-painting the trailer. Despite Eddie's assurances that he's over the whole "Vecna thing” (as he likes to put it), he flinches every time he sees the trailer. Demo Bat scratches line the sides and top of the old vehicle, which is why Eddie ended up spending his afternoon painting his trailer in the scorching sun (it's only 80 degrees out) and trying not to melt (hardly breaking a sweat).
He sniffles again as he stands on his tippy-toes to reach the top of the van. Swiping his nose against his arm, he curses softly and sets down the paint brush. He exchanges it for his black bandana.
Eddie presses the fabric to his itchy nose, immediately causing his breath to hitch, "HhhHNG'xT! hHj'Xnt! Heh… hhHTS'Xd!"
The black haired boy sighs and returns the bandana to his pocket. Just as he reaches for the paintbrush, he hears a twig snap behind him. He grabs the paintbrush (an admittedly bad weapon of choice) and wheels around.
Steve jumps at the brush that's suddenly held at his throat, eyes wide, "Shit! Munson!"
Eddie sighs with relief, releasing his grip on the paintbrush and hitting Steve's shoulder playfully, "Thanks for the heart attack, Harrington."
"You're one to talk," Steve argues, pulling Eddie in for a quick kiss, “I thought you could use some help.”
Eddie grins widely, “just admit you missed me, Harrington,” he teases, punctuating his quip with a sniffle.
Eddie’s nose twitches wildly, and his eyebrows knit together. His breath hitches once, a short, delicate inhale before a string of sneezes tumbles out of him, “nGshh-sdch-kscht!” The triple does nothing to cease the burning itch in the back of Eddie’s sinuses.
“Bless you,” Steve says, glancing over at Eddie and taking note of his red nose and watery eyes, “How long have you been painting for?” He asks curiously.
Eddie shrugs, swiping his wrist under his nose before continuing to paint, “half an hour give or take.”
Steve nods, grabbing a paintbrush from Eddie’s back pocket and starting to help. It’s relatively easy work, especially since Steve can reach the top of the van without having to stand on his tippy toes.
“I thought you were working today?” Eddie says curiously.
“They’re having issues with the generator at Family Video, so they gave me the day off,” Steve explains with a little grin, “Wayne’s still out of town, right?”
Eddie returns his grin, “Why do you ask?” He asks with a little smirk, despite knowing exactly why Steve asked.
Steve stops painting for a second and leans over to kiss Eddie’s cheek, “You know why,” he says, his voice soft. Eddie practically melts right then and there, he blushes and keeps painting, trying to ignore the warmth filling his stomach.
Without warning, the buzzing in his nose returns and he snaps to the side, barely managing to catch the flurry of sneezes in his palm, “hh’ETSCH! hHk’gnzschew! nnGKtchiew!”
He manages to half stifle the last two sneezes, but the first one comes too fast. He wipes his hand on his jeans, cringing a little at the wetness of his sneezes.
“Bless you,” Steve says again, raising his eyebrow a little, “Did you take any allergy meds today?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, “Does it look like I did?”
“No,” Steve deadpans, looking worriedly at his boyfriend.
“Jesus, Harrington, I was tryna make a joke,” he says lightly, “I’m okay, really. Just sneezy,” he assures a concerned looking Steve.
“Alright,” Steve says with a little nod before he starts painting again, “but you’re taking something when we go inside.”
“You got it boss,” Eddie replies with a little grin. He reaches to start painting again, but instead he flinches to the side with a few itchy stifles, “h’tsnk! g’nsch! ts’xch!”
“Bless you,” Steve says softly, glancing over at Eddie. Eddie notices this and makes a show of painting the RV again; he wasn’t going to give in that easily.
It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He dips his paintbrush and continues painting, getting the higher spots that Eddie couldn’t reach as easily. Steve considered making a height joke, but Eddie seemed to have his hands full with his brewing allergy attack.
Eddie manages to hold back his sneezes for a few minutes, but eventually his best efforts to hold back fail. He fumbles to set down his paintbrush on a nearby picnic table and grab his handkerchief from his back pocket in time to cover, “h’gNXch!-tsch! g’zxcht! heh…. hh.”
Eddie pauses for a second, his breath still hitching delicately. He keeps the handkerchief held against the lower portion of his face. It doesn’t take long for him to snap forwards again, “h’HnGSxh! hh- hehETSCH-TSHCiew!”
He manages to stifle the first sneeze, but the next two escape him, tumbling out in rapid succession.
“Bless you,” Steve says again, setting down his own paintbrush and putting the lid on the paint, “Alright, let’s get you inside,” he says gently, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s waist and guiding him towards the door.
Eddie doesn’t bother fighting back. His hands are still steeped over his nose and mouth.
“hh-hih-?” After a particularly dramatic false start, Eddie groans and rubs harshly at his nose, “Fugk me.”
“I don’t think now’s really the time, Munson,” Steve jokes with a little smirk. Eddie blushes. Steve’s hand rests on his lower back as he climbs the steps into the trailer.
Eddie misses his boyfriend’s touch when he removes his hand from Eddie’s waist.
“I’ll be right back, you should wash your hands and face,” he kisses Eddie’s forehead, “and change your clothes,” he adds bossily.
Eddie nods, knowing Steve is right, but still wanting to plop down on the couch as is. He starts with washing his hands, walking to the bathroom and lathering on soap.
He turns on the faucet and curses as the itch returns with a vengence.
“hheh-hh’ETSCHew! hh’HHG’ngXT!” He just barely manages to stifle the second sneeze, and the first left a light spray on the mirror. Eddie cringes, “gross,” he mutters as he finishes washing his hands and then grabs some toilet paper and wiping off the mirror.
Next, he splashes some water on his face. He pauses, grabbing a nearby hand towel and muffling an englaught of sneezes, “hHMPtCH! m’DTSChu! hh-hehHDSCHew! F-heh-fugk… hhGN’knt! gX-tsch!”
When Eddie looks up, Steve is standing in the doorway with a concerned expression, “Bless you Eds.”
“Sndf, thankgs,” he cringes at how congested he sounds. He finishes washing his face and then walks to his bedroom, peeling off his pollen-coated clothes and exchanging them for pjs and a cropped band T-shirt.
He barely manages to cover in time, spraying his palm. He walks back to the bathroom and blows his nose into a wad of toilet paper, feeling a little grossed out/embarassed by how productive it is. He washes his hands again.
He walks to the kitchen where Steve is waiting with two benadryl and a glass of apple juice. Eddie grins at the juice. He swallows the pills and then kisses Steve lightly, “thank you baby.”
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My first original piece I've posted here! Around 9k words.
This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. I hope someone else can enjoy it too!
Best Laid Plans
Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.
These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)
(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).
THIS STORY IS NSFW!
-
It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and like to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.
Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.
“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”
“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”
“Similar to allergies?”
“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”
Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”
“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”
So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.
“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”
She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”
Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”
“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”
That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”
She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”
“That sounds unlikely.”
“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”
“For.. like, tactically?”
“Yes, strategically. Now, tilt your head and relax.”
He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.
“Okay, deep breath..”
Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.
“Why is it salty?”
“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”
He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited as his nose began to run. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.
“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”
“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice.
It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.
“What now?”
“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”
He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”
“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”
He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”
“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.
“Stop.”
“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”
Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”
---
And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.
Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be.
He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.
Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.
“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”
It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”
“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”
He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.
“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”
“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.
“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”
In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water.
“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”
The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.
“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”
That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.
“H-HUHhh..”
Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”
Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..
He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”
His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and got caught in his stubble. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”
The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.
“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”
The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.
“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”
Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do..
“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”
.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-..
“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”
Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.
There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.
“What the fuck, Anita.”
“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”
He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”
She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”
He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”
His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set it -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.
The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”
Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”
“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”
“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”
“But it does tickle?”
“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”
She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”
All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.
“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”
His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”
The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.
“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”
“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.
Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.
It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.
“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..”
His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.
“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”
Omicron rarely swore, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.
“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.
Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”
Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”
It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-
“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”
A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.
“..hihHIT-!”
“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”
Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.
And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”
“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”
He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.
“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..”
His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.
“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”
He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”
Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”
Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.
Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”
“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.
“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”
“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”
Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”
Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”
“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”
“Thad’s because I DON’D!”
His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.
“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”
Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”
He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.
“H-ih.. TZSshoo!”
He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.
Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”
“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.
“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”
Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”
Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”
She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.
“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”
Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.
“Omicron, are you listening?”
He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”
“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”
He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”
“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”
Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”
Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”
“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”
Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.
Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-
“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..”
The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.
Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”
“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.
She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”
“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”
Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”
He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”
She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”
She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”
“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”
He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”
Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.
“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”
“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”
He shook his head.
“One more?”
He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..”
Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.
Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..?
Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.
“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”
That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here.
“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”
“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”
“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”
Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”
Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.
“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.
Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”
“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”
Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.
“Like feathers.”
“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”
The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…
Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.
Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”
Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.
His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.
“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”
The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.
“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”
His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”
The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.
“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”
“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.”
These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath.
“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”
He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.
“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.
“Yes, just-” came another.
Omicron sneezed.
“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”
That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now.
He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”
“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears.
And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-
“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”
The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-
“hHHHHH-”
“Oh no you don’t.”
The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.
“Blow your nose, Omicron.”
He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-
“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”
It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.
He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.
Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.
Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes.
“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.
Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”
“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”
“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”
The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”
Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.
“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”
Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.
Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”
“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”
Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”
On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior.
“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”
Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.
Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.
Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.
“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”
Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.
“.. yeh..hssirr..”
Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”
Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”
Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”
Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you?
“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”
He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which…
Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.
“..uh-..”
The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..
“.. huhh-..”
If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-
“HAH-!”
Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!
“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”
Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.
“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”
Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues.
“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”
“.. Tha’g you.”
Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.
“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”
“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in.
Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.
So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”
Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal.
“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”
It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.
When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.
“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”
Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”
Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”
Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”
Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”
“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”
Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”
Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”
Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”
Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”
Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.
However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.
His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.
Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.
/tbc??
I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!!
Okay listen imagine this. You're using a feather to induce your sensitive partner. Every time they build up to sneeze, you pull the feather away and switch to teasing their genitals with it.
Of course, they're not allowed to sneeze or touch themselves until they're told to. They gasp and hitch and quiver as you slowly bring them to the edge. Your poor overwhelmed partner alternates between begging to sneeze and begging you to stroke them harder.
"Oh, please...aaaah, I need to s-sneeze. Please...tickle maaah-my nose a-again... I-huh-huh-huuuuuhohgodwaitdon'tsuh-stop!"
You bring the feather up to their nose once more and tell them not to hold back.
what if a character is just so allergic to cats and then their partner dresses up as a black cat for halloween. cute….except it starts them off sneezing. a full fit. like, they know it’s not a real cat, there’s no real allergen present, but it’s like a pavlovian response. they can’t help it. (bonus if their partner thinks it’s adorable/is into it)
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In The Name Of Science (f, cold, f/f (plus m and f, v0yeurism NSFW) 2/2
Hey guys, sorry it took me so long, like i said in my last post I am going through the ringer rn BUT I had some free time at work today so I finished it off - hope it lives up to expectations 😖
Maria pulled a trolley closer into the light, the cold silver gleaming and with one hand she rubbed Libby's exposed clit gently, eliciting sniffly groans.
“I'll be stimulating you in a number of ways,” she explained, taking a plastic cover off the trolley to reveal an array of toys. A textured bullet. A massage wand. A suction vibe, to name a few.
Libby whimpered, this was really happening.
“It's going to be an exercise in patience,” Maria continued, “in order for the team to get as accurate readings as possible and for us to assure peak arousal, we'll need to really work you over.”
Her fingers never left Libby's clit as she spoke and Libby drew in measured breaths, knowing another sneeze was looming near.
She couldn't help but notice Maria hadn't been masked up like the other assistants. She would be having prolonged contact with Libby. Libby who was strapped down and unable to cover her mouth right now. How was she going to avoid being exposed to Libby's germs? With horror, Libby realised she might actually -
“Ahh-hah- !”
she might genuinely -
“Hhhhah…”
-have to sneeze right on this -
“Adcht - !”
-frankly gorgeous woman -
“Heh…”
-while she…gets her off…
Libby felt her groin relaxing, her pussy leaking at Maria's skilled touch. Her middle finger was now flicking gently up and down her clit at a steady pace while she surveyed her table, mentally selecting which one to try first.
“Mb…Mbaria?”
“Hm?”
“I…haaah..ndeed to…uh..udht..!”
Maria added another finger and began to use both, rubbing horizontally.
“Need to what? Sneeze?” She chuckled, “Well, better out than in.”
“B..but I'll s…sdneeze all…hah…all…hahdt’! Hatsh! Haahh..! All over…!”
“Come on, baby, just let it out.” Maria cooed, “I'm a nurse, it's not my first time being sneezed on. Plus, you're so sick right now. You can't help it.”
A wave of pleasure surged through Libby as she heaved in a breath, the tickle roaring forth from her nose with a sopping vengeance.
“Bless you.”
Libby squirmed and upon opening her eyes she saw, with horror, a glittering spray adorning the front of Maria's scrubs.
“I'b - haaah - so sooorrr - hhhhh…!”
The deft movements against her clit rendered her unable to finish apologising and Maria shushed her, smiling.
“You look so cute like this,” she chuckled, “I can't wait to bring those inhibitions down. Once we progress to the next stage, I think you'll be worrying considerably less about sneezing on me.”
“Nd…ndext stage…?” Libby panted, sniffling thickly through her flooded nose.
“When you reach a certain level of arousal I'll start to use these,” she jerked her head toward the table, “and they aren't as gentle as my fingers are.” Maria's fingers added the tiniest bit more pressure in their ministrations, “I'm very good at this, you know. I'll make you forget all about this awful cold. I'll make you forget your own name. All you'll be thinking about is cumming.”
Libby whimpered, wiggling her nose helplessly. It was getting so tickly again. She needed to blow her nose and every fibre of her sensibilities was screaming at her to get a tissue - she wouldn't dream of sneezing so openly, especially with this kind of cold, but there were no tissues in sight and the doctors had done a very good job of tying her down.
“We'll try this one first, shall we?”
Maria selected the bullet. A standard, sleek shape, small and matte, thin, ridged ribs ringing around it from tip to end.
“Ungh…”
The tickle was growing again and Libby was desperately trying to find the balance between sniffling enough to keep her nose from running even more and sniffling without triggering a sneeze.
Maria stood at her side, gazing down at her with a mixture of pity and desire as she placed the vibrator on Libby's quivering flesh.
“You poor thing. Don't worry, I'll make you feel all better.”
She pushed the button and Libby forgot all about the sneeze brewing in her nose. She was electrified, a gentle hum thrumming through her clit that made her squeal at the sudden contact. Sighing contentedly when Maria moved it in a twisting motion, letting the touch harden.
“Ohhh, you like that, hm?”
Libby nodded, another sharp gasp emitting from her lips when Maria gently grasped a nipple and squeezed it between a thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth.
“Keep steady, Maria,” Dr Palmer's voice sounded over an intercom, “her arousal levels are elevating nicely.”
“ADSH'TSCHIIIIIEWWWW!”
His voice was amused, “Bless you, my dear.”
Libby could hear the titters of the audience through the mic and she blushed furiously, seeing she had sprayed her entire chest area, including Maria's hand on her nipple, which hadn't even flinched.
This carried on for some time, Maria, infuriatingly keeping at a soft pace. Libby, through teary eyes, had noticed the machine attached to the dildo would starr beeping whenever the sensation started to heighten and Maria would stop or slow even further, leaving her whimpering ill-temperedly.
Much to the delight of her audience.
Maria laughed too, “I know, I know darling - bless you! That was a big one!”
A buzzer went off, startling them both and Dr Palmer's voice sounded over the mic again.
“Time for stage two, Maria.”
Maria smirked, her grin reaching wide across her face and she switched off the vibe, withdrawing from Libby, who was midway through another torturous build up (and by God, was it torturous).
Maria replaced the bullet on the tray and made a show of gliding her hands over the selection.
“Hmmmm…which one….aha!”
She grasped the massage wand like a weapon and showed it to Libby, who's eyes widened.
“Relax,” she chuckled, “its a gentle giant.”
Libby couldn't tell how much time had passed. She must have been here for hours by now. Or at least it felt like hours.
Maria was gliding the massager over her clit, now hot and throbbing much like her poor leaking pussy - full, rosy, ready to explode -
“Heyat'CHIIIIEEEWW! Oh…”
-or was that her nose?
And was it just her or was she getting wetter with each sneeze?
She had never noticed until now but she seemed to…contract each time she sneezed, as if she was squirting just a little each time. The sensation in her nose seemed to mirror her building orgasm.
Or it would if Maria would let her.
Every so often Libby would feel the low rumble in her loins as her clit seemed to dance and quiver on its own. Her breathing became hard, sometimes letting out little unintentional moans.
Most of the time, Maria would catch her and ease off the stimulation, letting her clit contract and flare and watch with some amusement as Libby wrestled with the dual sensations of needing to sneeze and needing to cum.
With another two voracious sneezes, Libby heard the observers above chuckle with delight at how the feeling had her moaning and gasping, as if she were really being fucked, as if she…
“Stop.”
Dr Palmer's voice rang out over the room, mirth curling around that one word.
“Progressing to stage three, Maria. Libby, you're going to feel some…pressure from the machine but don't be alarmed.”
“P-pressure…?” Libby repeated, sneezing again.
“Bless you. Don't worry, it won't be painful. In fact, with your levels the way they are it should feel…rather pleasant.”
Libby looked down at herself. Her skin sparkled with the mist she had sneezed all over herself, her chest flushed. Her nipples were now a darker shade of pink and almost painfully taut. Her soft flesh striped with grooves where she had strained against the straps that bound her.
But what had really caught her attention was her pussy.
She had never paid much attention to it before now, even when she pleasured herself in the past she had never studied it, per se. She knew what it looked like but right now, after all the torture that had been inflicted…
Her clitoris seemed to stand up, a light shade of mauve and…pulsing slightly. It was incredible, the flesh around it stained similarly with the blood, engorging it to almost twice its normal size.
“Pretty, isn't it?” Maria smirked, “It really is a joy to be playing with you like this. Ready to go, Dr Palmer!”
“Good.”
The machine whirred to life and trembled inside of her before moving mechanically back and forth, hitting the spot inside her pleasurably and Libby moaned, nasally.
Maria loomed over her, the next toy in hand. Smooth, hard, pink, with a circular device on the end.
“Here we go…” she sang, covering Libby's clitoris and fitting it snugly inside the circle.
All at once Libby stiffened, crying out hoarsely. She couldn't even stifle her vocalisations down to a whimper at this point. It was as if Maria had attached a vacuum to her clit, sucking it like a half-frozen milkshake as the air scraped over her. She was incoherent, shouting, pleading with Maria, with the doctors, with the audience to let her finally release this time. Her loins felt nothing short of inflamed. Desire burned at her skin. Her pussy, so full, dripped greedily as she ground her hips, needing to take more and more inside of her. Her clit jumped and strained against the airflow of the vibrator. She wanted to, needed to, had to -
“And stop right there.”
“No!” Libby screamed, tears leaking from her sapphire eyes, “Please let me…! I can't take anymore…I'm begging you…I'll…I gotta….hah…ah…!”
“You…what, Libby?” Dr Palmer's voice shook with laughter.
“I…haaaah…!”
She flushed furiously, hearing the sniggers of derision over the microphone.
“Come on, spit it out.”
She tried, God, she tried but the tickle had seized her nose to the point where getting her sentence out would be impossible.
“Ahhhh…aaaaah…!”
“Come on, Libby, you can do it…”
“Ha'tsch….adt'ch….!”
“Give us a nice big sneeze, sweetheart, you can do it.”
Face screwed up, nostrils fully flared, Libby had now forgotten her embarrassment entirely. They wanted a sneeze? She'll give them a sneeze.
Her high-pitched blasts reverberated around the room and Maria was now openly laughing along with the voices over the mic.
“Good girl, Libby,” Dr Palmer snickered, “what a sneeze! Now. What did you want to say?”
Slurring her words and rolling her head, she pleaded.
“Let me cum. Please. I'll do anything.”
She could hear the grin on the doctor's face as he repeated.
“Anything?”
She nodded, whimpering pathetically.
A pause.
“I'll leave it to you, Maria. Use your professional judgement.”
Libby stared imploringly at Maria, who now looked like the cat that got the cream.
She traced her fingers up and down Libby's heated, naked body, circling her nipples gently.
Libby moaned, now gasping at the sight of her poor, wanting clitoris.
It was engorged, purple, at least an inch in width and height, reaching up and pulsing, as if also pleasing with Maria for mercy too.
Maria, for her part, straddled the machine in front of Libby and began pressing buttons as it roared up once again. Libby shouted out as the device plunged into her again and again, harder and faster this time. Maria leaned forward, hands flat on the chair and bent down, tongue enveloping Libby's clit.
Lightning stuck and Libby heaved in a breath, the sensation rumbling upward, upward, upward -
“HEH'TSCHIIEW! IIIIH'TSCHIIIEEW!”
Libby didn't even care that she was sneezing all over the nurse, all she could care about, all she was aware of was the sensation that threatened to rip her apart, consume her entirely, fuck, fuck…!
Time no longer existed, she might have passed out. She certainly didn't remember the feeling tapering off. All she remembered was the aftershock flowing through her groin and the sound of applause surrounding her. Maria, Dr Palmer, the medical staff, a group of well-dressed individuals all clapping and giggling.
“Bless you, Libby.” Dr Palmer grinned, “That was quite the show. Can I offer you a tissue? How's your nose feeling?”
Libby sniffed experimentally. A tickle lingered, there was a dampness there but otherwise…
“Clear. Thanks.”
The doctors beamed, Maria caught her eye and winked.
“Excellent,” Dr Palmer nodded, “I think we have some really promising results here. I think that's cause enough to celebrate…”
