Weeee

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

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

“You need to stay in your seat, sir”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure you’re alright, kid?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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