#and feel so bloated like i want to be squeezed like a toothpaste tube to relieve the pressure

[chapst1ckmcdyke]

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[aching-tummies]

Hi! Your last post is a very interesting stuff!

Actually, I have never been a sadistic type of a partner, but it may be just because I've never tried 😈

Let's say that in the situation you described I would start from pressing my hand hard against your hurting tummy and shaking it a little just to find out how the things are and maybe hear you moaning again.

Thanks for playing along ^^ For people that want to join in, I totally welcome different responses and different takes to the original RP-Starter…and everyone is free to respond to this one and write me a continuation RP-Ask or RP-Lite. Dialogue prompts would be kind of fun.

As for you, @suffering-tummy, I'd want to hear your POV on this. What did you "find out" from your actions after reading this?

Dread grips my heart like a vice when I see the change in your expression. There is no way you didn't hear that. [Your] eyes widen and zero in on my midriff, hidden under a baggy hoodie. My stomach cramps sharply and I wince. There's no way you missed that either.

You step forward, approaching my form curled on the far end of the couch. Bed forgotten, your gaze is transfixed--locked onto the mess I've been desperately trying to hide all day.

Cat's out of the bag. I finally give in and allow myself to cradle my tummy with both arms, being gentle. I don't have much energy left in me to apply pressure, even if I wanted to. I want to if it'll make this mess clear up faster…but at the same time I also don't want to apply any pressure because outward pressure is likely to upset the delicate balance within me. As gross as it is, my digestive tract has been suspended in a sickly stalemate all day. That stalemate will likely be forcefully broken if something were to press into my belly--with messy results. I want this agony to end…but I've let things stew for far too long. When this sickly mass finally exits my body, it's not going to do so quietly, painlessly, or cleanly. It's become more and more acidic as the day has gone on…and I'd like to think it's developed more built-up velocity. All it needs is the right kind of push and "projectile vomiting" or "explosive expulsion" or whatever will be euphemisms for how forcefully this sick will leave my body. My stomach doesn't even have it in it to clench tightly enough anymore--exhausted from having contained this sickness for far too long.

Your hand reaches out before I can beg you to be gentle and it makes contact with my barely-there bloat of a gut. I expected a gentle laying of your palm--the sort of touch born out of curiosity. I was wrong. Your forward momentum doesn't stop as your palm makes contact with my gut. You step forward even after you meet the resistance of my belly.

"NnngghAaAhH!" I I squeeze my eyes shut and a moan is torn from my throat, unbidden.

I feel a sickly squelching in my guts. The sphincter between my duodenum and stomach-organ has finally given out, resulting in me feeling very much like I have a model of an underwater volcano about to erupt. I can feel the dense mass of spaghetti loosening up as a jet of acidic chyme shoots through it. The mushy noodles tickle as they churn and flail around my sickly tummy. Your touch was what did it. The boney bit of the bottom of your palm, beneath your pinky finger, dug into the spot right over my duodenum. The result was similar to pressing down on a full tube of toothpaste. My duodenum was bloated up with the angry acid from my intestines. Your boney wrist gave it the final push to breech the barricade that was the sphincter keeping my breakfast separated from the spaghetti.

Once the resistance of my bloated gut and the force of you pushing into it reach equilibrium, I hope it'll stop. I hope you'll retract your hand after no doubt feeling the sickly churning. You love to subvert my expectations, appaarently.

I can see the faint traces of a tell-tale smirk on your lips. You don't bounce back after feeling the resistance of my gut. You lean into it, pushing harder. I feel something pressing against the base of my esophagus and will that sphincter to hold strong.

I'm trapped. I have the armrest of the couch to my right which is already fairly close to a wall. I'm basically curled into the corner of the couch, leaning against both the armrest and the back of it. Escape blocked on 2 sides just from the furniture placement. You're straddling my left leg, invading my space and sealing off yet another means of escape. I'm pinned. Even if I weren't, the sickly churning of my guts would have immobilized me anyhow. After the eruption into my stomach-organ, nausea has been dialed up to 11. I'd be waiting it out rather than risk splattering vomit onto the couch.

You begin to pump your hand into my belly, shaking it around, pistoning your palm into my somewhat squishy, and very sickly belly.

A segmented mewl reverberates through my throat, interrupted by my convulsive swallowing to try and keep the sick from entering my esophagus.

I whimper as I feel some of the air from a sharp intake of breath go down the wrong pipe and form a bubble in the sick rapidly flooding my stomach. Your rough jostling juggles the bubble, bouncing the marble-sized cramp all over my gut until it finally latches onto the base of my esophagus. With a sharp shake nudging at the base of the bubble, I feel it disappear up my esophagus, bringing a couple of stinging droplets of acid with it.

"Urlp! Urk! Unnn…ugh…urlp…" I burp pitifully, barely managing enough to even produce a puff of air. I feel so, so sick.

"Mmh…pphh…B-Ba-abe…ugh…s-st-stoURP!" A painful slosh of acid jumps into my esophagus and just as quickly splashes right back down, leaving a sour burning sensation that I can feel in my throat. I moan against the sensation, keeping my teeth clenched. I don't have to see your expression to know you are enjoying this. I can feel it from where you're straddled over my left thigh. Your enjoyment meter and the status of my tummy are negatively correlated. As one rises, the other inevitably falls.

[emetoandotherthings]

How bout a slightly bloated and nauseous Damian getting stomach rubs and back pats from one of his mates to help him burp but ends up getting sick? Ahhh I love u and ur writing u have no idea!!! 💕💕

A/N: So! I’ve had this prompt sitting in my inbox for quite some time now, and as @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak and I were chatting about the end of Damian’s Coeliac Saga, this prompt came to mind, so I am dubbing it the epilogue as it’s set when they’re at university!! Thanks anon for the compliment - I hope you enjoy!! 😊😊

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

“Pfffft!” Damian collapsed heavily onto the low sofa in their flat kitchen, resting his head back briefly with his eyes closed. “Alright?” Cain asked, raising his head from the doodle that he’d been staring at while he ate his dinner. “How was your medic’s function?” “Long…” Damian muttered, shifting around on the sofa as though trying to get comfortable. “And full of pompous prats floating through on daddy’s money.” “Oh dear, not worth going to then?” Cain suggested and Damian made a non-committal noise in this throat. “Where are Aleks and Zara?” “Zara was too busy drinking – free wine…” Damian mumbled, rubbing his hands across his face. “And Aleks went – to meet Murray.” Cain looked across at his friend it was unusual for him to be so quiet, and the pauses in his speech pattern only made it more noticeable. “Are you alright?” Cain asked, placing his pencil down from his doodle that had spread across his A4 sheet. “Mmmmm…” Damian hummed, wriggling around on the sofa. “Brrrrraaaaaauuuuuurrrrp!” Damian covered his mouth as a deep belch rolled out of him. “I’m gonna take that as a no…” Cain said, rising from his place at the table and crossing to sit on the sofa next to Damian, who was still shifting in discomfort around the sofa. “What’s wrong?” “Aah – oh – I’m sorry…” Damian forced out, one of his hands moving to his stomach as his face screwed up in pain. “Oh!” “Damian?” Cain put his hand to Damian’s shoulder as his friend suddenly curled forward, both of his arms wrapping protectively around his abdomen. “Okay, Damian, you need to talk to me otherwise I’m going to call an ambulance.” Concern was bubbling through Cain as Damian let out a low moan as he shook his head. “I think…” Damian started to force out, and Cain could hear his teeth grinding as he fought against the pain. “Oh God… I’ve eaten something – with wheat.” Understanding flourished through Cain as Damian rocked back and forth, trying to soothe the cramp in his stomach. “Oh no!” He exclaimed, but couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. “What can I do to help?” “There’s… There’s a hot water bottle in my room,” Damian groaned, “can you get it – for me?” “Of course,” Cain nodded instantly, springing up from the sofa. “I’ll only be a moment.” Cain practically sprinted through to Damian’s bedroom, and grabbing the hot water bottle he ran back. “I’ll fill it up… Can I get you anything else? Would painkillers help?” “N – no…” Damian shook his head, still rocking a little restlessly. “They don’t work when it’s this…” “Oh okay…” Cain was pouring boiling water into the bottle from the kettle; he felt rather helpless. Damian seemed to be in so much pain, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. “Here…” He fastened the lid on the hot water bottle and carried it over to Damian, who accepted it like a lifeline. “Thanks,” he murmured, clutching the bottle to his stomach. “Maybe you’d feel better if you lied down?” Cain suggested, indicating the length of the sofa, but Damian shook his head again. 

“Being upright helps more…” He replied, leaning back and drawing his left leg up so it was bent close to him. “Sorry Cain.” “It’s not a problem,” Cain gushed, “I just want to do anything to help.” “Will… you sit with me?” Damian asked. “Tell me about your day.” “Um well…” Cain tried to think of something other than the fact his friend was writhing in pain. “I’ve got an assignment to create an environmentally friendly structure at low cost that people could reside in permanently.” “Yeah? So what you – thinking?” There was a long enough pause between Damian’s words for Cain to know how difficult he was trying. “I was trying to figure out if I could do a sustainable treehouse,” Cain answered, struggling not to reach out and physically comfort his friend. “Treehouse – sounds great,” Damian nodded, one of his hands rubbing at his chest., A tight build up of pressure in his stomach made him feel like he needed to burp, but every time he tried the air snagged in his throat and wouldn’t bring any relief. “Urgh…” “Oh Damian,” Cain grimaced on his behalf. “Are you sure I can’t do anything more to help?” “I feel like – ugh – I need to burp but I can’t…” Damian said honestly, pressing harder into his stomach. “Do you want me to rub your stomach for you?” Cain offered and Damian stared across at him, his eyes wide – and for a second he looked like a little kid. “Your mum used to do that for you, didn’t she?” “Yeah…” Damian’s voice had gone weak, and his face was pale from the stress of the pain. “Would – would you do that?” “Of course, here…” Cain gently encouraged Damian to rest his head back against the sofa, then peeled away the hot water bottle that was held to his skin. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” “Mmmhmm…” Damian had closed his eyes and appeared to be fighting against the pale. Cain was cautious as he pulled up the t-shirt Damian was wearing, revealing the flesh of his abdomen, and he very gently placed his fingertips onto Damian’s stomach and began to rub a light circle. Cain could hear Damian letting out slow and controlled breaths through his mouth. “Is that okay?” Cain questioned, anxious not to cause any more pain. “Yeah…” Damian mumbled. “I’m sorry – I should have been more careful.” “Don’t be silly Damian,” Cain replied. “You wouldn’t have knowingly done this to yourself!” Damian was rubbing his own chest again, Cain was concerned by how much discomfort Damian was in. “Are you still feeling like you need to burp?” “Yeah…” Damian nodded, opening his eyes to look at Cain. “I feel like all the air’s trapped in here.” He pointed to his upper stomach and screwed his face up once more; under the palm of Cain’s hand he felt Damian’s muscles tense as a cramp wracked through him. “Mmmmmmnn…” “Let me try help,” Cain said nervously, moving his hand further up Damian’s abdomen, and putting more pressure into his skin. “Is that pressure okay?” “Brrruurp!” A short belch burst past Damian’s lips, and his cheeks went a little pink as he mumbled: “Excuse me.” “Did that help?” Cain withdrew his hand quickly, afraid that he’d hurt Damian; but Damian’s hand shot out and grabbed Cain’s wrist. “Please keep doing that – it really helps,” he asked pleadingly. With that permission, Cain put his hand back on to Damian’s abdomen and started to massage up and down its length. As Cain kneaded his fingers he could feel the bloat in Damian’s flesh, and as he pressed further he could almost feel the air moving about in his gut. “Brrrrrrrrrppp!” The deep belch forced out and Damian shifted around on the sofa. “Urgh, this really hurts.” “Is it not getting any better?” Cain questioned as Damian let out another uncomfortable groan; Damian shook his head. “I feel like – my stomach’s expanding…” He explained. “God I can’t believe I used to deal with this every day!” “It’s just a slip up, once it’s out of your system you’ll be back to normal,” Cain told him reassuringly. “I know, I just-” Damian doubled forward again. “I feel so bloated.” Damian looked thoroughly miserable. Cain frowned, trying to think of any other he could help – he had an idea, but wasn’t sure whether Damian would be happy to try. “I’d do anything to get rid of this – urghh…” “Really?” Cain asked, looking at him intensely. “Yeah!” He nodded instantly. “Come here,” Cain began to manoeuvre Damian up from leaning on the back of the sofa. “I’ve got an idea that might help…” “Okay,” Damian shuffled forward to the edge of the sofa. “You’re gonna put your head on my shoulder,” Cain told him, feeling a little apprehensive about what he was going to do, “Like you’re giving me a hug.” “Okay,” he moved so his chin was resting on Cain’s left shoulder and Cain wrapped his arms around his best friend – holding him steady with one arm and using the other to rub his hand up and down Damian’s back. “I used to do this to Jethro and Zachariah when they were little and needed to burp,” Cain said nervously, giving gentle pats into the mid section of Damian’s back. “Baaauuuuurrrp!” Almost instantly Cain felt Damian’s back move slightly as a deep belch rolled out of him, coaxed by Cain’s ministrations. “Oh that felt good… Keep going, please…” Cain smiled slightly, feeling Damian relax into him more as he moved his hand all over Damian’s back. “Buuuhhhrrp!” “That’s it,” he encouraged, running his hand up more firmly and feeling Damian’s spine. “Is this helping?” “Yes,” Damian confirmed; Cain’s hands felt like they were magic, every time they ran up and down his back he felt like another pocket of air was dislodged and pushed up, like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. “If I’d known you were so good I’d’ve come to you before I was diagnosed…” “As long as it’s helping you now,” Cain said, glad that the laboured sounding breaths had died down and Damian no longer seemed to be experiencing such strong cramps. “Brrraaaaaap!” After this burp, Damian let out a little sound of pleasure and seemed to nestle his head further into Cain’s shoulder. 

“You tell me when you want to stop,” Cain muttered quietly, beginning the gentle patting motions again. “Mmhmm… buuuup!” Damian said, “I will.” Cain continued rubbing and patting Damian’s back, hearing occasional burps from him. After a while Cain wondered if Damian was beginning to fall asleep as his weight grew heavier, but, following Damian’s instructions, he kept going. “Buuuuuuuurrr –“ Damian’s shoulders jerked suddenly as an unexpectedly deep belch came from him, “huuuuuuurrrrrk!” Damian’s entire body tensed instantly, but it took Cain an extra second to understand why. He became aware of a warm wet sensation down the left side of his back, he could hear a gentle dripping sound, and Damian seemed to be trembling suddenly. “Damian…?” Cain started slowly. “Mmmmmm…” Damian let out a small whimper. “Did you just puke on me?” Damian drew back, away from Cain’s shoulder, his hands shot up to cover the bottom of his face. His eyes were wide with horror as he nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry!” He whispered, sounding absolutely horrified with himself. “I didn’t – god – I’m so sorry!” “Do you feel better now?” Cain asked, working very hard to keep his voice calm and measured, even though he could feel the dampness seeping through the back of his t-shirt. Damian nodded, not removing his hands from his face. “God, I didn’t know that would happen!” Damian’s pale cheeks were rapidly turning scarlet. “I’m so sorry!” “Damian,” Cain held his hand up to stop his gushing apologies, “I have four younger brothers – do you really think I’ve not been puked on before?” “No, I – oh, I’m sorry!” Damian apologised once more, lowering his hands from his face; Cain reached out and fastened his grip on Damian’s upper arms. “Do you feel better now that’s out?” Cain questioned directly. “Yes,” Damian confirmed. “Right, well stop apologising! I’m just glad you feel okay,” Cain told him. “You sure?” Damian mumbled, staring into Cain’s face like he was looking for any indication that Cain was lying. “Positive!” Cain assured, and Damian relaxed slightly. “And if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go change my shirt…”