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aching-tummies · 2 years

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"Us together on a Ferris wheel that is stuck with us being on the top. The management couldn't do anything and we are stuck there for sometime now. You have acrophobia and in order to avoid any mishap you haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. Now, you stomach is full on growling with continuous hunger pangs.

You beg to rub your stomach and when I hit the right spot I couldn't help myself and create a full blown stomachache for you.

Your tummy is really hurting now and you beg me to apply pressure. You're well aware about my fascination and let me have my way it it. But I lost control and now I'm full on probing your stomach disregarding your attempt to stop me."

There’s the construction crane…wait…what direction was it pointed at from our house? What orientation would it be relative to the event grounds…it was slightly to the left from the living room…it’s facing to my right from this angle…so…is it even the same crane? ARGH! Ugh…

I clutch my stomach as a pitiful burble vibrates in the upper left quadrant, rattling against my ribs. Vertigo tickles at the back of my skull, dangerously close to triggering the sensation of nausea that usually hits slightly lower down. Queasiness is already in full swing under my palm, and I can’t seem to muster the pressure to squeeze it out of my guts. I close my eyes, desperately trying to slow my rapidly increasing heartrate as I feel what’s below me sway from the very slight movement of me leaning back in my seat.

“…dumb idea…” I fail to bite back my words.

“Hm? You say something, Sweetheart?” You look up from your phone where you’ve been nonchalantly texting some friends, maybe updating your status to ‘Stuck at the top of the Ferris Wheel--#romantic’ or something. Unlike me, you’re actually enjoying this.

Our city decided to put on a winter-time fair, complete with rides and everything. We came to the event to see the Christmas light decorations and attractions. Well, I came for the lights; you came because you heard they brought in a Ferris wheel. A really, really big Ferris wheel.

The health crisis kind of shot down traditional ‘romance’, the kind of thing that you craved. Dining-in at a place with non-disposable cutlery, having our hands brush up against each other in a container of overpriced popcorn, or just getting out and doing something together. A lot of places have been closed for the last two years and even without that it was hard enough to get me to agree to go anywhere. Sharing a blanket as we watch a totally-not-romantic movie at home is basically my go-to idea of a ‘date’. I agreed to come out tonight because you lit up at the opportunity to go to an event and have a “proper” date. The Ferris Wheel had me on edge though.

I’ve never ridden on a Ferris Wheel before. I’ve got a few phobias, but I wouldn’t count acrophobia among them. I just get really uncomfortable with heights or with see-through flooring. I get a little disoriented. My brain sees the thing and then fills in the sensation of falling, of having the ground beneath me disappear. It’s like that movie where the feeling of falling is supposed to be a sure-fire way to wake someone up…I get that imbalanced feeling whenever I’m high up or when the thing I’m supposed to be standing on isn’t as sturdy as I want it to be or when the railings are too low to be up to code.

A small part of me was hoping that we’d miss the last ride. You had your heart set on getting on the thing as part of the last ride of the night for the best ‘romantic’ atmosphere. The health crisis, busy schedules, and my guilt over my aromantic tendencies caused me to cave and agree to pre-purchasing tickets for the last ride.

I like how Christmas lights look so stunning in the dark. I like how the little pinpricks and tiny bulbs shine brighter than neon signs in the dark. You told me that getting to the top of the Ferris wheel would turn the entire city into a grand light display. The idea of witnessing that kind of thing is the only reason I didn’t bolt when we got in line for the Ferris wheel. I wanted to see our city as a sea of lights. Stupid, in hindsight. I’ve seen lit-up cityscapes in pictures. I’ve witnessed them while on buses between towns.

The idea of being disoriented, of my brain filling in the feeling of falling and leaving my stomach contents behind made me nervous. I didn’t want my brain tricking me into losing my dinner in front of you—this is supposed to be a date and all. So…yeah…I kind of skipped dinner…and lunch…and breakfast…and dinner the night before. I don’t even remember if I ate lunch yesterday. You had a closing shift yesterday and cooking for one wasn’t too enticing for me and I think I got absorbed in a hobby or whatever so that’s what happened to yesterday’s dinner. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, so I was rushing to make bus transfers rather than hunting down breakfast in the morning. We were busy at work, and I had the looming threat of the Ferris wheel to look forward to tonight, so I opted to skip lunch too. Our original plans had us going out to grab dinner before heading out to see the lights. I’d planned to maybe eat something light because my stomach was pretty achingly empty by lunch, but a coworker failed to come in, resulting in me agreeing to stay for an extra couple of hours until the boss could find a replacement.

I squeeze my eyes shut as my tummy rumbles angrily. I rub gently over my shirt, but the sensation seems to just wake my stomach up even more and I bite back a groan. Vertigo and nausea are still warring at the back of my head, but hunger has dealt a KO to queasiness in my guts…for now. I’m hungry. No. I’m beyond hungry. It feels like my stomach is twisting itself into knots, trying to take a bite out of itself in an effort to get something to digest into it.

GrrRRlll..rrrr…grk…

I curse under my breath. The hunger pangs are really intense and in my starved state I don’t have the strength to give myself a good massage. I’ve been feeling a bit faint since we got to this event. My body’s running low on energy. The lights were kind of blurry to me while we walked around. The hunger pangs had subsided (thankfully) while we were walking with just the occasional quiet rumble muffled by the warm layers of coats and clothing I have on.

I was staring out into the distance as our capsule slowly made its way up, higher and higher. I got on this thing to see the cityscape lit up before me like some huge birthday candle array and I wasn’t going to miss my chance to see it. Also, staring into the distance kept the uncomfortable disorientation at bay. The view of the horizon doesn’t change all that much, while closer landmarks would surely intensify the vertigo. As our pod rose, steadily, so too did the discomfort in my belly. The cramps were gnawing and chomping at the bit, preparing to snarl and embarrass me in front of you and ruin the moment.

That’s when it happened. With a massive jolt, our capsule just stopped. We were tossed around in our pod, like dice in a cup before everything just stopped. The jarring movement had sent you barreling into me, and your palm had buried itself painfully into my midriff. That set the hounds of hell loose in my guts and I’ve been fighting the hunger pangs ever since, digging my fingers into my tender tummy whenever I could feel a cramp building to a head. I’ve been disarming the growls amazingly well for the last ten minutes or so. Silver lining: the task of hiding my angry tummy has distracted me from the creeping vertigo of being over two hundred feet in the air, swaying in a pod of welded-together sheet metal.

Your sharp gaze snaps to my midriff. Screw it. Abandoning the pretense, I finally give into my body’s desires, and I curl up on my seat, opposite yours, bringing my knees up and sandwiching my arms over my achingly empty tummy. I lean to the side, resting my head against the cool metal of the side of the cart. The pod sways at my movements and I bite back another groan. It’s a good thing I’m so empty because I’m pretty sure I’d have thrown up when the ride came to such a jarring stop. Nausea is putting up a really nasty fight with vertigo in my head and it’s only a matter of time before the two of them decide to join forces to make me heave. Hunger has won the battle in my guts and queasiness is down, but not out. Once the hunger pang passes, I’m sure I’ll be back to feeling queasy too. As much as the hunger pangs hurt, I’m not looking forward to feeling nauseous and queasy on an empty stomach. Once we get off this ride, I’m going to hunt down something to cram into my belly to shut it up. Yeah, I’m tired from the unexpectedly long shift at work and all, but damnit I’m hungry and I want food!

The pod sways again and I groan, wondering if strong winds are the cause.

“Babe? You okay?” Nope—it was you, getting up from your side and walking over to my side of the gondola. The pod tips slightly as you sit down, and I swallow a puff of air from my stomach clenching in a non-productive heave. Unbidden, I let out a whine as my stomach cramps like a vice. I feel miserable.

Your hand tentatively reaches out, resting on my elbow and creeping forward steadily. Your slender arm acts like a shiv, getting between my knees and my arm and forcing me to uncurl slightly.

“Sweetie, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Your other hand has gone to my shoulder, trying to coax me out of my curled-up position.

“Unngh…urgh…h-hungry…” I moan and curl up tighter as my stomach clenches yet again. With our proximity, you finally hear the growl tear through my insides. A swell of pity wells up in you.

“Oh…oh, Honey.” You coo at me, pulling me away from my almost laying down position so that I’m now leaning against you. Your left arm goes across my back to rest on the far side of my waist and your right pries my arms away from my stomach, pushing incessantly against my thighs to lower my legs back down to try to make me more comfortable.

“Did they do that thing again where they scheduled your lunch break too early in your shift? You did take on those extra hours today.”

“Ah…uhm…n-no…” I look away from your gaze, suddenly sheepish. I rub at my belly again, hand worming between two of the buttons on my coat. I’d long since pulled the zipper down on my hoodie underneath, allowing me to rub at my stomach over my T-shirt. The lack of calories is making it hard for me to regulate my body temperature. My extremities are very cold and even with all those layers of clothing I feel like my core is quickly losing heat. It’s uncomfortable. “I…I kinda…s-skipped lunch…?” I shrink under your gaze. You’ve already put it together, knowing that I skipped breakfast too and that there wasn’t any evidence of me having eaten the night before either. Your frown tells me everything.

Body image and food/calories have been a bit of a problem for me all my life. We both love tummy-kink and indulge a few times a month. To circumvent the nastiness of eating problems we’ve got a hard rule about intentional fasting. We usually reserve it for days off when we can fully indulge in our fun side. Choosing to skip lunch on a non-kink day is a big no-no for us. You know I packed a lunch today, so the skip had to be intentional.

Grrrk…grrblrr…

My belly rumbles between us, almost like the awkward tumbleweed in old Western films. It breaks the silence and the awkward tension between us though. I shrink back into myself, curling up as best I can against the building clenching of my guts. I whine against it as the cramp intensifies beyond what I thought was the peak. My own hands fail to provide comfort. This cramp goes pretty deep, and I swear I can feel it by my spine. No matter how hard I try, my prodding fingers don’t provide any relief. In an instant, I’ve snatched your hand and have pulled it into the folds of my jacket. I press your palm against my belly, reveling in the slight warmth your hand provides.

You feel my stomach quaking beneath your palm as a result of the massive, empty rumbles resounding throughout. Quickly, you find the epicenter of the latest growl and prod deeply with two fingers. A whimper builds in my throat but my grip on your wrist pushes your hand deeper. You can feel the warm squishiness of my organs around your fingers, the differences in firmness giving you an idea of the edges of different organs. We wait out the hunger pang. You can tell when it begins to ebb, both from the easing beneath your fingertips, jabbed so deeply into me that it must hurt, and from the way my body unclenches. The sharp growl ends in a pitiful rumble that goes on for a few seconds. Migrating air bubbles send the sound churning around my abdomen until it tapers off somewhere. You pull your arm back as my grip on your wrist relaxes and I pout at the loss.

“Uhm…uh…c-could you…couldyourubmytummy?” I say the words in a rush, my face coloring. You know exactly what I asked but you can’t help but want to tease me just a little.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

I take a deep breath, wincing as the intake of air causes my stomach to spasm again.

“M-My tummy really hurts. I’m so…so empty. C-Could you p-please rub my tummy for me?” I tug at your wrist, trying to bring your hand back to its rightful place over my sore guts.

You smirk and move your hand on your own, but you don’t slide it back into my coat.

Pop…pop…pop.

You undo the buttons on my coat, starting from the bottom and moving up. You pull my coat open once the buttons are undone, revealing the partially unzipped hoodie. The temperature difference causes my stomach to spasm, and you make quick work of the zipper, pressing your palm firmly over the thin T-shirt hiding my tender, chilly midriff. You run your hand all over my belly, sliding your hands under my loose waistband and mapping out my starved guts. I haven’t allowed myself to get quite this empty in a long time and you’re having fun getting reacquainted even as I wince and groan as a result of your ministrations.

Without the muffling properties of my layers of clothes the growls are quite loud now. The sheet-metal of our small capsule creates an acoustic phenomenon that’s music to your ears as the growls ricochet off the metal and back to us. I whimper and shiver and squirm in your arms, fighting to pull my coat closed to trap as much warm air as I can. The movement of your arm prevents my coat from staying closed for long and any residual trapped heat quickly disappears. My only source of warmth now comes from you.

Your barely-there rubs across my tummy have caused my loose T-shirt to ride up, exposing my bare stomach to the elements. You’re transfixed, watching my abdominals contracting against the cold, twitching like I’ve been attached to a live wire. It’s adorable to you and it stirs your sadistic side.

I bite my lip and buck up a bit, trying to get more pressure and warmth to my gut. You’re leaning over me, and my hands are trapped at my sides in this position.

“C-Cold! B-Babe, i-it’s c-c-cold.” I whine as my stomach continues to convulse, much to your delight. In my starved state each muscle spasm is clearly visible and it’s like my midriff is dancing before your very eyes. You trail your fingers across it, barely touching it, walking two fingers over my bare stomach like some ballerina hand-puppet. All the while my stomach quakes from chills and the growls going off like pop-rocks throughout my digestive tract. I’m utterly empty right now and it shows.

The chill sets in, awakening a new sensation in my guts. Being achingly empty and chilly has mixed into a foreign ache that I’m having a hard time placing. My stomach is starting to hurt. There’s the ache from my muscles getting tired from being torn up in all the cramps, the gnawing hollow ache from being hungry, but I’m starting to feel a dull, throbbing pain in my organs. I wince, whining against the new sensation. My tummy continues to rumble, but nothing like the really loud one that caused me to ask for belly rubs. You look up, your attention broken by the pained whimpers I’m making. You lay your palm over my belly, providing some of the pressure I’ve been desperately seeking.

“Sweetheart, you okay?”

“N-Nnno…” I slur out while still biting back my cries of pain. “Hurts…s-s-stomach…h-hurts…” My teeth chatter. I’m so cold. “I-I…’m g-getting a-a stomach a-ache.” I squirm beneath you, not liking the building ache in my guts at all. A bubble of air squeezes passed all the clenched muscles and I let out a barely noticeable burp of empty air. My guts grumble at the loss.

You pull my shirt back over to cover up my belly and run your palm over the smooth surface, providing me with a little bit of warmth. You’re basically straddling me at this point.

“Sweetie, what color? Tell me honestly, do you want to stop?” We use the traffic light system often in our adventures and explorations. Red means ‘stop immediately’, yellow means ‘slow down’ or ‘continue…but with conditions/in a different direction’ something of the like, ‘green’ means all good and go ahead.

I think for a minute, the cold making it really hard to concentrate. I focus on your warm hand over my shirt. We’ll probably be up here for however long it takes them to fix the ride. What we’ve been doing has been a stellar distraction from the disorientation of being so high up. I’m starving, cold, and my stomach is starting to ache in earnest…but I don’t feel like I’m falling. Actually, lying here has made the vertigo almost completely disappear. My view out the windows at this angle just shows me the sheer black of the sky. I can almost pretend we’re getting frisky in the back seat of a car or something rather than hundreds of feet off the ground.

“Y-Yellow. I-I’m really c-cold. C-Cont-tinue…b-but…c-coat…warm…d-don’t want…d-don’t like…tummy ache…” I’m having trouble putting my desires into words, but thankfully, you get the picture.

You tug my coat back together, buttoning the buttons back together. You push the bulk of my infinity scarf into my coat, sealing in the warmth around my chest and neck. I expect you to get off me and allow me to sit up, but you do not. You use your hand to push my shoulder back down against the hard seat, the other slides in from the side, slipping between the buttons on my coat. You rub and prod at my tummy over my shirt from that position. I lie back again, closing my eyes against another building hunger pang. As it builds, you lie down over me, resting an ear directly over the epicenter of the building hunger pang over my thick coat. The hand buried in my coat doesn’t stop moving, prodding and probing at my belly and applying varying increments of pressure. Your intent being to churn up my guts and see how intense you can make my hunger pangs. In my starved state, I can’t actually push you off of me. Not that I’d want to. You’re warm and your familiar weight pressing down against me grounds me. An odd thing to say when we’re over two hundred feet above ground, but you get the idea. We have our safewords and the traffic-light system. We’ll be alright.\

Your palm presses deeply into the middle of my stomach as another large rumble starts to make my insides quake. Another puff of empty air is squeezed out of my guts by your hand. This one’s larger and slightly audible, drawing a sharp little ‘urp’ sound from my throat. I whimper after it, my throat hurting from the air pocket being so rudely forced upwards.

“Aww…well, you can’t be that empty if you’re burping,” You tease, your hand continuing to swirl slow circles over my still-quaking guts. “My, my, I wonder what’s in here. What could be making this cute little tummy so vocal?”

Pat, pat. A hollow thumping slap sounds from the impacts of you patting my sore stomach delicately—almost patronizingly.

A cramp builds, stuck at its apex. I bite back a grunt and wrestle your hand over to the cramping area. You’ve been intentionally avoiding that part of my belly, knowing that eventually your actions would create something intense over there.

“Press here—ah!—p-please!” I whine against the tightness of the cramp. It feels like it got stuck, like it’s a growl that wants to rip through my guts, but it’s just stuck. You smirk devilishly and move your hand away from the area, prodding at a smaller bubble of air diagonally across from where I so desperately crave some pressure. You chase the air bubble over, knowing that it’ll find its way over to the stuck cramp and add to the agony.

This edging goes on for a while, with you dancing your fingers lightly over the cramp but never pressing down on it. Eventually, you decide to grant me some relief. Using two fingers, you prod sharply into the cramp, causing me to let out an exclamation that’s drowned out by the long and painfully loud rumble that rips through the air. You don’t relent, pressing your fingers in deep and firmly as the growl forces its way around your invasive fingers. You’re definitely going to leave a bruise there.

My stomach throbs, though not from your actions. I guess the chill did its damage. I’m empty, in the middle of a nasty bought of hunger pangs that you’ve got no intention of letting pass, and I’ve got a stomach ache too on top of all that.

“Urgh…you’re buying me a burger or something on the way home.” I mutter, resigning myself to letting you have your fun. Honestly, I’m not even sure if I want to eat anymore tonight. I can tell that the new aches in my stomach aren’t a result of being hungry or your rough treatment. My intestines are reacting badly to the chill, twitching and twisting every which-way. If it’s still like this when I finally have an opportunity to eat, then it’s probably going to result in a nasty upset as my intestines fail to move anything along. On top of all that, the only food-places open at this hour are going to be fast-food. Past experience has taught me that breaking my fast on heavily processed, greasy, low-brow fast food often results in a really bad time for my guts. Still, the thought of food—any food—right now stirs a new hunger pang to life. The cramp builds quickly, surprising you as you feel my abdominals tense rapidly against your prodding fingers. It all comes to a head in a near-deafening growl.

You smile, continuing to poke and prod at my belly even as the growl echoes around us. A finger slips during one of your jabs, nailing the sensitive nerve at the base of my navel. I bite back a cry as it triggers another hefty growl before the last one had a chance to end. My digestive tract quakes and something sour stirs as gastric juices begin to secrete from various organs. My stomach burns, accumulating acid with absolutely nothing to dissolve in it. You kick your legs happily behind you, the very picture of a child entranced with a new toy. You hear it when the empty rumbles begin to get laced with some wet squelches, a sure sign that the acid levels in my stomach are rising. Finally, something other than empty air to push around my guts. The idea excites you, like discovering another level in a video game or finding out that your new item of clothing has real pockets. I lie there, letting you do as you will. I guess our first true date night in almost two years is a success: you’re happy.

#hunger kink #RPAsks #tummy kink #tummy noises

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