#feels like someone is squeezing my gut right around the intestine area

[heirofnepeta]

augh ough urgh i think i should go to the fucking doctor the gut pain from b4 keeps coming back D:

[aching-tummies]

RP-Ask Starter

I'm in the mood for something sadistic (again). So...here's a snippet-starter. If you're a sadistic-partner type, please respond with an RP-ask or a quote for an RP-lite where you continue this scenario with me.

I've managed to avoid you for the whole night.

It's one of those days where you got off work earlier than me. You were done around 2PM and I was closing tonight, off at 8PM. I told you not to wait up, that I wouldn't need dinner tonight and I'd figure out food myself.

Honestly, I had planned for that to be a lie. My stomach's been feeling icky all day. I've been out since 8AM thanks to unreliable transit and me being a stickler for not being late to work. I grabbed a breakfast sandwich from one of the random fast-food chains in the area before my shift and honestly, I'm still feeling it more than 12 hours later. Maybe they used old grease or their English muffin or whatever was stale or their eggs were going bad or whatever. Whatever it was, that craptacular breakfast wasn't supposed to fill me up for long...but it's still in my system more than 12 hours after I polished it off.

All day, I've felt my stomach doing cartwheels inside of me. It's like the breakfast sandwich decided I'm a moon-bounce or something 'cuz that's how my guts feel right now. The damned sandwich refuses to be digested. Around 2PM I swear I felt my intestines returning some chunky slurry of gosh-knows-what to my duodenum. We all know that part of my anatomy is super sensitive. It felt so, so *nasty*. Imagine the most intense torrent of vomit you have ever experienced. That's what it felt like. It felt like my intestines projectiled upwards into my duodenum. I felt the mess bubbling, chundering around itself as the slurry quickly and forcefully pushed through a sphincter that wasn't designed to let things through that way.

That's how things have been all day. I've lost count of how many times I've felt a disturbing "squish" and torrent of slurry travelling with great velocity through my guts in all directions. Clearly, my guts don't feel like being a one-directional system today. It'd be alright if there was some order to the madness...but nope. Twice during my shift I swear I felt the slurry forcefully flood into my stomach-organ. I definitely felt my torso spasm and I could taste the nastiness at the back of my throat. I had a customer in front of me the first time and I managed to play it off and swallow back the grossness. My tummy was *not* happy about that. I ended up making some joke about it almost being my lunch-break when the customer heard my stomach burble after that stunt. I lied--my break happened about two hours before then and I didn't eat a dang thing during it. I spent my break in the washroom at another establishment, trying to quietly coax something to leave my system in any direction. Of course the one opportunity I had to actually tend to my guts was the one moment in the day that everything decided to pause. I spent the entirety of my 30 min break trying everything--rubs, squeezes, punches, chugging my waterbottle--no movement--NONE! And, of course, the second I got back to work it was like someone hit the "play" button. I felt a large torrent of sick drop like a brick through my guts. I legit feared I'd hear a 'splatter' after that. It was close...but the internal ping-pong resumed and the huge torrent ended up being broken up into tinier waves of slurry that took turns travelling in different directions in my guts.

By 8PM, I knew I had 20 minutes until the next bus would arrive to take me home. I ducked into a bathroom stall at a random establishment near the stop and tried again. I got movement--but all of it was concentrated inside--nowhere near either end to expell the horrors that had been plaguing me all day. My abdominals were shot to hell and beyond sore. They'd spent all day contracting involuntarily, trying to keep the slurry in-play...so I guess everything was exhausted. One good clench from anywhere would likely not meet any resistance...but my body was exhausted on all fronts.

The 50 minute bus ride was agony. I spent the whole time with my knees as high as I could get them, pressed tight to the seat-rest in front of me, keeping me curled up around my sore stomach. The weak back and forth churning continued throughout the whole trip. Other passengers definitely heard a stray grumble every once in a while when things were silent (i.e. when the bus was waiting at a light). A few gave me strange looks but I was far too exhausted to care. I spent the whole time with my arms sandwiched against my tummy, imagining that the little strength left in my arms was all that was holding my sickly guts steady. I felt every vibration of the bus and the asphalt go straight to my guts. Vibrations are fun...not when your guts have been quaking sickeningly for twelve hours.

By some miracle, I made it home without making a mess from either end. You'd ignored my messages telling you not to leave me anything and there was a medium portion of spaghetti waiting for me when I got home. You said it was what remained after you put some portions away for tomorrow, claiming that you've never been good at measuring dry pasta.

I ate it. I didn't want to hurt your feelings or waste the food. Besides, despite how sickly my guts have been all day, I know what has gone in there and it definitely wouldn't have been enough sustenance. If the sickness ever passes, I'll be ravenous. I slurpped down the spaghetti.

It's been about 20 minutes since we put the plates away. My stomach hasn't stopped churning. I'd hoped that the influx of good food would have settled my guts, but it's only made everything worse.

The pasta noodles feel like live worms in my guts. I feel like I swallowed a den of snakes. I can feel strands of noodles getting stuck between my stomach-organ and my duodenum--just hanging there between parts of my anatomy (like the feeling you get when stringy food gets caught on your braces or your back teeth and dangles down your esophagus...).

I've managed to avoid you all night, but I can tell you're growing suspicious. I can't help the fact that I've been moving gingerly and discreetly rubbing at my problematic tummy. It hurts. I feel sick. I want to throw up. I want this sickly game of pong to end but nothing I'm able to do to my own guts has managed to push things over one side or another. My sore abdominals are too sore and exhausted to contract enough for me to vomit. I can feel it. I'm too sore, my muscles too strained to muster up enough force to get anything to expel. On top of that, it's not like enough of the sickly mass of undigested food is gathered together in the right place to be expelled. The spaghetti has taken up residence in my stomach-organ--sitting densely as the sphincter remains tightly squeezed shut around a stubborn noodle. The sickly slurry that was once a breakfast sandwich has been passing back and forth throughout my intestines. Thanks to the spaghetti, it hasn't ventured back up into the stomach (yet/) but I can feel the acid slurry licking and burning at my duodenum.

I'm wary of you. If you became aware of the trouble brewing within me, you'd take matters into your own hands--literally. You'd likely squeeze my abused guts, treating them roughly, keeping up the game of pong for your own entertainment indefinitely. We've done it before. You've tortured my guts for hours, juggling bad food back and forth for hours on end, heedless to my mewls of discomfort and relishing it whenever you get me to the point of heaving without the relief of actually expelling anything. Maybe even worse: you'd do nothing. My guts are so sore and the twinges I feel from my guts are so weak that I know for a fact that nothing is going to expel without some outside force being applied. Nothing will move inside of me unless something outside applies enough pressure in the right places to coax it to move toward either end. If you were in a particular type of mood, you'd clue into my stomach troubles and you'd set things up so that neither of us gets to touch my volatile tummy. You'd bind my hands above my head, denying me even the small relief my own exhausted arms can bring. You'd either tie up or sit on my legs to prevent me from curling up and trying to reduce the strain on my abdominals. You'd sit there and just observe--no touching--no helping. Or worse...you'd get all science-y and start probing. As sensual as navel sessions are, I'm really not keen on the idea of having a hard object prodding into my bloated up intestines and stirring up the acidic concoction within. If we're not careful, you might perforate something and I'm pretty sure the acidic slurry has a low enough pH to do some real damage. My duodenum is on fire already after repeated exposure to the once-chunky mess.

I'm on the couch now. I've been here for the last little while, craddling my sickly tummy. I'm hoping I can sneak off to my bedroom and spend all night in my en-suite...praying I can expel the sick quietly. Almost there. If I go to bed before you, you'll know something is up. I gotta wait for you. You shut off the television. It's late--especially for you. You stretch, a tell-tale sign you're gonna get up and bid me good-night.

GrrrrrBLbrrlbrrr.....rrrrr

Dread grips my heart like a vice when I see the change in your expression. There is no way you didn’t hear that. You're 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.

What do you do?

[turningtummyrubs]

b+r (1)

Brandon isn’t sure what it is he ate, but he does know his belly’s been cramping away for the past hour and he feels so nauseated he can barely see straight. The strobing disco lights and music so pounding and loud you can’t hear your own thoughts isn’t helping either.

He and Remy had arrived at the school dance an hour and a half ago at 9:00, and only thirty minutes in, some point after Remy had snuck off to go hang out with his book club friends, his stomach had begun to rebel against itself, violently aching. Brandon, of course, hadn’t let any of the sharp pain he was feeling show on his face, instead continuing to do normal party things. Which meant dancing despite the fact it made his tummy churn furiously and drinking fizzy fruit punch which made his belly burble and burn, inflating with tightness. The heap of candies he’d been forced to consume haven’t helped either, sickly in his gut.

Mandy comes up, breath reeking of cheap beer, and throws her arms around his neck, giggling. “Heyyy, Brandonnnn!”

Brandon grunts as her weight slams against his sick stomach, the alcohol smell intensifying the hot nausea roiling in his belly. “Hey, Mandy,” he says, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

She leans further into him, evidently very intoxicated, and her pointy elbow jabs right into his upset tummy. Brandon gasps with the pain and practically collapses backward into the wall, gently pushing her away into someone else. His hand comes to rest underneath his shirt, rubbing helplessly at the tight skin. 

The churning begins to settle as he stays still but when, the moment he moves, a horrifying rush of intense nausea fills his hoarse throat, Brandon realizes he desperately needs Remy. 

He worms his way through the thick crowds of people, hoping they can’t see the blatant misery on his face in the dark when, halfway through the cafeteria, something tight seizes in his lower belly and cramps.

When the first searingly painful hiccup comes, he’s forced to duck into a dark, empty classroom and collapse into one of the chairs, head falling against the cool wood of the table as the agony in his tummy works its way up to a blinding peak and stays there. He gulps in heavy, nauseous breaths, whimpering as a sharp hiccup burns his throat and jolts violently throughout his entire seething stomach. Before he even realizes, Brandon feels hot tears slipping down his cheeks, completely helpless against the unrelenting pain.

He unlocks his phone with shaking hands and texts Remy: meet me in Ms. Lack’s classroom pls?

Remy arrives in two minutes, brow furrowed in concern the moment he spots Brandon hunched over a desk, cradling his aching belly. When Brandon gasps, something pinching tight after another painful hiccup, Remy rushes to his side, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“Brandon? What’s wrong?”

Brandon takes a shaky breath and, in a strained voice, says, “My stomach… hic—ow… it’s—” A sudden rush of nausea rises up his throat and he inhales a desperate, gulping breath as he violently forces it down, feeling the hot vomit slosh back into his contorting tummy and twist.

“Oh, Donny,” Remy murmurs, so softly another round of tears fill Brandon’s stinging eyes. He can hardly see now, everything a too vibrant blur in his periphery—backseat to the pain consuming every nerve and sense. The roiling contents of his belly roll and undulate like a gurgling stream and he’s forced to fight back another harsh wave of nausea. The fizzy, sugar water he’d drunk earlier that night begins to take its course, inflating his belly with hot, tight air and a painfully tense swell.

“My house is empty but we’re going to have to walk back,” Remy murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down Brandon’s back, though he can barely feel it past the war being waged deep in his stomach. “Do you think you can do that?”

Brandon braces his hands against the desk and pushes up and has to bite back a literal scream once he’s vertical. His belly feels like it’s on fire, and it’s so tight it feels as if someone’s wrapped a heavy rope around it and squeezed. He gasps and chokes on his breath.

Remy immediately helps him back down to the seat and kneels by his side. “Okay, Brandon, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to do as much as I can here until you can walk and then I’ll help you feel better once we’re back home, okay?”

Brandon nods once, breaths short and gasping. Remy locks the classroom door and turns on one of the lights so they’re provided with a bit of light before unbuttoning Brandon’s tight dress shirt so that he’s left in only a T-shirt. Brandon feels a bit of relief as his belly’s able to breathe again. Now that it’s no longer being suppressed by his shirt, there’s a faint swell to it—a curve as tense and hard as a rock. He still feels as if someone’s wrapping a rope around his bloated stomach and tightening it further by the second.

Remy pushes up his shirt so that it’s resting at the aching crest of the swell and places both warm palms on each side of the distended bloat. Brandon whimpers and presses into the touch, desperate for any and all comfort Remy might be able to provide. Remy strokes up and down the tight sides over and over again before cradling the base of the gorge and pressing his thumbs firmly into it. He keeps them there for a few seconds, just pressing, and Brandon’s head tips to the side as he groans. Remy then presses them further up, deeper into the hard surface. Every muscle in Brandon’s body tenses and constricts as the forceful pressure stiffens his entire being. A few seconds after that, Remy presses them in even further so that he must be at least a painful inch in before all the tightness breaks like a cracking shell and his belly softens all at once. Brandon gasps, breathing heavily as his muscles unwind abruptly.

Remy massages gently at his soft, swollen belly, stroking firmly up the throbbing muscles and quelling their painful trembling with methodic pressing and squeezing at the sore sinew. The firm strokes are comforting and help relieve some of the cramps, but all that tightness let up to a heavy, growing pool of churning nausea and Brandon would much rather have that nausea escape in what’s basically his second home than their high school. 

“Ready?” Remy asks, removing his oh-so-comforting hands from Brandon’s distressed stomach.

Brandon sighs, takes a deep breath, and nods. Remy helps him up as he gingerly rises from the seat, a hand cradling the curve of his soft tummy, and he says, “We’re gonna—hic—ow… have to go—hic—slow, okay?”

Remy nods and wraps an arm around his tense lower back as they amble out the room and down an empty hall into the cold, night air. Brandon breathes tight and heavily the whole way there, stopping every few minutes to gasp and clutch his belly as sickness swirls deep inside like a nauseous whirlpool. He’s never felt this horrible before.

Remy quickly unlocks the front door after the painful trek up the stairs and Brandon immediately collapses into the nearest armchair, face sweaty and swollen belly bloated further from exertion. Some of that tightness Remy had managed to dispel back in the classroom has returned, but none of the nausea has waned.

Remy moves into the kitchen to make tea while Brandon slumps heavily into the chair and uselessly smooths his unhelpful palm over the throbbing swell. The hiccups return in full force and he whimpers as they rack his body, muscles in his sore abdomen clenching and twisting around each other, squeezing nausea up his throat. Some vomit trickles into his mouth and he forcefully swallows it down as a painful hiccup aches in his chest.

Remy rummages through the cabinets as the water in the kettle heats, smiling in triumph when he finds the two tall bottles of scented oils specifically for hurting bellies he’d picked up after one too many lactose intolerance incidents with Brandon. Once the water boils, he pours it into a mug with a sweet lemon tea bag and some honey and returns to the living room.

He brushes his fingers through Brandon’s hair and quietly says, “We’re going to have to get you upstairs, okay?”

“Hic—okay…” Brandon murmurs. They hobble up the steep stairs to Remy’s room and bathroom slowly and Brandon leans heavily against the rail as his belly begins to make loud gurgling noises. Remy can hear the fizzy sloshing as the liquid burbles against the tense surface of the swell. That’s what must’ve caused all that bloating. When Brandon hiccups, his entire belly ripples and when Remy places a broad hand against the side of the jutting curve, he can feel the muscles clench tight beneath his palm. He keeps his hand there, rubbing gently at the seizing muscles, all the way up.

As Brandon lowers himself onto the bed, Remy’s probing hand rubs at his burning intestines before sliding up the length to press at the tight crest of the curve. Brandon begins to drink the hot tea and Remy massages the heavy swell. It inflates and bloats further the more he drinks, growing tight beneath Remy’s palms. 

Remy’s hand dips down beneath the hard curve into the soft underside of the bloating and the side of his hand sinks up and into the squishy, feverish area. Brandon gasps and vomit rises in his throat and fills his mouth. Remy immediately grabs a trash can and Brandon turns over the side of the bed as it spills out, choking and gasping for air as the hiccups intensify—both in pain and number.

“Bathroom,” Brandon pants. “I need—” His sentence cuts off as more hot vomit fills and leaves his mouth.

Remy helps him up and they quickly move towards the bathroom, where Brandon drops onto the tile and spews into the toilet over and over and over again. Remy sits behind him and slicks his hair out of the way, rubbing his back as he chokes and heaves.

When he finally thinks he’s done, Remy presses once hard into his belly and immediately another rush surges out of his mouth like a tidal wave. He flushes the toilet once he’s done and sags back against Remy, groaning with sick pain and heavy exhaustion he can’t succumb to because of the cramping in his stomach.

The vomiting has softened his belly further, though the bloated squishy area far beneath the swollen curve is still softest. Remy works his palm into the tender area and works up a queasy, wet burp.

He removes his hand from Brandon’s belly when it seems to be doing more harm than good and gently massages his tense shoulder as he says, “Let’s get you back into bed, okay?”

Brandon lists to the side slightly, hand coming to cup the soft swell, before nodding. Remy helps him up off the floor and they make their way back to the bed. Brandon lowers himself gingerly onto the cool sheets and lies flat on his back, the swell of his belly up, after rinsing his mouth out.

Remy places both palms at the base of the roundness, not the sensitive squishy area but a bit above that, and slides them slowly up the large swell, rubbing them back and forth once they’ve dipped back down over the tight crest. His fingers knead persistently at the painfully tense area where the top of his belly meets his ribs, smoothing over it until the tension breaks up.

The vomiting seems to have bloated his belly further, and the large curve juts noticeably out of his hips, round and noisy as a gurgling stream. Every so often, Brandon will hiccup and it will visibly undulate, starting at the base and travelling up over the length of the swell.

Once Brandon’s stomach has settled to something almost manageable, Remy takes the first bottle of oil—rosemary-scented and made to quell nausea—and rubs some into his palms before smoothing the slick liquid all over Brandon’s gurgling tummy. He starts with both his hands next to each other at the base and they fan out as he drags them up, smoothing outwards and around the curved swell. Brandon exhales wetly and relishes in the soothing pressing and dulling of the queasiness gurgling in his gut.

Remy works his hands all over his soft belly, massaging in the calming oil with his whole hand. Brandon’s eyes slide shut and he groans croakily at the comfort. 

Once the rosemary oil’s all rubbed in, soothing the churning, Remy switches it out for peppermint-scented oil instead. This one’s designed to ease cramping. Brandon’s belly is particularly sensitive towards those, so Remy pours some into his hand and squeezes some directly onto Brandon’s outstretched stomach. Brandon shifts uncomfortably as the cool liquid hits his belly, but arches into Remy’s touch as he smooths it around in broad circles.

His palm dips down, pressing into the soft inflation, every few seconds to get the contents of his tummy digesting properly. Once it’s all rubbed in, Remy cradles Brandon’s tender underbelly, just letting the sensitive area get used to the feel of his warm hands before slowly pressing into the soft, pained area.

“Uurrrpppp,” Brandon belches, loud and sickly. He groans and shifts, tender belly aching with renewed distress.

Remy continues to persistently work at the brunt of the bloating. The area is softer and squishier than the rest of his belly, so Remy’s palm can press far into it, swirling slow, firm circles deep into his tummy. Gas bubbles gurgle against Remy’s hands and he firmly massages them until they let up to wet, sickly belches.

Remy presses his other hand far into the soft area until they’re both lodged deep in Brandon’s distressed insides before pulling them firmly up. Brandon’s belly ripples in the areas his hands leave, achingly tender but also heavily comforted by the solid pressure. When Remy’s hands reach the top of his stomach, Brandon coughs once nauseously and a burp loaded with hot gas rumbles like thunder out of him.

Once all that gas is out, Brandon sags into the sheets, lazily rubbing his knuckles up the side of the curve. Remy continues to massage his gurgling insides until he falls asleep.

———

This is some (slightly?) newer writing. I’m trying to work on making more variation when I write but it’s way harder than I thought it would be haha

[secretobsessionstuff]

hi!! I love love your writing! Do you think you could write something where Dakota's appendix is acting up, but he either doesnt know or doesnt want others to know? If not, its totally cool too

Aw thank you, Anon! This is my very first appendicitis fic and I had lots of fun with it. I find it so bittersweet that I can only inflict this on a character once. The ending is very awkward because I don’t know how to wrap up something this serious. I hope it’s good! 

Trigger Warning: Graphic descripting of vomiting, serious medical emergency, brief hospital visit!!

A harsh retch gurgled up from Dakota’s throat, bringing with it a flood of partially digested food. The dinner he’d eaten only a few hours ago was now splatting into the toilet. Tears squeezed from his eyes from the force of each heave that sent his body lurching forward. This was the third round of vomiting since Dakota had first bolted from the couch with a hand clamped over his mouth. He wasn’t entirely sure what brought this on, only that his stomach was cramping as if someone were treating his insides like a stress ball.

“Jesus, Kota,” Blair mumbled as she patted his back for what felt like the millionth time that night. “You sound like you’re trying to throw up an organ.” At the rate he was going, Blair was sure his voice would be shot in the morning and his entire stomach would be outside of his body.

“Really?” Dakota said thickly as he spat into the toilet. “I was trying to throw up a piano.”

Despite the discomfort he was in, Dakota still had it in him to grin. That grin quickly faded along with the remaining colour in his cheeks. He gagged once, clutched his aching belly, and threw up the last of his meal.

When he finished and looked in the mirror, Dakota would have guessed that he just ran a marathon. His face was slick with sweat and there was a stitch in his side that usually accompanied a vigorous run.

“What do you think is causing this?” Blair asked as she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Dunno. Maybe the takeout was off?”

She shook her head. “We ate the same thing, and I feel fine.”

“Alright, no need to flaunt your perfect health,” he teased. “Whatever it is, I’d like it to stop.”

“I have just the solution…hopefully.”

As it turns out, Blair’s solution was sleep. Can’t throw up if you’re unconscious. The idea works in theory but in reality, not so much. Dakota tossed and turned in bed for a good hour before finally his stomach settled down enough for him to sleep. What finally helped in the end was Blair reaching her arm around his body to rub his belly. Dakota hardly ever got to be the little spoon, mostly because Blair was too small to reach around him comfortably. This time, she stacked a bunch of pillows under her body and sacrificed her own comfort for his sake.

                                                    …

In the morning, Blair tried her hardest to stay quiet. She snuck out of the room, careful not to make the floor creak. Dakota needed the sleep. Even though his face seemed scrunched up in pain, she decided that subpar sleep was better than nothing.

When Dakota finally awoke at noon, the first thing he registered was pain. The second thing he registered was that he was alone. Given the first thing, he really didn’t want to be alone, not when his belly was so upset. It was terrible ache, like he’d been stabbed in the stomach. It felt like someone was moving the knife through his intestines in a game of operation. In this sick game, whoever was controlling the tweezers was doing a god-awful job at avoiding the edges. An electrifying pain radiated through his belly, making his own version of a buzzer go off. He groaned with each successive wave of pain and called out to Blair.

His voice sounded pitiful to his own ears. Blair was right, his voice was indeed shot from vomiting last night, but now it was made much worse by the ache. Hopefully Blair heard his pathetic attempts to call her because there was no way in hell that he’d be able to get up. Relief flooded through him as his girlfriend emerged in the doorway.

Blair turned on the light. “How are you feeling this m– Kota?” Suddenly she was crouching by the side of the bed and moving Dakota’s hair away from his face. “Babe, what’s wrong? You look like hell.”

Dakota winced and gripped the sheets tightly in his fingers. “It hurts…my stomach – oh God, Blair make it stop.”

“Okay, okay. Dakota, talk to me,” she rushed out. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up?”

Dakota didn’t reply right away. He curled in on himself, getting deeper into the fetal position. “Yes…” he didn’t know how to explain it. He was nauseous yes, but… “It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?” Blair sounded almost frantic now. Her boyfriend’s face was distorted in pain. He wiggled uncomfortably, unbale to get into a position that helped.

The energy to speak just wasn’t there. Dakota wanted to answer but the knife in his abdomen twisted with each word. With his face buried in the bedsheets, Dakota’s breathing became ragged. Each cycle of breath was shallow and strained. He felt bile crawling up his throat.

Dakota tried lifting himself up onto his elbows. With his right arm, he raised himself ever so slightly, then using that same hand, he covered his mouth. The nausea was definitely trying to match the pain. Dakota’s left arm was busy being wrapped across his middle. Caught beneath his body, his left hand was clutching at his side. That was the source of the pain, only he couldn’t tell Blair that because a sudden gush of vomit filled his mouth.

With hardly enough strength to lean over the side of the bed, Dakota could only part his lips and watch as a small surge of sick dripped down his chin.

“Oh deer, al-alright…” Blair stuttered. She put her hand on Dakota’s shoulder to hold him up. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Dakota whimpered as a bitter string of bile hung from his lips. After the vomiting from last night, there really wasn’t much in his stomach to throw up. That didn’t stop the nausea from making itself known.

“Nghh, Bee…It hurts so bad,” Dakota mumbled through thick nausea. His chest heaved laboriously as he tried to take in air.

“I know, I know.” She could feel him struggling to breathe through the pain, for her hand was still on his shoulder. “Something is wrong. This isn’t right.”

“I just w– want it to stop.”

Blair wished more than anything she could grant his wish. Through all the worry, her brain had forgotten to think rationally, but things were starting to come back to her. “Where does it hurt?”

Dakota inhaled deeply through his nose as he dropped flat on his back. His shirt was already riding up his torso from all the writhing, exposing his sweaty skin. He placed both of his hands over the lower right side of his abdomen and groaned.

Blair didn’t know enough about serious medical issues, so she didn’t dare put pressure on the spot. She did however know pain like this would warrant a trip to the hospital. With light fingertips, she traced over the area. “Kota, I’m going to take you to the hospital.” She reached around his back and started helping him into a sitting position. 

Dakota moaned as the movement jostled his insides. “I don’t want to move.”

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice.” By this point Blair knew that she needed to get going despite what Dakota wanted. “This could be your appendix. We have to go now.”

Dakota stared at Blair as if she were the one pushing the knife in his gut. He closed his eyes in defeat, knowing she was right. “Okay…” he painstakingly threw one leg over the side of the bed, and then slowly did the same for the other.

“That’s it.” Blair coaxed him out of the bed. “I can get you a heating pad for the drive.”

Like an old grandpa, Dakota walked down the hall hunched over and groaning with each shuffle. And the stairs were the worst of all! It probably took a full minute to get to the first floor, because Dakota took an eternity on every step.

Blair didn’t rush him. She allowed him to lean on her as much as he needed, occasionally threatening to send them both toppling down the stairs. For so many reasons, she wished she could reverse their roles.

The drive to the hospital was hellish. Dakota felt every pothole and speedbump. Thankfully, he did have a heating pack full of warm rice to clutch against his side. It didn’t really do anything to help, but the illusion was nice.

In contrast, the wait in the ER was much easier. Though Dakota was disappointed that Madix wasn’t working, he was just happy to be seen quickly. The actual hospital visit was a blur. He vaguely remembered drinking some disgusting liquid, and then he was lying in hospital bed with three incision spots on his belly.

“Hey, beautiful. How do you feel?” Blair asked once Dakota was awake. She bent over to give him a kiss on the forehead.

Dakota squinted and shifted around on the bed. “Sore. I never want to do that again,” he said, half jokingly.

Blair smiled and brushed his hair behind his ear. “Unless you have another appendix that we don’t know about, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I hope I didn’t scare you too bad.”

“Are you kidding? I was very calm the entire time.”

“Yeah, right…” Dakota said matching her smile. “And I was a delight to deal with, I’m sure.”

Blair shook her head while smiling softly. “I’m just glad you’re okay, now.” 

[thegoldenlily3]

Part 2/2 My Story 2019

Trigger warning/graphic photos ahead

My goal for 2019 was to sell our house and try to get pregnant. I was told by my surgeon that I should have a baby before I reverse my ileostomy. Even though my colon was removed in 2017, at this time I still had my rectum with active UC(Ulcerative Colitis). My surgeon said I couldn’t wait more than 10 years to get this removed and my ileostomy reversed because the disease can affect other parts of my body. Even then, I am not 100% cured. Since UC is an autoimmune disease, I will always have issues in some way. The disease manifests in ways other than bleeding ulcers in the colon. I’m prone to mouth ulcers because of this and I also believe, although I’ve not read this to be proven, that my skin issues are also a manifestation of my autoimmune disease. I deal with this later on in 2019. I’m also always tired and exhausted from all of the pain both mentally and physically.

At the beginning of 2019 my skin issues around my stoma continued to be bothersome. It had been months and months of having issues with my ostomy bag not wanting to stick and my skin oozing non stop. It wasn’t like I could just treat the skin and be done with it. Anything I would put on my skin would interfere with the adhesive of the bag. So I would cut around the edges and basically jerry rig my appliance so that I could treat my skin in different areas with each bag change. I will say this. For 2 years of having this ileostomy and all of these issues, I only ever had one leak; meaning I only had stool push through the adhesive and get all over me one time. Just one. That is actually really really good. My support groups are full of people that have been worse off than me. I was also fortunate to only have to change my bag once while in public and it was at work. I found a single person bathroom with a sink to use. My surgeon once told me that my stoma was very pretty and she herself thought she did a great job. She was an amazing surgeon here until I got a letter saying she was moving out of state so I needed to find a new surgeon. That was devastating and I definitely cried over it knowing that I would have to start over with someone new.

In April 2019, I finally had allergy testing done. I was actually supposed to get this done in 2017 but they called while I was in the hospital. So the first round of allergy testing was all environmental. They put these patches on my back(not what’s pictured) and they read them same day. They were all negative. Then they used needles to put the most common environmental allergies on the inside of my forearms. I wish I had pictures of that. This may sound like it was painful but it really wasn’t at all. The needle only goes through the surface of the skin. I had so many needles stuck in me in 2017 that I didn’t think twice about this test. This test was also negative. So great news, I have ZERO environmental allergies! A few weeks later, I had the chemical allergy test done. This is the white patches on my back in the picture. I had to go home with these patches on and come back in 2 days and have it read then. I wasn’t allowed to shower through that time nor was I allowed to sweat so I couldn’t go to work. Good thing I’m also a side sleeper. After they read the results, I had to come back in the next day and they read them again. Guys, I’m allergic to some pretty weird stuff:

• Balsam of Peru

• Benzoyl Peroxide

• Butylphenyl Methylpropional

• Carba Mix

• Cocamidopropyl Betaine

• Coconut Diethanolamide

• Compositae Mix

• Decyl Glucoside

• Fragrance Mix

• Iodopropynyl Butylcarbamate

• Nickel Sulfate

• Paraben Mix

• Propolis

• Propylene Glycol

• Thiuram Mix

• Ylang-ylang oil

May of 2019 was a pretty good month. Although I don’t have pictures of it, we went to Tappers Arcade Bar with some friends and we decided to ride the scooters around. The entire time I’m riding, we’re looking for a scooter that wasn’t dead for Issaac to ride. We came across the guys who picked them up and charged them and they started to help look. One of them got on a scooter and was riding pretty fast. We were in this narrow sidewalk and he came flying on my right and I got scared and ran into the half brick wall on my left. I scraped my ankle a little bit but I was pretty much fine. That is until I lifted my shirt...I did that, annnnd my bag fell on the ground in front of everyone. I immediately pulled my shirt down and laughed. For a second I didn’t know what to do and I was like oh I should probably pick that poop bag up off the ground before that guy comes over. I quickly grabbed it and he rushes over. He’s freaking out and worried I got hurt because of him. I reassured him that I was fine. The whole time he’s coming towards me I’m quickly walking towards Tappers while hiding my ostomy bag and my friend is with me the whole time. At this time I was wearing a two piece system so usually I’d be able to click the bag back on. When I hit the bricks, it broke the plastic so I wasn’t able to put the bag back on. Tappers was a ways down the street and we went to the bathroom and Issaac ran to the car to get my supplies down the block. Why he didn’t use a scooter I have no idea! And it turned out I still had the car keys. So my friend came in the bathroom and got the keys for him. She then returned and helped me because I couldn’t really do this on my own without doing it in front of strangers. I basically had my shirt covering my stoma so it got poop all over it and I needed help getting it over my head without it getting all over me. I was actually laughing a lot about this. I just thought the whole situation. Was hilarious. And I had a really fun time on the scooters.

Although in May I had a good time, I was still struggling with my skin issues. My allergy test didn’t really help in that area because a lot of companies won’t release all of the ingredients to their products. So it was then after very hard consideration and talking with Issaac that I decided it was time for a reversal. This meant that I was putting myself at a high risk of not being able to get pregnant. My GI doctor had told me at the beginning of the year that it was probably time to do it now rather than later because I was having a lot of abdominal pain with no explanation. It turned out that my diseased rectum was causing me a lot of pain and I had an ovarian cyst that had burst. So there are a lot of options for me if I can’t get pregnant. I’m a big proponent of adoption. I’ve also thought about IVF and surrogacy. All of these options are really expensive though.

On June 20th of this year, I had a Proctectomy, with a rectal mucosectomy, ileoanal anastomosis, creation of ileal reservoir (JPouch), with a loop ileostomy. In simpler terms, I had my the rest of my rectum removed which was about a foot long. I had my stoma stapled shut and put back into my stomach and my small intestines pulled down to my butt. They used the end of my small intestines to create a j shaped pouch that will act as a new rectum. Then they took a different part of my small intestines and created a new loop ileostomy. My previous one was an end ileostomy where the end of my small intestines was the stoma. A loop ileostomy comes outside and then back in but still with only one hole for output. It’s much smaller and a lot harder to handle. A loop ileostomy is required so that my jpouch can heal.

My recovery from my first surgery was hard because I was so sick beforehand. This surgery was hard in different ways. I had a different surgeon so he put me on different meds that I had never been on before but he was a great surgeon. I remember one was Gabopentin and I can’t remember the other but I was also on 3 different nausea meds. I ended up getting very very sick and I couldn’t eat my food. Imagine throwing up immediately after having abdominal surgery. I thought that I had been through the worst pain but this was just awful and I remember it very vividly. Issaac would hold a bowl for me because I couldn’t. Then a doctor came in who for some reason I thought he was there for pt but he wasn’t. I still don’t know what kind of doctor he was but he was just there to check on me. I started to throw up while squeezing a pillow into my gut and he held the bowl and held me up. He continued to hold me up and I just kept throwing up to a point where it was just stomach acid. He was the only reason I didn’t fall out of the bed. That there is a great doctor and I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am that he did that. I know it’s his job to be there for his patients but I feel maybe it’s not normal to go home and say you held someone as they threw up over and over and over. I imagine I can find out who he is now and thank him again. So out of the 3 nausea meds, only one really worked but I can’t remember what it’s called. I felt that the new meds were making me sick so I made the nurse request them to be switched to morphine and Oxy like before, only because I knew I reacted well to them. After that, I never got sick again and was able to eat. Another thing that was different with this surgery was my shoulder pain. It was very uncomfortable and I had never felt anything quite like it. I had to use ice packs and lidocaine patches to battle that pain. I guess the pain was from gas that they had injected into my incision after cutting me open to expand the area.

When I got home, I had severe issues with my stoma that I didn’t realize before because the inpatient stoma nurse would change my bag and didn’t say anything about any problems. The sutures had failed all the way around and created what looks like a moat around my stoma. This caused the nerve endings to be exposed and it looks blood red in the photos. Then, my incision glue came off and my incision came apart. For this surgery, they went through the same incision from 2017. My incision created a hole and got pretty deep but not deep enough for reconstruction. I went to see my stoma nurse and she was a God send. She showed me what to do and I had to change my bag style to a deep convex to help get my stoma more above my skin level. The convex basically pushes my skin down. It took me awhile to get a handle on changing this bag with this stoma. My output was much thinner and more frequent because my stoma was higher up in my intestines. My stoma was also much lower on my belly and in a dip of my stomach which also caused problems. The surgeon couldn’t bring it any higher. Because of where my stoma was, I had to have Issaac help me change my bag. He has been great throughout all of this. I would shower and he would set up a station with everything needed to change my bag. I would cut everything and apply everything but he was essentially my eyes for where I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hold a mirror and apply everything because I was laying down. Before with my old ileostomy, I could change it standing up within 5 minutes. This ostomy had me in tears so many times. There were a few occasions where it took us up to 5 hours to change the bag because my output wouldn’t stop. *** In the pictures provided, you can see where my original stoma was and there’s a ring of damaged skin around it where my appliance was. My skin is starting to heal and scab over. It took a couple months for that to go away.

To prepare for my next and final surgery, I had a procedure done called a Contrast Barium Enema. They laid me on my side on the CT bed and inserted a tube into my bottom and injected contrast. They then took xrays while moving me in different positions. This was pretty uncomfortable and I hope to never do it again.

Pre op: Today September 26th, I’m having a loop ileostomy takedown surgery and a flexible sigmoidoscopy. And of course this morning I started my period and am having full on symptoms with cramps and fatigue. No wonder I haven’t felt good the past couple of days. I woke before my alarm this morning. I didn’t sleep well. I’m nauseous and I guess it’s because I’m scared? I don’t know if I’m scared of the surgery itself or if I’m scared of afterward. I think it’s the latter. Right away I told the nurse that I’m a hard stick so she called the team with the ultra sound so as to not waste time with my iv. I really appreciate that. Now it’s just waiting in bed until they get here. 🤘🏻 So a nurse decided to poke me anyway and failed. I do have an iv now in my upper left arm that was done with the ultrasound machine. I’ve got the nausea patch on too.

The surgery was a success. It’s now a few hours after. Waking up was really rough. I couldn’t stop crying and I was nauseous and in pain. They gave me Diladid even though I said before surgery that I didn’t want that. Then they gave me morphine and Oxy and it it took awhile but finally I woke up with no pain. I walked to the bathroom with help which was hard. It didn’t hurt to walk but I’m just so out of it. Even as I write this, I’m nodding off. I just want to get everything down before it’s hours later and I forget everything that happened. I’m still waiting on a room but they just delivered me some Powerade Zero. I ordered that but they first brought me regular Powerade and I made them switch it. So I will be in here for a few days, until I have a bowel movement. It feels so nice already laying in bed and not having the weight of the feeling of a plastic bag on my belly. I feel free. It’s just so liberating.

Thank you for reading this far. I just really needed to get my journey out so it doesn’t feel like it never happened. If this helps just one person either mentally or physically then I would be ecstatic. 🤘🏻✌🏻👩🏻‍🦰

[turningtummyrubs]

Hey! Are you still taking requests? I’d love to request something detailing the aftermath of someone overeating if that is ok? I just adore your detailed descriptions of the full, aching tummy, the way you describe it is just divine! Just the emphasis on the swollen tummy with all the gurgles ahhh 😍Loving the blog! Brilliant content 🥰

oh my gosh thank you so much! people like you are why i keep writing! i hope this is what you were looking for :))

cw: burping, minor nausea (not the actual process, though)

———

Carter drives home from work angry and exhausted, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel. He doesn’t usually find himself getting so heated considering his workplace is generally quite boring, but today is an exception. 

Aspen wasn’t there, for one, which is always a downer. He’s always telling Carter to focus on work because “Your analytics document is due in an hour” or some other stupid thing like that but it’s nice to have him there.

Second, he hadn’t had time to eat breakfast or lunch so his stomach’s been growling and gnawing at him all day.

And third, corporate came by to do a check-in. It’s a well-known fact that everyone hates corporate but this time was the absolute worst. They stopped by everyone’s individual cubicle and office and just stood there breathing over their shoulder. Like, personal space, am I right? Carter usually doesn’t mind too much, but today it was this balding dude wearing this obnoxiously red turtleneck and he had the audacity to tell Carter that the way he typed was wrong. Not what he was typing, but the way he was typing it. Carter, of course, smiled politely and nodded but inside he was seething.

He resists the urge to slam the door when he arrives at his apartment and heads straight for the kitchen. He groans thinking of how upset his stomach’s going to feel after he eats considering he hasn’t put anything in it in almost 24 hours but knows it’ll only feel worse the longer he waits.

He just went grocery shopping yesterday so his fridge and cupboards are stocked full with food. He makes spaghetti, boiling a big pot of water and cooking the noodles before straining everything and adding this Filipino tomato sauce Aspen swears by.

Carter fixes himself a small bowl and turns on the TV to watch Brooklyn 99 while he eats. He hardly notices by the time he finishes his first serving of spaghetti, blinking at the empty bowl when his fork resurfaces without anything on it. He puts an appraising hand on his belly and is surprised to find that it feels fine, though it’s still hungry. He gets up and gets some more spaghetti from the pot.

Before he knows it, that one’s finished, too, and he’s absentmindedly grabbing more and more and more until he realizes with a sickening lurch that he’s eaten it all. He hadn’t realized it while he was eating, but now that he’s paying attention his stomach feels groaningly tight against his jeans and something is definitely going to be hurting very soon. Oh no.

He sets the bowl down in the sink, feeling slightly woozy as the extent of his fullness hits him, before sinking down into the couch, turning to lie on his side. He turns off the TV as it’s started to intensify the discomfort he’s feeling and begins to rub broad circles over his somewhat swollen belly. 

It’s begun to twinge and cramp, churning with too much food, and his hand stills as something seizes and sends a jolt of pain through his body. He rubs frantically at the tense area, palm sliding back and forth in a desperate attempt to loosen up the cramping muscles, before easing up with a groan as the tight pressure makes his tummy gurgle and whine with unease. He squirms slightly, muffling a curse into his arm, until the tension lets up.

Carter palpates once with firm pressure at the formerly afflicted area and a low, rumbling belch provides some momentary relief.

He tries to get comfortable, lying flat on his back and massaging small circles at the top of the bloated swell, but soon realizes that that just isn’t possible with his pants being as tight as they are. Carter sighs and gingerly eases himself up, holding his stomach with a careful palm as it churns and burbles with unrest.

He forces himself to walk to his bedroom and changes into a pair of loose sweatpants. The soft material feels infinitely better against the hard curve of his belly and he sighs with a small amount of relief as he lies down on his bed.

Carter’s overfull stomach has started to gurgle noisily now, the loudest ones burbling tensely in his lower belly. He smooths his palm heavily down the center of his stomach and winces as that pushes some of the food down. His intestines squeeze and squelch as they begin to digest the cramping contents of his belly and he inhales sharply at the uncomfortable feeling and rests both his hands atop the softer area, hoping the weight will help calm some of the noisy upset.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to how much he was eating, especially on an empty stomach, so he wouldn’t’ve ended up with such a stomach ache.

Carter’s also filled with that deeply uncomfortable feeling of being stuffed further than your stomach’s capacity, where his skin is all hot and sensitive and there’s something like nausea pooling in his chest.

That nauseous feeling increases tenfold as his palm palpates roughly into a distressed, gurgly area on his lower left side. Something squelches beneath the pressure of his hand and sickly, hot air wells up his throat. A small, queasy burp works its way up and he moans quietly at the discomfort, rubbing over and over again at that aching area.

His swollen belly has begun to bloat further as the food digests and fills it with queasy gas, and he massages lightly at the cramping tightness, trailing his fingertips in circles over the sides of his distended belly as it rolls and gurgles with a pulsing ache.

Carter carefully probes all over his sick belly to identify the areas cramping with pockets of gas and kneads at them firmly until they let up to momentarily relieving belches. His swollen tummy sinks a little with every release of hot air, painfully tender to the touch.

As the gas begins to dissipate but the cramps start to worsen, Carter moans and shifts onto his side, curling up slightly. He wraps an arm around his tummy and massages at the hard lump of fullness struggling to digest in his guts. Nauseating stomach bile burbles tight against his pressing hand and he smooths his palm continuously over the rumbling gurgles.

As time wears on, the feeling of overwhelming fullness starts to fade, but his belly’s still tenderly bloated and aching and he still feels generally horrible, so he texts Aspen and asks him to come over.

Aspen arrives in five minutes, expression softening in sympathy at how miserable Carter looks curled up on the bed. He sits down beside him and gently smooths his hair back.

“Not feeling too good?” he murmurs.

Carter shakes his head, a pathetic whimpering noise leaving his mouth against his will. “Stomach hurts...”

“I’m sorry, Cat,” Aspen says, gently smoothing his palm up and down Carter’s back until he uncurls. Aspen slips his hand beneath Carter’s shirt and tenderly rubs at the bloated mess of Carter’s belly.

Carter groans and presses into his touch, provided with the relief he’d so desperately been craving.

“How was work?” Aspen asks, continuing his gentle massage. His palm rocks over a liquidy gurgle and firmly works away a sharp cramp in a broad sweeping motion.

“Don’t even get me started,” Carter grumbles, annoyance building again at the memory.

Aspen laughs softly. “Uh oh. What happened?”

Carter goes on to tell the story, voice amping up with passion before slowly trailing off as Aspen’s hand dips into a particularly comforting spot. Carter groans and presses Aspen’s palm in over the area, sighing contentedly when Aspen continues to rub there. The heavy weight of his hand feels achingly nice on his belly.

Aspen continues soothing the nausea and cramps plaguing Carter’s stomach until his voice fades off, heavy with sleep.

———

As you can see, ending fics isn’t my forte haha

[aching-tummies]

Hunger-kink Fantasies

I never really considered being into dom/sub stuff...but the idea of having a partner I trust deciding that I am gonna fast for a bit and having them palming and pressing into my sore, empty, growling tummy until either they're satisfied or until I implement the agreed-upon safe-word/signal that means "ok...this isn't fun anymore. Stop" is pretty dang tempting. \or a partner that'll take advantage of me being hungry--their first thought isn't to fill my belly but to explore it. I guess what I love about hunger is the sensations. The cramping, the rumbling from the grumbles, the squeezing feeling that sort of travels around my digestive system. That's some good stuff right there.

I'm not big on talking, I guess--the usual verbal stuff online doesn't do much for me and sometimes all it takes is a single word or phrase to just shut down my desire for this sort of thing. Very little in the verbal department does it for me and I haven't been able to figure out what's good/bad for me so I'd rather avoid the verbal stuff entirely. It's not the idea of having a partner talking down at me for being hungry or about my body or whatever, but more about the sensations from my stomach. Having hunger pangs is one thing. Rubbing them out myself is one thing. Having a partner do as they will to my stomach lends a bit of unpredictability to the scenario. Will what they do alleviate the hunger cramps or intensify them? Does it feel any different having someone else rub my tummy? What about their own will? Are they more inclined to make my stomach hurt more or to make it hurt less? The idea that my guts are their plaything...like a child fascinated with slime or putty.

A hunger-kink fantasy I have is that my partner would find me hungry--whether it's after being immersed in a project for hours and forgetting to eat, or it's the middle of the night and various factors came together to cause me to be in the grips of some painful hunger pangs in the middle of the night. It's the middle of the night and I'm starving. Loud and deep grumbles escape my tummy with every cramp as my innards convulse against themselves, angry at the lack of food to digest. The noises from my tummy and/or my writhing from the sensations alerts my partner. It's the middle of the night and it's likely I can't be bothered to eat at that hour...but after some signal to confirm that I'd rather stick it out until breakfast (or lunch/dinner) and be hungry and that I'm gonna give into kink for the moment...well, I think it'd be fun to see what my partner would do at that moment. Soothe the cramps? Make it worse? Would they push against the cramps or around the cramping to intensify it? Putting pressure directly under my left rib where the worst of the cramping usually starts is one thing...but I've found that rubbing circles into my lower stomach--around my navel--with my thumb usually produces some constant and loud grumbles. It's like the rubbing has stimulated my intestines to begin peristalsis and jump-start the whole factory. What started as just my stomach/duodenum grumbling for nourishment becomes my entire digestive tract convulsing and demanding food. Whenever I do this to myself the cramping gets worse, I've found. If I leave it alone it's just the squeezing feeling under my left rib. I can still function normally and go about my day like nothing is happening. When I awaken the rest of my digestive system the cramping intensifies to the point that I've gotta curl up around it. It feels deeper and more intense and it feels like my guts are folding in on themselves and getting tighter and tighter. The cramping builds and builds--like approaching the peak of some disasterous roller coaster with a blindfold on. You know you're going up. You know there's gonna be a peak...but you don't know when that is or how long you'll be climbing. Eventually, the peak is reached and it's at this point something in my abdomen growls. When I get really hungry there isn't too much of a sense of relief, but the growls are an external sign that the specific area it's coming from has released it's vice-like cramping...for now. A big part of my fantasy is having a partner who'll be content to prod around my tummy for a while, causing growls, releasing some cramps/growls prematurely or trying to consolidate it all into one massive, painful cramp somewhere. I wanna feel someone tracing my intestines, pushing a hunger pang through the intestines and basically mapping out my guts with their fingertips. I want to feel if it's possible to push a hunger pang around my guts--moving it from my duodenum to my navel and back again. I want a partner that's just as fascinated as I am by the activity under my skin, someone who is good at manipulating my digestive organs. Someone who's first thought isn't "she's hungry, I should feed and care for her" but "she's hungry...does she wanna be fed? Hm...no? Alright--lets see what makes this tummy tick".

If anyone knows any hunger-centric fics, the kind that focuses and hits hard on the sensations of a hungry tummy rather than on the feeding aspect I'd love it if you'd share. I've been doing my best to write that sort of stuff too, but inspiration is slow and the down side to writing content that I'm searching for is that I usually end up getting distracted and indulging in kink, leaving the rest of the story unwritten.

I've noticed I've gotten a heck of a lot of new followers recently. Welcome! I'm pretty starved for people talking tummies/hunger-kink so if you're into that sort of stuff too it'd be awesome if you dropped something in my inbox. Am I the only one that loves the sensations caused by hunger and not into it for the hurt/comfort/feeding aspect? What do you like about hunger-kink? What part is your favorite? Also, any ideas on stuff you'd do to my hungry stomach if you were the partner I'm looking for? Just 'cuz I didn't write it into my fantasy, doesn't mean I won't like it. I mean, reading about new stuff is usually how I realize "oh shix...I'm kinda into that too"...so...yeah, please share! If I don't like what's written I'll either ignore it/not respond to it. In worst cases if someone is being rude or if one thing I'm not into is shoved into my inbox enough times then I'll probably address the topic/issue in a post. I'm not a fan of public outing/shaming or whatever so it's not like I'll be like "[username] is very rude--stop shoving the same dang thing I ignored at me!" or whatever. Example: I'm not really into stuffing/feeding, but sometimes someone will write something that includes that stuff and it hits all the right buttons. Odds are that if you send it off-anon I'll answer privately unless you tell me explicitly that it's okay to post. I know only main accounts can follow and send asks and I don't want to out somebody's kink if they don't want that. Basically, I'm bored and kink-starved/tummy-starved...please send me things!