Ashley Getting Bigger Ch. 03

Author's Note: Fair warning, this story is entering pretty deeply into the realm of the bizarre. The chapter surprised me. As any writer will tell you, sometimes characters do unexpected things. This is one of those cases. I realized that for David and Ashley to continue with their co-dependent relationship things were going to get kinky. But as this chapter was wrapping up, well, as you'll see, if you choose to read, things got pretty weird. If your stomach is strong, and you don't mind the body's various waste products, read on. But be advised, this is for those with a special taste.

I was exhausted when my stomach finally settled down. I was drenched with sweat, my hair matted with sweat and what had splashed up onto me. I was gasping as I reached, weakly, for the handle to flush the toilet for about the 10th time.

I was still gasping, my cheek resting against the cool porcelain, when I felt him clean my ass and the backs of my thighs with the towel he had laid across back there.

And the thing was, I felt no shame at all. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't proud of shitting myself. I just wasn't ashamed. It's not like I had any control at that point, and I understood that. Evidently, he did too. He wasn't making any, you know, disgusted noises or comments or anything. He was just cleaning.

I felt him get up and leave but I was too exhausted to move yet. When I heard the water running and realized he was getting the tub ready. I smiled, pushed myself up into a more or less vertical position on my knees, and took several deep breaths preparatory to trying to stand.

He came back into the bathroom and I felt strong hands on the softness of my arms, helping me, steadying me as I stood.

"Will you kiss me?" I asked, honestly curious. I knew what I must look like with my mouth still shiny with God knows what.

He kissed me. There was no hesitation at all. He laid his palms on my cheeks and kissed me. Not a little peck either. It was a full-on kiss. I felt him retch a little as his tongue probed my mouth, tasting me, but he persisted.

"I love you. You're beautiful. And I think this will work and I can give you what you need," he said.

I was crying again and he was laughing softly and holding me.

He walked me to the big walk-in tub, closed the entrance, and then used the handheld shower head to hose me down before filling the tub for a soak.

He was oddly timid when he started talking to me while he was bathing me.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked at last.

I giggled.

"Which part," I asked, "the feeding, the cumming like a garden hose, or the puking my toenails up?"

He laughed then and the tension was broken.

"Well," he said, fingers digging into my hair as he shampooed me, "I know you like being fed and cumming, so I guess we're down to the, well, the 'purge' is the word I found when I was researching the possibilities."

He was being serious so I gave it serious thought before I answered.

"It's worth it," I said, giggling when I sneezed from the bubbles in my nose.

"I can't say I enjoy throwing up like that," I went on, "but it was worth it and, on some level, it's a VERY special intimacy if that makes any sense."

He surprised me then, by saying, "I liked it."

That made me open my eyes, and then close them, splashing water to stop the burning from the shampoo. We were both laughing as he poured water over my head to clear them.

Back under control, I said, "You liked it? You mean the puking?"

"That's part of it," he said and kissed me, "but just part of it. I liked feeding you but I liked watching your face, knowing how much you like being fed."

He finished rinsing my hair and started on my body then.

"But there was also the anticipation," he said, "I knew what was coming and you didn't. I was nervous that you wouldn't like it or think I was disgusting or something."

I laughed and said, "Honey, you inspect my body daily and put Desitin on my rashes. We've fucked every way we can imagine and never hesitated to do oral stuff afterward. And you were worried I'd be disgusted?"

"Yes," he said simply, "this is a whole new area we're getting into."

"Yeah," I said, meeting his eyes, "we are doing that."

We were quiet for a while.

"What, exactly," I said, grinning and meeting his eyes, "did you like about it? About my puking like that?"

He grinned back.

"God help me," he said, mirroring one of my pet phrases, "I liked it all. I liked seeing the way your body arched as you threw up. I liked the sound you made. I liked the way you had to gasp for breath. I liked the way I realized that I needed to drape that towel over your ass because you were losing control. Shit, Ashley, I liked the smell and the taste of you when I kissed you afterward."

I had been watching him and couldn't help but smile. His eyes had gone unfocused as he remembered and organized his thoughts.

"Pervert," I said.

He laughed and said, "That's hardly a surprise at this point, is it?"

"Well," I said, thinking and mentally taking inventory of my body, "as a bonus, it's good exercise. God, I'm sore in places I didn't know I had places."

His grin was like a kid who found the toy he had been hoping for under the Christmas tree.

"Is that a 'yes' then?" he asked.

"Oh, David, don't be silly," I said, putting my best mock-stern look, "it was yes at the first taste of that wonderful gravy."

"There's a name for it, you know," he said.

I laughed softly at my husband the researcher.

"Of course there is," I said.

He chuckled and said, "It's called Bulimia Nervosa, kind of the opposite of Anorexia Nervosa. Anorexics basically starve themselves. Bulimics binge and purge. But we have to be careful. It can be hard on your teeth, all that acid, and your throat. But we'll work all of that out."

"But you can feed me and I'll still lose weight?" I asked.

He smiled. "As long as we purge you," he said.

And the pressure in my belly was sudden, undeniable, and irresistible.

"David," I said, my palms on his cheeks, my eyes locked on his, "take me to the Cow Barn, show me off, strip me naked, make it a stuffing party, until I can't eat anymore. Show them your piggy."

I was crying. I don't know why, but I was crying.

And he was holding me, covering me with kisses, and saying, "No," over and over.

Finally, I quit crying.

"Thank you," I said.

He smiled.

"Ashley, I'll take you to the Cow Barn, I'll make it a feeding party, I'll bring you home and purge you, I'll drape a towel over your ass and clean you up afterward," he said, smiling, "but I will never, EVER, call you a Pig. I get that some of the couples at the Cow Barn are into that, but I'm not. You are gorgeous at your size and that is why I will do all of these things. But I love you too much to lose you so I'll purge you and I'll switch you if you slow down on the torture device. But you are NOT a pig and I will never think of you that way."

He wound down after that relatively long speech and I was surprised to see a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Thank you," I said again, kissing his cheek, tasting tear salt.

He grinned. "Come on," he said, "I'm taking you out and showing you off."

He helped me out of the tub, dried me off, and led me back to the bedroom.

I giggled as he pulled out the halter top in bright blue he liked along with the matching panties and ridiculously small skirt that went with the outfit.

He sat me down at the makeup table in the bedroom and fussed over my hair for several minutes. I watched, always amazed at the way he could transform me. My hair was now a soft cap, almost a halo, framing my face.

He did my face then. Expertly. A light base, a little blush, eye shadow and eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, lipstick, and lipgloss. He was actually an artist when it came to eyes, leaving a slightly upward tilting point at the corners and a pale green shadow that highlighted them.

He dressed me then, in that blue outfit he liked so much. Panties and bra, the thigh-high fishnets he liked that made my fat bulge out between the lines of the net, the moderately high-heeled sandals, and the skirt and halter. When he stood me in front of the mirror I liked what I saw. My face and hair were good, he's very good at that. The halter and bra showed off those big pads of fat on my upper arms. My belly hung, showing cellulite-dimpled skin below the short skirt.

I thought I looked good.

At the Cow Barn, I stepped on the scales, and the lanyard I was handed read 524. David smiled as he hung it around my neck and I felt proud. I had lost three pounds.

The buffet layout looked delicious as it always did.

David seated me and went to load up my first plate of the night.

I almost came sitting at the table, watching him come back with the first plate. He had made me a Surf and Turf. The Cow Barn is NOT low-rent. Hell, there had been a $10,000 initiation fee and membership was another $1,200 a year. But it was worth it if you liked your restaurants to have at least four stars and the live band to be familiar names it was the place to be. Well, if you like your women to be double plus sized as well.

I love the way they do their crab legs. I love crab legs but it's SO much trouble getting to that meat. But here they split the legs in half so you just take the meat and move on to the next one. The steak, unlike many places where they do a Surf and Turf, was excellent in its own right, done medium rare just like I like it. The twice-baked potato, fully loaded, stuffed mushrooms, and corn swimming in butter rounded out the meal.

I relaxed, hell, I was aroused in anticipation, as he pulled out the first piece of crab meat, dipped it in the little bowl of drawn butter, and put it in my mouth, using a napkin to wipe the little drop of butter on my chin.

My feeding took the best part of an hour. A bite of steak or crab or potato of corn, a sip of the wine, lips wiped with the cloth napkin, and repeat.

The second plate was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy.

The third was catfish, french fries, corn on the cob this time, and hush puppies.

The fourth, and yes, the last, was a dozen oysters.

Dessert was chocolate lava cake and ice cream.

I was truly sated for the first time since the heart attack.

After dinner, we danced. I could dance after the way I'd been exercising. Well, I managed two slow dances before I tired.

I was excited when we got home, wondering how he would "purge" me. Anxious to find out if it would be as good the second time.

He undressed me and helped me into bed before he said, "Hold that thought," and disappeared.

I laid back, comfortably full, and waited.

When he came back he had a tray with a big glass, a small bottle, and a big bottle on it.

"Drink this," he said, handing me the glass.

It was a chocolate milkshake. It was thick and delicious and I liked the way he watched me as I sucked it down.

"You are beautiful," he said, putting the glass and the bottles on the nightstand before crawling up and kissing me.

We made love and it was tender and sweet. He used his fingers and then his mouth to bring me to orgasm a half dozen times. We rested then, and he watched as I slowly brought my breathing under control.

When I settled with a final deep breath, he offered me the smaller bottle.

"Drink this," he said.

I didn't ask, I just drank.

And he was at me again.

"God, you're insatiable," I said as his mouth found my labia and then my clitoris while he pushed the great roll of my belly out of the way.

I was excited and it didn't take long at all for him to have me cumming.

As my body tensed, my back arched, and my thighs straining, I felt the first incipient rumblings deep in my belly.

"Oh, God, baby, let me up," I said, surprised at how thin my voice was, almost a wheeze.

He lifted away from me, smiling.

"Come on," he said, rolling out of bed with his athlete's grace.

I couldn't help but smile. He had a thick pillow laying on the floor in front of the toilet.

"You are SO thoughtful," I said as I felt my stomach roll over again.

"And you are so beautiful," he said, holding my hand as I settled onto the pillow, lifted the lid on the toilet seat, and felt the sudden cold sweat break out across my back as my stomach rolled again and I felt the first hint of what was to come.

He brushed my hair back, longer now than it had been, and tied it back in a loose ponytail as my body retched for the first time.

The first long convulsion hit then, doubling me over as my abdominal muscles clenched and my back arched.

Nothing came up, just a long, sonorous belch, but I tasted the first hint of what was to come.

"Be right back," he said, patting my back.

I tried to say, "Okay," but it changed into another loud belch as my stomach convulsed and the first of thick bile came up, bitter and smelling, oddly, of the garlic that had seasoned dinner.

I felt the heavy towel laid across my lower back and ass.

"Expecting a mess?" I asked.

He laughed and rubbed my back lightly. "I don't mind cleaning you up," he said, "but the walls are a pain in the ass."

I laughed but the laugh was cut off as the Ipecac in that drink took hold fully and I started throwing up.

Wave after wave of nausea took me. I could feel myself sweating now, and felt when the powerful retching overcame my efforts to hold my sphincter closed.

All the while, as I puked and sweated and shit a little he was telling me I was beautiful, how much he wanted me.

As I was gasping, between waves of sickness, I managed to say, "Prove it."

He laughed and said, "Love to."

He lifted the towel and laid it on my back as he moved behind me. I could feel that I was wet and ready and he slipped into me with a single long thrust.

His hands on my back felt good as I threw up again. I was tired now, gasping after that wave of nausea passed. I was sweating, I could feel my body chilling.

"Harder," I managed before my head was back in the toilet and my body was wracked with another wave of chemical-induced sickness.

He grabbed a handful of my hipfat with both hands, squeezing hard enough to hurt, and I welcomed that. It took my attention away from my belly, at least until another wave of nausea hit.

He was thrusting hard now, each sudden drive ending with a sharp slapping sound.

I've heard it said that it's impossible to throw up, shit, piss, and cum all at once.

Don't believe them.

The sound of his contact with my ass changed slightly and I felt and smelled that my control had failed as I retched.

But that didn't stop the orgasm that had me squirting like a garden hose.

Finally, I felt my stomach empty and hung, exhausted, clinging to the toilet bowl like it was a life preserver and I was adrift.

He wasn't done yet, and as I hung onto the toilet, my mouth streaming with ropes of thick mucus and bile and saliva and my nose poured thick clear snot I could feel another orgasm building.

"Oh God," was all I could manage at that point. I was exhausted and hurting and stinking and through it all that beautiful pressure in my belly was building again.

I gathered the last shreds of my energy, coughed, enjoying the sensation as the cough clenched my belly and emptied the last dregs of my bowels, and managed, "Fill me up, David."

He finished with that beautiful sensation of a man's ejaculation, hissing in his release.

I felt him soften and slip out, whimpering a little when I lost him, and then felt that special pleasure as he scooted around and began very gently rubbing my back, caressing and tickling, and saying, "I love you," and "You are so beautiful," over and over.

And oddly, at that moment, my face in the toilet, wondering if I was truly done, stinking of puke and shit and piss, ropes of God knows what hanging from my mouth and nose, I believed him.

When my breathing was back to normal and I was sure I was done with the night's pukefest I took a deep breath and said, "Come on, baby, clean me up and take me to bed."

When he didn't move I turned to look at him.

"Sheepish," is a word you see written but rarely have a reason to use in real life. But there it was, he looked sheepish, a look completely out of place on his normally confident face.

"What?" I asked.

And again, there was that odd look.

"How about," he said softly, his hand light on my back, his lips brushing my cheek, "we wait for tomorrow for that?"

My breath caught.

"David," I started but he talked over me.

"I know, I know," he said, his breath warm in my ear, "I'm a pervert."

"Oh God," I said, and couldn't stop the giggle, "take your dirty girl to bed then."

He helped me to my feet and I couldn't resist looking at him. Jesus, from his belly button down he was absolutely covered in shit.

I touched the mess and said, "David, are you sure about this?"

He kissed me, my mouth still slick with more mess.

"Good sex," he said for, oh, the bazillionth time or so to me, "is often messy but never dirty."

"Honey," I said, giggling, "this is pretty fucking dirty."

"Please," he said and I melted.

"Pervert," I said.

His smile was, again, that of a boy finding the gift he had hoped for desperately under the Christmas tree.

"Don't worry," he said, walking me to the bed, "I'll change the sheets."

It turned out to be the start of a new phase of our lives.