Doctor's Orders

I used to have a friend who would help me indulge in a certain kink every once in a while. I'd met him from a fetish dating app and he would never tell me his real name: I knew him only as "the doctor".

One night I felt like having some messy fun and I got ready by binge eating until I was fit to burst. Then I gave the doctor a call.

"What seems to be the problem?" he enquired.

"I ate too much," I moaned delicately, "and I feel sick."

"I'll be right there," he said.

*

When the doctor arrived, I was lying on the bed wearing some thin silky pajamas. I had put a bucket next to the bed just in case, but had managed not to puke yet.

He sat on the edge of the bed and felt my forehead. I was in a light cold sweat and must have felt clammy to the touch.

"When did you start feeling like this?" he asked.

"Not long after dinner," I said faintly.

"And what did you eat?"

"I ate way too much," I said, wincing in self-disgust. "I had a large pizza followed by cookies and ice cream, and then I was thirsty so I drank a lot of juice. I knew I was eating too much but I just couldn't stop."

"I see," he said. "I'm going to need to examine your abdomen."

He lifted my pajama top to expose my rounded, swollen tummy. Then he started to gently massage it, feeling the extent of its bloatedness. The slightest pressure on my overfilled belly made me feel nauseous and I groaned and shifted uncomfortably.

"How does that feel?" he asked.

"It hurts a little. I'm just too full. And it's making me feel sick," I moaned. My stomach was churning, eager to offload its contents, and excessive saliva was starting to gather in my mouth.

"Okay," he said, "I think I'd better take a look at your mouth and throat." With that he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and produced a wooden tongue depressor. "Open your mouth and say 'ahh'".

I weakly opened my saliva-slick mouth and he pressed my tongue down gently with the tongue depressor. I tried to say 'ahh', but the sensation of the rough wood on my tongue and the rubbery smell of the gloves made me gag and it came out more like 'eeurrghhk'. I felt bile rising up my throat, ready to make its exit.

"Good," he said. "I'm going to take a closer look at your tongue and throat to check there isn't anything stuck in there." And he inserted two latex-clad fingers into my mouth and started to poke around.

By this time I was on the edge of vomiting. My stomach was clenching and twisting and my saliva was running copiously. As he pushed his fingers deeper and deeper into my mouth, my tongue and throat started to contort, and I drooled over his gloves and down my pajama shirt. I was breathing heavily and made involuntary groaning sounds. Then I coughed, retched and let out a loud, gaseous belch that threatened to send up my stomach contents.

He removed his fingers from my mouth and nodded. "Okay," he said. "I think it's a simple case of overeating. Your stomach is too full and the only way to get any relief is to manually induce vomiting. Do you know what that means?"

"You're going to make me throw up?" I said pitifully.

"Yes, I'm going to make you throw up until your stomach is completely empty, and then you will immediately start to feel better. At first it might be a little uncomfortable," he said, and plunged his fingers all the way into the back of my throat, filling my mouth with his hand. I retched unproductively several times before my stomach finally gave up and I projectile vomited a spurt of purplish liquid onto his shirt.

"I'm sorry, doctor," I gasped, wiping my mouth.

"Not to worry," he said. "It happens to me often." Then he stuck his fingers back into my mouth and soon I was heaving again, bringing up wave after wave of the excessive amount of food I'd eaten onto the bed.

The first few waves were thick and creamy white, then I started to see chunks of cookies. I dropped my head and let some of the vomit land on my breasts, where it slid down my pajamas into my lap.

"That's good," he said, "but I think you still have a lot left in there. Let me try a different way. This is going to get deeper than my fingers can. But let's see if you can get any in the bucket this time."

He unzipped his pants to release his large, rigid boner. He had me kneel on the floor in front of him and started to deeply fuck my throat. After some violent gagging I produced a thick wave of red and orange vomit that was clearly the pizza. Some of it splashed into the bucket but the rest went onto the floor.

He kept going, plunging my throat while I brought up consecutive gushes of thick, chunky puke. Finally my stomach was empty of food and I was bringing up nothing but stomach acid and saliva. As I finished puking, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and came, shooting his hot load onto my face where it ran down and dripped into the bucket along with my puke.

Finally I was empty and nothing else would come up. I sat there, drained, gasping for breath and covered in my own puke.

"You should start to feel better now," said the doctor. "Rest and hydrate... and call me next time you feel sick."