Flay the Fox

The title of this fic is a 17th century slang term for vomiting. As you'd expect, a graphic puking scene is contained within, so you have been warned!

The harvest social had been rather lively, not what Sarah had expected from a church. She'd really enjoyed it - even more so since Graham the organist had asked her to go with him. Despite the large age gap, she was falling for him big time.

"The vicar certainly likes his booze doesn't he?" Sarah said as she headed towards her car, with Graham lumbering alongside her. He'd drunk rather too much as well and was over the legal limit. Unconcerned, Sarah had volunteered to drive him home.

"Yes. He does. Uh, my car...what about," Graham mumbled, massaging his abdomen as cramps nagged at him. He felt dreadfully bloated.

"Oh it'll be fine on the church hall car park overnight. I'll drop you off tomorrow."

"Okay, no problem. Thanks so much, Sarah. Um, are you sure you're okay with me staying over at yours?"

Greasy fingers of nausea were pawing at his innards.

"More than okay," came her reply. She bit her lip in excitement, hoping he wasn't too drunk that he'd fall asleep as soon as she arrived home.

On the journey back, Graham's nausea slowly but surely increased. The organist groaned and clutched his belly. The motion of the car was adding to his torment and it wouldn't be long before the inevitable happened.

"Graham?" She looked at him. His face was pale and he was sweating. "Oh God, you don't look well at all."

"I feel sick, Sarah. Really sick. Shouldn't have scoffed all those cakes and pies. Not to mention all that whiskey."

"Not far now," she replied, heading down the quieter B road which led out of town. "Can you hold on?"

Pain lanced up his abdomen. Graham took a deep breath. That awful but familiar feeling was assaulting his gut.

"Oh no, not again!" He gasped. "Sarah, I'm going to be sick! Please can you stop the car?"

Sarah pulled up in a small lay-by, and jumped out of the car. Graham unfastened his seatbelt and tried to remain calm.

"Shit, I can't believe this is happening again," he sighed, as Sarah opened the passenger door and helped him out. "After that awful experience in church when I'd eaten that dodgy prawn sandwich and I..."

"Ssh, don't worry about that," she said, helping him to his feet. The night breeze was cool and refreshing. "A bit of fresh air might help..."

"You must think I'm always ill. Whenever we meet, something gross like this always happens."

She smiled at him. "It'll take more than an upset stomach to put me off you. Besides, you weren't the only one who'd overindulged. Reverend Bradley was almost in a coma. I didn't expect a vicar to be such a heavy drinker."

"The Reverend's a virtual alcoholic, though he's in complete denial," Graham replied, then he gasped as his stomach gave a violent lurch, signalling it needed to eject its contents.

"Oh God. It's coming. Going to be sick!"

Sarah slipped her arm round him and helped him stagger round the front of the car and towards the kerbside.

He belched and started retching.

"It'll be alright, Graham," Sarah whispered. "Just get it all up and you'll feel better."

He felt his stomach heave as sour liquid and half-digested food forced its way up his throat.

Damn, he felt so ill. He tensed and bent over.

"Ummmfff!"

Graham vomited. A massive, foul load surged from his open mouth, barely making it past his lips before splattering onto the tarmac. Thick, pale brown and lumpy, the remains of what had once been some much-enjoyed food hit the ground with a loud, wet plop.

"Ummmfff!" Graham gagged.

Another round of vomit followed immediately after, and more violent than the last. It splattered on top of the existing pile.

"Jesus," Sarah exclaimed as she watched, both concerned, fascinated and to her surprise, aroused. There seemed even more than when he puked the last time, in the church.

Graham spit, smearing bile across his cheek as he fruitlessly tried to wipe at his mouth. His breath came out in short, fast bursts as he tried to suck down as much air as he could before his stomach twisted itself again.

His steaming deposits of puke glistened in the streetlight.

Panting, Graham stared in disbelief. "Fuck, how much could be left after all that?" He groaned. "I don't feel any better." His tormented stomach still felt uncomfortably full.

Sarah rubbed his shoulders and hugged him. "Maybe there's still some more to come? Take your time. It's alright. I'm here for you."

Graham wished there was a waste bin nearby that he could've thrown up in instead of all over the road. He didn't envy the poor council worker who'd have to clear up his mess.

"Feels like I've been kicked in the gut." His face twisted, contorting in agony as he doubled over. He coughed and heaved. It was coming again.

"Oh no...uhh...ummmfff!"

Vomit filled his mouth and a thick slurry of half-digested food cascaded forth.

Plop...

Graham was shaky and weak. Moans and heaves and more muffled wet plops as his vomiting continued.

"Haahh...urrghh...ummff...ummff!"

Then at last, the ordeal was over.

"Are you done?" Sarah said.

He belched, brought up a small amount of brown liquid, before finishing off with several dry heaves.

"I'm done," he gasped. His throat was burning and his muscles were terribly sore from retching, but those awful abdominal pains had gone. The relief was sheer bliss. Slowly, the shakiness and the chills ebbed away.

"You really needed to get all that up," Sarah said looking at the four, no five big piles he'd regurgitated onto the ground.

"That's it. I'm never gorging on food, mixing drinks or getting drunk again," Graham sighed, feeling utterly sorry for himself. "I've ruined what had been a lovely evening for us."

She rummaged in her pocket, tore open something and handed him a lemon scented wet facial wipe to wipe his face and mouth.

"Just a bit of puke, Graham. Well alright, quite a lot of puke. But that's not going to spoil our night is it? As he continued to wipe his mouth and recover, Sarah hitched up her floral print dress round her waist, exposing her white knickers, which were extremely damp around the crotch.

"What...are you doing?" He enquired.

"I really need to pee," she said, pulling her knickers down to her knees and squatting down in front of him. "You've relieved yourself...now I need to do the same!"

Graham watched in stunned silence as Sarah unleashed a mighty torrent of golden nectar onto the roadside. All at once the earlier horror of his oral evacuations was forgotten and his mood rose, along with something else.

"Ahh," Sarah sighed. "Feels good!"

He felt his cock throb and strain against his underpants. The sight of her full bush glistening with droplets of pee...her powerful stream, the tantalising glimpse of plump labia...her lowered knickers...the spreading warm puddle...what a feast for the eyes.

He truly had found the woman of his dreams.