by Tara Sivec
“Hey, are you okay? It’s fine, you can stop,” I mutter, my ears ringing with the sounds of her retching and my eyes glued to her back as it continues to spasm.
She shakes her head no as much as she can with my dick still stuffed in her mouth and works through the pain like a trooper. I’m ashamed to say that even with how horrified I am right now, my dick is still hard as a rock and my orgasm continues teetering close the edge.
She tries to speak, but her voice comes out garbled and muffled. It sounds like she’s saying “I’m not a quitter,” but it’s impossible to know for sure since she refuses to remove her mouth from my dick and tries to say the words again.
The vibrations from her voice are like a bolt of electricity shooting right to my balls and while she does her best impression of a hairball yacking cat straddling my thighs, I come so hard and so quickly it takes the breath from my lungs and I lose the ability to think. My hips jerk and my mouth opens wide with a pathetic, high-pitch squeak instead of a manly shout as I experience the best, and possibly weirdest, orgasm of my life.
My happiness at learning the girl of my dreams is in fact a swallower is short-lived. With the pleasure of my orgasm still floating through my dick and balls, Molly’s back arches one last time and she finally gets that pesky hairball up. Or the gallon of vodka she must have downed before I got here. For the first time in my life, and hopefully the only time, a girl pukes on my dick.
Oh, Jesus Christ! Not only is there puke on my dick, there is puke filled with jizz on my dick. I don’t give a fuck if it’s my own jizz, it’s jizz-puke and it’s ON MY FUCKING DICK!
She finally removes her mouth from me as the last of the puke trickles out onto my penis and I prepare myself to give her as many words of comfort as I can so she isn’t embarrassed because Jesus fucking Christ she just puked on my cock!
Don’t worry about me and my dick covered in vomit mixed with mucusy spooge. It’s fine; it’s totally fine that I can feel it dripping down my balls and into my ass crack. I need to play it cool or she’ll never want to put her mouth on my penis again.
Molly quickly sits up on my legs and drags the back of her hand across her mouth. I give her a second to compose herself and pretend like the puke sliding down my hips and between my legs is just warm water. Slimy, jizzy water. It’s fine, puke washes off of balls, no biggie. As long as Molly is okay, I can handle pukey balls.
She finally lifts her head to look at me and I give her a small smile.
“It’s okay, no big deal,” I reassure her.
Without a word, she slides off my lap and crawls up to the top of the bed, flopping face-first into the pile of pillows.
I watch her quietly for a few minutes and she doesn’t move.
“Molly? Are you okay?”
Instead of getting an answer, I hear a tiny little snore and then the deep sounds of her breathing.
As carefully as I can, I scoot myself to the edge of the bed, trying to keep the puke contained to my lap as I contort my body and quickly shuffle to the bathroom to shower. Once I’m cleaned off, I wrap a towel around my waist and strip the covers out from under Molly’s passed out body. I toss them in the corner of the room and grab the extra blanket from the top shelf of the closet, crawling into bed next to her. Turning off the lamp on the bedside table, I unfold the blanket to cover us both. Gently turning her body to the side so I can press myself against her back, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her snugly against me.
Closing my eyes, I nuzzle my nose into her hair and breathe her in. Partially because I love the way she smells, but mostly because it masks the smell of vomit lurking in the air. Maybe I should be freaked out that my first sexual encounter with Molly ended with her puking on my dick, with said dick still in her mouth. I’m sure any other guy would have left her alone in this hotel room and gotten the fuck out of dodge, but I’m not just any guy. I’m a sick fuck and I don’t care if my balls smell like puke for the next couple of days. I don’t even care if my jizz going down her throat was the cause of her upchuck instead of the booze she drank. I’ll let her cough up a hairball on my dick any time, as long as she still wants to put her mouth on it again after tonight.
I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face that my night ended better than I thought it would after Molly’s dad introduced me to his fists.
Who knew vomit balls would trump a black eye and a bloody lip?
Chapter 19
– Poop Sex –
Molly
“Are you even listening to me?” I whisper angrily, peeling back the curtain just enough to make sure mom is still busy talking to the seamstress.
“Molly, I don’t have time to hear the dick puking story again. I have bigger problems right now,” Charlotte complains, huffing and grunting as she tries to suck everything in as hard as she can as I go back to trying to zip her into her wedding dress.
“I threw up all over the first penis I ever put in my mouth!” I whisper-shout angrily, planting my feet wider and tugging on the zipper as hard as I can. “Does that not sound like a huge fucking problem to you?”
It’s been two weeks since the night I became the Incredible Dick Puking Molly, and I’ve tried to get Charlotte to help me since then and she’s brushed me off every time. It’s bad enough I passed out right after it happened and Marco had to clean up my puke by himself. It’s even worse that I woke up the next morning feeling like I’d been run over by a truck with only a vague memory of what had occurred the previous night. Even the feel of Marco’s arms holding me and how good it felt to have him curled up around me couldn’t stop the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, knowing something horrible happened even if I couldn’t remember everything. Marco tried to pretend like everything was fine, but not even his hot body wrapped in just a towel could distract me from the overwhelming smell of puke in the room. After twenty minutes of me arguing with him to tell me what happened, he finally did and I immediately wished I’d ignored the puke smell and let my brain keep what I did a nice little secret locked away forever.
“Maybe the zipper is broken. That’s probably what it is, just a broken zipper,” Charlotte mumbles.
“The zipper isn’t broken, tubby. How is this possible when you’re only like five minutes pregnant? How does this dress not fit when you’ve been puking every day since the stick turned pink?” I complain, immediately regretting my use of the puking word since it just makes me remember what I did the first time I had a penis in my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up, dick-bag!” she yells through clenched teeth. “You call me tubby one more time and I will punch you in the throat!”
The curtain slides open and Ava sticks her head in the dressing room. “Everything okay in here? Why is it taking so long for you to put on a fucking dress?”
I drop my hands from the zipper and back away from Charlotte. There is no way that zipper is going to budge.
“Fatty here doesn’t fit into her wedding dress anymore,” I tell Ava.
Charlotte’s arm flies back and her forearm smacks against my throat. I start choking and wrap my hands around my neck, giving Charlotte a dirty look.
“I warned you,” Charlotte growls, returning my dirty look as she stares at me over her shoulder.
“You told me not to call you tubby, you didn’t say anything about fatty, you fatty-fat-ass-dick-head,” I growl back in between coughs.
“You seriously can’t zip the dress?” Ava questions, stepping inside the small room and pulling the curtain closed behind her.
She steps forward and tries to zip it herself, giving up after a few hard tugs.
“Nope, not gonna happen. This size two no longer fits your size eight ass,” Ava informs our sister. “Maybe you should have eased up on that entire box of Twinkies you inhaled for breakfast this morning.”
Charlotte stomps her foot and whirls around, the dress billowing out around her as she turns. It really is a beautiful dress and she looks stunning. From the front.
“They
’re the only things that I can keep down so shut the fuck up!”
The curtain slides back again and this time, Aunt Claire pokes her head in. “They’re getting a little stingy with the free champagne out here, can we speed things along?”
Charlotte quickly moves in front of me so the huge gap in the back of her dress can’t be seen in the full-length mirror behind her.
“This isn’t a bar, Aunt Claire. I think five glasses is enough,” Charlotte tells her.
“I had cancer! Have you no shame?” she argues.
“There is a statute of limitations on how long you can keep using that to make us feel bad,” Ava says. “It’s not going to work because you want more booze.”
Aunt Claire gives her the finger. “You’re mean and I don’t like you very much right now.”
“Why am I the only adult in this room?” Ava complains with a roll of her eyes.
“I am acting like an adult, you’re just being a meanie doo-doo head,” Aunt Claire states, sticking out her tongue as she pulls her head back and yanks the curtain closed.
“We’ll just tell them you’ve been stress-eating,” Ava says with a shrug. “Weddings are stressful, it’s easily believable. It’s not like they didn’t witness you inhaling that box of snack cakes in the car. Oh, wait. They didn’t because you hunkered down in the back seat and made Molly hold the box and pretend like she was the one eating them.”
I nod in agreement. Not my finest hour pretending to chew every time our mother looked in the rearview mirror or Aunt Claire turned around to look at the three of us.
“Oh, just so you know, Marco hasn’t said a word to Tyler about the night of the great penis purge,” Ava tells me while Charlotte reaches behind her to try and zip up her dress on her own. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him, I just nonchalantly asked what they talked about when he got home from grabbing a beer with Marco last night. If Tyler knew, it would have been the first thing out of his mouth since that man cannot keep a secret. Not only can your man handle a little vomit on his junk, he doesn’t gossip about it. You’ve got yourself a keeper.”
I close my eyes in mortification as she laughs, refusing to give her a high-five when she holds her hand up in the air.
Even though I wanted to lock myself in my room and never face Marco again after the night in the hotel room, he made that impossible to do. He wouldn’t let one day go by without seeing me, and as much as I wanted to hide from him so I never had to think about what I did, I wanted to be around him even more. He came up to work every day and took me to lunch, he planned dates and things for us to do almost every night and he never let more than a few hours go by without calling to tell me he just wanted to hear the sound of my voice. My two year crush and only a handful of weeks with him has shot me right up the hill of falling in love with him to tumbling over the edge and head over heels, madly, passionately in love with him.
“What am I going to do if I can never give him another blowjob? What kind of a relationship can we possibly have if I can’t put his penis in my mouth without throwing up?” I ask, trying to keep my panic at a minimum before I curl up in the fetal position and cry.
“Stop being a drama queen, for fuck’s sake. So you threw up on his dick? Come back to me when you’ve had accidental anal,” Ava says with a sigh. “At least you had the luxury of passing out after you threw up. I couldn’t sit down for a week and I was afraid to take a shit for four days.”
I grimace and throw my hands up.
“Seriously, you have got to stop with the over-sharing,” I complain.
“Maybe I should give Gavin anal and then tell him about the baby,” Charlotte thinks aloud. “Anal can make anything better, right?”
Ava nods. “Sure. Anal is pretty much the sexual duct tape of the world—it fixes everything. I should put that on a t-shirt.”
While Ava ponders her idea, I turn my focus to Charlotte.
“Have you even tried talking to Gavin about kids yet or are you just planning on dropping this huge bomb on him as soon as he says I do?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed.
“You can’t rush something like this, Molly. It’s a very delicate situation.”
Her annoyance comes through loud and clear and it pisses me off.
“Oh, by all means, take your time. In fact, why don’t you wait until you go into labor to break the news? I’m having so much fun fucking up my life and having mom and dad upset and disappointed in me instead of enjoying what should be the best time of my life. As long as you’re happy, Charlotte, that’s all that matters,” I bite out sarcastically.
Ava pats me on the back in sympathy and Charlotte immediately bursts into tears.
“I’m so fat and Gavin is going to leave me, and now you hate me and I’m going to be pregnant and alone and this baby is going to hate me for ruining it’s life!” she wails.
“Oh, give me a fucking break!” Ava complains. “Turn off the fake waterworks. I am not afraid to punch a pregnant chick so cut that shit out.”
Charlotte huffs in annoyance, the tears in her eyes immediately disappearing, proving that Ava was correct and she was faking it. She almost had me feeling sorry for her pathetic ass.
“Jesus, are you even human?” I mumble.
“It’s a gift,” she shrugs, resuming her struggle to try and zip her dress. “I just imagine someone I love dying in a really horrible way.”
“You need to be medicated. If Gavin doesn’t dump your ass when you tell him about the baby, he sure as shit will when he figures out you’re psychotic,” Ava states.
“Your boyfriend can’t get it up unless you dress up like Mister Ed so fuck off,” Charlotte replies. “I think I’ve almost got it.”
Charlotte pants as she twists and turns with her arms still behind her back. Her face is red and glistening with sweat as she struggles for a few more seconds before dropping her arms and sighing in relief. “I did it!”
She turns to show us, Ava and I sharing a quick look behind her back.
“Yep, you did it!” Ava cheers as Charlotte turns back around with a smile. “You moved the zipper a whole centimeter. Well done, fatty.”
Charlotte lunges at Ava and I quickly jump forward, wrapping my arms around her and holding her back while she pulls and struggles and curses.
“You dick-bag-whore-fuck-ass-licking-twat!” Charlotte screams, not even bothering to keep her voice down.
“Fuck right off, you selfish cunt!” Ava yells back.
Charlotte stops struggling and I let out a low whistle.
“Damn, going right for the C U Next Tuesday, huh? That’s harsh,” I tell her.
Ava shrugs. “It couldn’t be helped. Can we call a truce for now and get this shit show over with? Aunt Claire is going to start throwing punches if she goes much longer without champagne.”
I drop my arms from around Charlotte and she takes a deep breath for courage. I decide to keep my mouth shut for now and suck this crap up a little longer. I’m pissed and I’m frustrated and I just want this whole thing to be over with, but I know it’s just as bad for Charlotte. She’s nervous about everything running smoothly with the wedding she’s been planning since she was a little girl, she’s pregnant and scared and now her dream dress that she loved the minute she first tried it on six months ago doesn’t fit. And least I have one good thing in my life that makes all of this bullshit better, even if I’m now afraid of his penis.
Ava and I leave the dressing room first and I hold the curtain open for Charlotte to walk through. Mom, Aunt Claire and Aunt Jenny stop talking and stare at Charlotte as she walks out of the room.
Mom immediately bursts into tears and Aunt Claire silently grabs a box of Kleenex from the table next to her, shoving it into mom’s stomach.
“Oh, honey, you look so beautiful,” Mom gushes as Charlotte smiles at the praise, lifting up the skirt of her dress and doing a little twirl.
“Why isn’t your dress zipped?” Aunt Claire asks when Charlotte stops twirling.
; “I’m stressed. I’ve been stress-eating and gained a little weight, and it’s no big deal and it happens to every bride,” Charlotte rambles.
“Oh, my gosh, you too?” Aunt Jenny asks. “I’m so nervous and excited about the wedding I’ve been eating in my sleep. I’m sleep-walk eating.”
Mom blows her nose and Aunt Claire holds up her empty champagne glass, signaling to the owner of the shop. “Something tells me I’m going to need a refill.”
Aunt Jenny continues as Mom tosses her tissue and box of Kleenex to an empty chair. She walks behind Charlotte to try and zip the dress, glancing at the camera man and sound guy standing next to Aunt Claire with their equipment pointed right at Aunt Jenny.
“Do you guys ever take a lunch break or anything? Now might be a great time for that,” Mom informs them.
Daren the camera guy, or Dicky Daren as Uncle Drew likes to call him, who has been recording our family’s every move for the last two weeks, tilts his head to the side of the camera and shrugs.
“Sorry, folks. Producer says I have to get everything. Don’t worry, they’ll edit out anything they don’t think is interesting.”
At this point, the documentary their filming will be approximately 85,000 hours long instead of a two-hour special. Our family doesn’t know how to do anything uninteresting.
“Does that mean you’ll include the footage of you letting Drew fondle your wanker? Because that was pretty interesting, Dicky Daren,” Aunt Claire says with a wink.
“He didn’t fondle it; he grazed it on accident when he tripped over the microphone chord! I have never let a dude fondle my penis!” Daren argues. “I mean, not that it’s wrong or anything. I’m down with the gays and they’re cool and everything, but I prefer chicks on my dick.”
Stan, the sound guy, elbows him in the side and nods to the camera.
“Fuck! Of COURSE I didn’t stop recording,” Daren mutters, shifting the camera more securely on his shoulder and moving his face back behind the eye piece.
“You should be loud and proud about that shit, Dicky Daren,” Aunt Claire says with a laugh. “You got at least an hour of footage of Drew going on and on about how big your penis is and how he’s pretty sure it’s the size of his forearm. Do you know how many women you could bang if that airs? Seriously. You’d have to beat them off with a stick.”