A/N: This story is purely fantasy/fetish. I don't condone this behavior IRL nor would I engage in it. Neither should you. This type of play can be really dangerous which is why it belongs in fantasy-land only!!
*
Olivia was sick.
Olivia had a million secrets.
Olivia was addicted to attention.
More specifically, she was addicted to the tender solicitousness which is lavished on anyone ill. Thereby Olivia made it her business to always be some form of ill.
They were perfect for each other. Greg needed to be needed; Olivia wanted to be wanted. They wanted and needed each other like oxygen, and practically breathed each other too. Olivia's family were relieved she'd found someone. Nobody had any idea that Olivia was a professional faker-- they just thought she was sickly. And maybe, in a sense, she was.
*
Olivia was thin. Not just small but tiny, the kind of thinness that made people-- well-- pay attention. It wasn't hard to stay thin because she spent so much time "sick," and sick people didn't have appetites. She weighed all of ninety pounds soaking wet, with delicate limbs and bones that broke easy. She knew. She'd broken several bones on separate occasions, but all of them, secretly, on purpose.
Her medical chart was very long. The doctors couldn't understand why Olivia was the way she was-- she seemed to suffer from a long list of syndromes and disorders which came and went quite mysteriously. Tachycardia, chronic fatigue, gastric problems, and on. Little did anyone know that each symptom was, in Olivia's mind, a work of art. And when new symptoms that she didn't even plan on arose, like the tachycardia, she felt like the maestro of an orchestra playing at the Met. She felt like some kind of mad scientist, some kind of evil genius, using her own body in ways it was never meant to be used.
One gray and rainy afternoon, Olivia lay in bed resting. She was not asleep, because she was excited. Greg would be home from work soon, and Olivia had something planned. She lay there gazing at the lace curtains thrown into soft relief by the pale gray light, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. Her excitement was mounting. She lay trembling, anticipating, barely breathing lest she miss the sound of his car in the driveway.
Suddenly, finally, at 5:17pm, there it was. Her vision pulsed a little as her heart beat so hard-- glorious tachycardia-- and she reached under the pillow for the little bottle of ipecac. She heard Greg open the door downstairs, and Olivia swallowed what she thought was a single dose-- maybe a little more. It had been a long time since she'd had "stomach flu" so she knew the syrup would be effective. She winced as it went down, acrid and foul on her tongue, and immediately the nausea set in.
Greg's footsteps on the stairs. Olivia panted softly, willing her heart to slow down. It did, but only a little, and as soon as her massive boyfriend appeared in the doorway, it sped back up. She smiled up at him, a real, beautiful, sunny smile, and he grinned back.
"Hi, baby," he said softly, coming around to the side of the bed. He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his, dwarfing her thin fingers with his bodybuilder's hands. He bent over and kissed her cheek. "How are you, honey?"
"I feel sick," she whispered, fluttering her lashes at him, her doelike brown eyes shining as she felt her stomach begin to churn threateningly. "It's so good to see you, baby. How was your day?"
"I had a good day," he said simply, more concerned for her well-being than talking about himself. "How sick do you feel? Can I do anything for you?"
"My stomach--" she began to say, and her throat convulsed a little. "Oh, hon, I think I'm going to-- to--"
"My poor Liv," said Greg, reaching for the wastebasket. "And you were just getting over the awful cold!"
"I know," Olivia said, offering him a little smile. "Sorry I'm such a p—pain in the ass-- oh god--" Olivia lurched and turned on her side, gripping the side of the bed. The color drained from her face. She had thought it might take longer for the ipecac to take effect, but no... it seemed not.
"You're not a pain, baby doll," Greg crooned, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I love you so much. It's gonna be okay."
Olivia winced, gagged, and began to vomit, warmth kindling between her legs. At first, it was only a little bit of bile, but she had made sure to eat something for lunch. She heaved again, and violently spat up the few pieces of bread she had eaten, choking and gasping for air while Greg soothed her and held the trash can. With each heave, Olivia got more excited, her clit throbbing each time her stomach heaved, the pressure inside her abdomen bearing down on it, her legs squeezed tight together.. The second spasm passed, leading rapidly into a third, and she heaved again a foul-smelling clear bile. She choked some more, having vomited so violently there were tears in her eyes and a little snot dripping from her nose, and her cunt was soaking wet.
She dry heaved a few more times, rocking back and forth with each wet choking cough. A fine sweat had broken out on her forehead. Her lips glistened with bile. By then, Olivia was shivering with weakness, and she collapsed back on the bed, dragging in each labored breath with eyes closed. Her heart pounded. Her cunt pulsed. There was a surge of excitement between her legs as she felt how hard she was shaking, how empty and weak her body felt. With each of her devoted boyfriend's loving touches, she felt another throb between her legs; he patted her forehead free of sweat, wiped her lips clean, and peppered her face with kisses.
"My sweet girl," he murmured, pulling the covers up over her. "You're shaking so hard."
"I know," she moaned in languorous, breathy tones, wishing that she could ask Greg to lick her pussy clean, too. But she couldn't-- she could never let him know.
