Too Much Is Not Enough


"I've got some excellent tea," he told her on the phone. "Why don't 
you come over to my place tonight, and we'll have some tea and toast?" 
This was their code phrase for getting high - "toasted" - a lingering 
last-millennium paranoia that it amused them both to follow.

She showed up shortly after dinner. He invited her in, not bothering 
to apologize for the mess and clutter in his place; she was used to it 
by now, and besides, she wasn't a much better housekeeper herself. He 
hastily moved a pile of underground comics to the floor, to make room for 
her to sit beside him on the couch. A subtitled anime movie was 
playing, with the sound turned down, while a Sisters of Mercy CD 
filled the room with music.

He got out the pipe and the smoking material, and made a little ritual 
of filling the pipe just so, before he lit it and took a deep drag of 
the smoke. As he held his breath, he offered her the pipe, and she 
grinned and took it from him, taking an equally deep drag. They passed 
it back and forth, without talking, until its contents were consumed.

"I think it's finished," he said, eyeing the bowl critically. "Do you 
want any more?" She giggled, and said, "Of course I do - you know I 
always want more!" So he filled the bowl again, lit it, and took 
another drag before passing it to her. Once again, they smoked in 
silence, smiling at each other. Occasionally their hands would touch 
as they handed the pipe to each other, and she would smile a little 
more.

After the second pipe-ful, he said, "Go ahead and have some more if 
you want it. I don't think I'd better. You know how I get sick if I 
smoke too much too fast. I'm afraid that I'm getting close to that 
point now. But you go ahead."

She looked at him intently and said, "Will you smoke some more with 
me?" He replied, "But you know I'll get sick if I do!" "I know. But 
would you do it anyway? For me?" 

She continued to look into his eyes, with her head ever so slightly 
cocked to one side. Finally he nodded. Without another word, she 
refilled the pipe and lit it herself. Yet again, they alternated 
taking deep drags of the thick, intoxicating smoke.

She was definitely getting high. Her body felt almost boneless, yet 
tinglingly sensitive. As she inhaled deeply, sucking in another 
lungful of smoke, she was acutely aware of the fabric of her shirt 
sliding over her nipples. She wanted him to touch her; she craved his 
touch so much it was almost painful. For a moment, she wanted to take 
his hand and put it on her breast, but she controlled the impulse.

He was not enjoying things quite as much. His last inhalation had sent 
him into the terrifying, swooping dizziness that was the beginning of 
overwhelming nausea. His face was pale, and beads of sweat began to 
appear on his forehead. He started to breathe quickly and shallowly, 
trying to stave off the inevitable.

Sitting close beside him, she felt his body's reactions, and knew what 
was about to happen. Suddenly, he got up and lurched towards the 
toilet. She followed him immediately. He just had time to kneel in 
front of the toilet when his stomach rebelled, and he began to vomit, 
noisily and copiously. She knelt beside him, one arm around his 
shoulders in a steadying embrace, her other hand stroking his hair 
back away from his face. 

He kept throwing up, almost projectile vomiting, each heave landing in 
the toilet bowl with a loud splash. She held him, stroking his hair 
and back, growing more and more aroused with each spasm that wracked 
his body. The spasms tapered off, and stopped; with trembling hands, 
she wiped his face with a washcloth wrung out with cool water. She 
helped him to his feet, and half-carried him to the bedroom, where he 
collapsed on the bed.

She lay down beside him, her entire body shaking violently with the 
force of her own perverse passions. "Thank you," she whispered. He did 
not resist when she put her arms around him... but after a few 
minutes, he began to feel sick again. Once more he barely made it to 
the toilet, where he threw up again and again. Once again she held him 
and comforted him, holding his hair away from his face and stroking 
him with caresses that were somehow both supportive and erotic. This 
time, though, it didn't take long before his stomach was empty; he 
continued to dry-heave painfully for a few moments, until his 
cannabis-sodden brain realized he had nothing left to vomit up. When 
his convulsive heaving finally quieted down, she helped him back to 
the bed, and held him, shaking with the effort of keeping her hands 
from roaming all over his body.

As his strength began to return, he became aware of her desire. He 
slipped his hand under her shirt and gently, hesitantly, began to 
touch her the way he knew she had always wanted to be touched. Her 
body responded immediately and powerfully, the combination of 
emetophilic stimulation, drug-induced arousal, and her long-standing 
passion for him making her writhe and sob at his faintest caress. He 
cupped his hand over her breast, and her nipple sprang against his 
palm. When he moved his hand in a small circular motion, she whimpered 
and pressed her body against him, yearning for more contact.

They fumbled with each other's clothes, giggling in the usual way of 
stoned people at their own inept antics, but as soon as they were both 
naked, her sexual need reasserted itself, and she slithered against 
him again. He caressed her rigidly erect nipples with both hands, and 
was rewarded by her incoherent moan and the way her entire body was 
wracked with twitching shivers. Even in his befogged state, he could 
tell she was very close to orgasm already.

He did not want to torment her with frustration, but his own body was 
nowhere near that level of arousal - indeed, he had only the barest 
stirrings of an erection. But he knew how to give her what she needed. 
He slid down the bed, intending to bring her to orgasm with a quick 
bit of cunnilingus. As his fingers parted her labia, she shook even 
more violently, sobbing "please, please!" and arching her back. But 
the moment his tongue touched her clit, and his stomach registered the 
fact that there was something in contact with his mouth, the drug-
induced nausea reasserted itself, and he retched violently again. 
Although he had emptied himself completely a few minutes earlier, he 
vomited again, urping up a small amount of liquid directly onto her 
pussy. She heard him heave, and felt the hot fluid pouring over her 
clit and running between her labia, and she came, hard, arching her 
back and crying out his name. Her first violent convulsion pushed his 
head away from her groin, but he quickly slipped his fingers into the 
wetness - trying not to think too hard about how much of it was her 
sexual juices and how much was his own bile - and rubbed her clit in 
the same rhythm as her spasms. When she began to come down from the 
highest peaks of orgasm, he slipped his fingers inside her, found her 
G spot, and began simultaneously stimulating that and her clit. This 
sent her back up into the stratosphere, and she thrust herself against 
his hand so hard that only her heels and the back of her head were 
touching the bed. For a moment, she almost seemed to levitate clear 
off the bed; then she fell back, and passed out.

Now it was his turn to hold her until she recovered. As he cuddled 
her, naked flesh against naked flesh, he was surprised to realize that 
he had grown more aroused. His erection bumped against her; this made 
him giggle, which made it bounce, which made him giggle even more, 
which made it bounce more... which woke her up. She giggled also as 
she felt his penis bouncing against her thigh, and said, "Silly man... 
you're off target. Let me help you aim that!"

She grasped his cock firmly, and gave it a slight squeeze, and began 
to adjust her position so that he could slide it into her... but 
realized it was still only partially hard. She stroked the tip of her 
fingernail along the underside, from base to tip, ending with a flick 
on the sensitive spot just behind the head, and was pleased to feel it 
twitch, and then stiffen a bit more. She swiveled around so she could 
suck on it, and took the head into her mouth. She squeezed the shaft 
gently with her hand as she ran her tongue around the tip. He gasped 
at the stimulation, and she tasted a salty-sweet drop of pre-cum. This 
led her to take more of him into her mouth, sucking him and teasing 
him with her tongue at the same time. She accidentally sucked him too 
deeply into her mouth, and *she* began to gag and retch. She quickly 
pulled her head away, trying to keep up the titillation with her 
hands, as she retched once more, but did not vomit. Instead, she 
laughed, knowing that he would know why she was laughing - and he did, 
and he laughed also. "Here, let's do something that won't make either 
of us throw up..." she chuckled, as she rearranged herself to slip his 
cock inside her.

Even while stoned, she knew how to contract her internal muscles, and 
the combination of this with the purposeful thrusting of her pelvis 
was bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. She felt it, and her own 
arousal began to heat up again. "Touch me," she pleaded, and he 
tweaked her nipple, causing her to involuntarily squeeze him tighter 
within herself. Her heels locked behind his knees, and they settled 
into the primordial rhythm, her pelvis rocking upwards to meet each of 
his thrusts, until, with a muffled sob, he erupted inside her. This 
sent her over the top again, and the orgasmic clenchings of her vagina 
triggered him to spasm after spasm, their orgasms driving each other 
until neither one could come any more. This time they both lost 
consciousness for a moment.

Still high, they held each other wordlessly, in a blissful state of 
complete satiation. Finally, she stirred, and kissed him gently on the 
lips; he still tasted of vomit. "I love you," was all she could say...