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...