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Rated: XGC · Interactive · Adult · #1978811
You seem to have a knack at attracting gross girls and getting in gross situations...
This choice: A drunk coed who is about to vomit  •  Go Back...
Chapter #4

"Taking Care of" the Coed

    by: G-Writer Author IconMail Icon

Sarah was having a baaad evening. She had told her girlfriends that starting to take shots at 10 in the morning to "pre-celebrate" passing mid-terms that they hadn't even taken was a bad idea, but they had just convinced her how great of an idea it was... by pushing her more shots. She had at least had the peace of mind to make sure she ate while they were drinking, but bar wings, pizza, a burger or two, and god knows what she had snacked on in between, well... It hadn't exactly done wonders to settle her stomach. Now it was after 6PM, she had lost her girlfriends at some point, and decided to walk home... Not her best decision. She had made it about halfway, walking by the local mall, when all of her shots, beers, and bar food decided it wanted to see the daylight of the world again... NOW.

Luckily even her alcohol-addled mind knew the perfect place to go, the little unisex bathroom in the mall that almost no one used!!! She remembered it from back when she was in high school, it was her "cool" smoking spot. She couldn't help but giggle uproarishly, until that giggling was stopped by a loud gurgle from her midsection, urging her on in as quick of a pace as her stumbling body could muster, so quick in fact that she literally opened the door to the little bathroom face-first. "I NEED THE TOILET NOW!"

You had just enough time to pull up your pants before you suddenly had a woman taking up your entire most if not all of your vision. You were obviously a little preoccupied, but even in your startled state you couldn't say that the woman wasn't attractive, if not a little disheveled. From the top, she had a shock of pink and blue shoulder-length hair that was sticking up in random spots, framing a cute if not slightly pudgy face (blemished with a bit of acne). Going down, an equally pink baby-tee was doing it's best to keep in a pair of breasts that you weren't sure how they fit in in the first place. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought they had grown after she got the shirt on... But if her breasts hadn't grown, her stomach probably had. Her tee had rolled up, showing off a pooch and a small pair of love handles, all of which were overflowing an absolutely tiny pair of blue shorts that were no doubt being absolutely devoured by an ass you could see from the front. If you weren't so startled at the girl's intrusion, you might have maybe been attracted to her, or at least chuckled at the fact that her shirt and shorts colors matched her hair perfectly...

Sarah, for her part, paused as she looked down to realize she had just busted in on you... She found you attractive actually, and opened her mouth to either apologize or hit on you, but neither happened as a belch ripped it's way out of her mouth and straight into your face instead. BBBBRRRROOOOOOOOOPPPPTTTTBBLLLUUUUURRGGGsshhh... You cringe as the burp blasts you dead blank, only for it to get MUCH worse when the gaseous blast suddenly turned into chunky liquid as every bit of the shots, food, and stomach acid that was in Sarah's stomach is evacuated all over you, especially on your face. It seems like she's puking more than is possible for even her pudgy tummy to hold, and by the time she's done you feel like you've been showering in her sick.

You're both so shocked that you just stare at each other for a few moments, another small burp breaking the otherwise absolute silence. You open your mouth to say something, but don't get it out as Sarah disgustingly snorts, hocking up a horrendous sounding loogie, only to spit it... right into your open mouth. You of course cough and hack horribly, barely able to keep YOUR lunch down, but Sarah seems to snap back into her drunkenness and giggles ear piercingly. "Wow, are youse here'sh to take care of me? You're suuuuch a shweetheart... I shink I'll...
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