stomachache's blog

(Wyatt goes to Sam's house for a visit. This story contains nudity and the characters fantasize about gore.)

After the school year, Wyatt had stayed in touch with Sam, chatting occasionally and mulling over the possibility of meeting up. They were unclear over whether it would be platonic or sexual, or both. They both believed that the ambiguity was part of the fun. One day, they finally met up at Sam's place while his family was away, leaving them both to their own devices.

Wyatt knocked on the door and was greeted by Sam, wearing jeans and a thin tank top. Wyatt himself was wearing a yellow t-shirt and skinny jeans.

"Hey man, come on in." The living room was pristine, everything neat and in its place as if it was a scene for a commercial. "You can just come on to my room. Don't wanna mess with anything in here."

They both went to his room which, apart from the light clutter, was just as clean as the common room. They both sat down on the bed. "You have no idea what I had to pull to get permission for you to be here. I had to give my mom your phone number, your whole background. You're lucky I didn't know your address or social security."

Wyatt chuckled. "Why do you still need your mom's permission? We're both adults."

"Well that's the question, isn't it?" Sam shrugged in aggravation. "My mom has a way of making you feel like you can't say no. She kinda finds herself past your boundaries, forcing you to push her back if you don't actually want them crossed."

"That must be fun."

"No kidding. I fucking hate living here sometimes. I love my family but they drive me crazy. I miss the dorms, and I'm glad I get to go back soon."

"Is that why you wanted to live in a dorm?"

Sam sighed. "All my life, I've been bogged down by responsibility, no matter how much I've tried to escape it. That's part of the reason why I love space, and hopefully get to go one day. Lesser minds are scared of it, all that nothingness, but I see salvation, liberation. They think it makes us insignificant, but I think it's calling to us."

Wyatt stared blankly. "I might be scared of it, but I definitely don't think it makes us insignificant. Just because we're small doesn't mean we're worthless. Even supermassive black holes are small compared to the amount of empty space in the universe."

Sam smiled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were a lesser mind. Maybe I shouldn't be so judgemental. I'm tired of being marooned in this house, in this country, on this planet, when I know I could make it in greater places."

"Some would call you an escapist." Wyatt chuckled. "I wouldn't, but some would."

"Some could suck it." Sam turned on his TV. "Wanna watch me play video games with my shirt off?"

"Absolutely!" Wyatt didn't bother concealing his excitement.

They both took their shirts off, sitting next to each other with their torsos bare. At one point, Wyatt sat behind Sam and started touching his body, rubbing on his belly and pecs. Sam would be distracted by the intimate contact, falling and dying more than once, especially when Wyatt fingered his belly button.

"Gonna be your turn soon." Sam turned his head partially to address Wyatt. "I hope you like me groping you."

Wyatt laughed. "Don't threaten me with a good time. And it's not my fault you have such nice tits."

Sam burst into laughter. "Sorry, I've just never thought of them that way."

"Well I have." Wyatt thought for a moment. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"If you were gonna kill me, how would you do that?"

Sam paused the game, then turned to look at him. "Like, for business or for pleasure."

"Mmm, both."

Sam turned fully around. "Well, for business, I'd probably just put you under a hanging heavy object and drop it on you. Depending on how heavy it was, your body and brain would be mush before any of your pain receptors got the chance to relay the information."

"Merciful. Interesting."

"Of course, but that's business." Sam touched Wyatt's belly, earning him a quiver. "As for pleasure, I'd put you under my boot and slowly crush your stomach. I'd put all of my weight on you until your abs couldn't take it anymore. Then, as the finishing touch, I'd stomp you really hard one good time with all of my weight. With luck, your guts would shoot out of your ass."

Wyatt's penis swelled like a balloon. He hadn't anticipated an answer involving his insides, but it was a pleasant surprise. "Holy shit. That's really fucking hot."

Sam sighed in relief. "I'm glad. I'm also glad I didn't scare you off with that. So, how would you kill me?"

Wyatt lied down, letting Sam continue to play with his body as he answered. "I'd throw you on the bed, or any surface, grab a large knife and stab you right in the belly button. I'd make the hole deep enough so it goes into your abdominal cavity, and wide enough to fit my hand in. Then I'd stick my hand in the hole, digging until I reach your intestines, then grab a loop and pull it out. I wouldn't completely disembowel you, just grab that loop and lead you around with it. If you didn't come with, or couldn't, I'd just hand it to you and force you to hold it to keep it from falling on the ground."

Sam almost came in his jeans as he said that. He had no idea he could have such fantasies in the first place, but he felt he found a kindred spirit in him. He stared at him with his mouth partially open.

Wyatt laughed. "That good, huh?"

"Oh, oh yeah, that good indeed. I kinda wish you would do that to me."

He put his finger in his belly button. "But then you'd probably die, or at least, you'd have to explain to your parents how your insides ended up on the outside, and it'd be this whole thing."

"Yeah." Sam seemed almost genuinely disappointed. "Maybe one day we'll be immortal, or can regenerate flesh very quickly, and then we can fuck each other up as much as we want. Maybe I'd stab you and stick my dick in the hole."

"Oh God, yes. Cum in between the slices in my intestines. Let the blood, shit, and cum mix together.

"You're so beautiful when you talk like that." Sam caressed his face. "I'd lay out your whole digestive system while you sucked me off."

"Then maybe I'd stab you, too, and then we'd tie our severed guts in a knot so we'd die tied together."

"Oh shit." Sam moaned and his eyes rolled backwards. He came in his jeans, soaking through his underwear and leaving a damp spot on his jeans. He blushed.

"It's okay. I'll join you."

Wyatt pulled his pants down, unsheathing his long member. A few strokes of it was all that was needed to launch cream in Sam's direction, who stood in front of it and let it hit his body. A few seconds later, they both laughed, and began picking up their soiled clothes. Wyatt put his jeans back on, while Sam put on a pair of fresh shorts.

"I think you should wash my jeans, since you're the one who made me cum." Sam handed him the bag he put his jeans in.

Wyatt laughed. "If you want them, you better come and get them when you come to my place."

They spent the rest of the day still shirtless until it was time for Wyatt to go back home. They hugged and parted ways for the day, thoroughly enjoying the time they spent together.

(This is the very short conclusion to Break-In. Mostly to wrap up the story, not much action, just a little dialogue and puke.)

Hector woke up on a hospital bed to a deep pain in his gut. He looked around the room and saw Jonas sitting on a chair, clasping his own stomach, facing away. The white tank top he was wearing was thin enough to show the outline of his nipples and the healing bruise on the center of his gut. A groan or two from Hector alerted him and he immediately hugged him.

"Careful. I feel a little queasy." He turned his head and started convulsing. Jonas hurriedly grabbed the nearby trashcan and put it under his mouth, allowing him to hurl into it. A couple streams of red-tinted puke that he originally kept down were free from his stomach. Jonas wiped his mouth off with a napkin, making him smile.

"It's so good to see you again."

"Hector..." Jonas started tearing up. "I love you, and not just as a friend. I love you completely. When you were gone, I thought I'd never see you again, that I'd never get a chance to tell you how I feel. I was a coward. I am a coward. I'm so fucking scared, I could barely leave the house to come see you. And you always tell me that I'm supposed to be self-sufficient, that I'm supposed to be okay by myself, but I'm not. I hate it here. I hate this world. It's so cold and cruel and terrifying, but not you. Everything is okay as long as I have you."

Hector began crying as well. "I definitely didn't expect you to say it out loud." He laughed. "But I knew you love me. And I knew I do, too. And you're not a coward. You came here to see me, and you told me this."

"It took you literally getting kidnapped."

"But you still did it." Hector coughed to the side. "And I know you're scared. And I know I'm gonna be scared as soon as my body realizes I got kidnapped by a sadist with a belly fixation." He laughed again. "But I know neither one of us is a fucking coward. We'll do whatever it takes. And we'll see the sun again."

Jonas leaned over to kiss him. They could both taste the bile, but it wasn't enough to bring them apart until they were satisfied. It was their first kiss, and every bodily fluid in the world wasn't going to ruin it. When they finally parted lips, they both felt much better, physically and mentally.

"So what's my prognosis? Please tell me I'm not dying."

Jonas laughed. "You'll be fine. You actually fared better than me. Just don't eat solid foods for a while."

Hector sighed. "I want to go home."

"You'll be getting discharged soon. Then we can both go home, and be scared together."

"Together. I like that."

(This is the first of a new series involving Wyatt from the Sam stories, mostly focusing on him being shirtless with the odd gutpunch elements thrown in there from time to time. These will be a combination of my previous works and the slice-of-life genre. Punk Show takes place on the same night as Repayment, while Sam was attacked by the "debt collector".)

"Is he cute?" Melissa was Wyatt's friend since high school, and she was also the second member of their band. Durk, the third, was the drummer, and relatively new to both of them. They were all at Melissa's apartment, stalling a bit before heading to a show.

"Actually, yeah. He's nice and chubby." Wyatt was talking about Sam, his current college roommate.

"Bet you wanna suck on his titties."

"You're the one obsessed with nipples! Yours, mine, Durk's."

Durk laughed. "Hey, if someone throws me money, I must just show off my naturals tonight." He was buff and in his late twenties, with a perpetual five o'clock shadow.

"Eh, good chance I'll take mine off either way. It's freeing, and vulnerable."

"You're a slut." Melissa lamented. "Unlike you, I don't have the privilege to show my nipples."

"You know they probably wouldn't care if you took your bra off, right?"

"I mean..." Melissa rubbed her arms, anticipating the sense of exposure. "Maybe some other time."

They all laughed, and to that, they left Melissa's apartment for the venue. In proper fashion, it was a small house by the railroad tracks, populated in and out by various punks, goths, and their friends. The vibes were well enough; most people were there to either drink or play, or both. Wyatt's unnamed band was on first, and when they went on, they all looked at each other and removed their shirts, earning playful whistles from the audience. Melissa still had on an pink bra, and Durk was surprisingly muscular, sporting a six pack and huge arms.

They only played a couple songs, plus a prototypical track, all original, if a bit usual. Wyatt sung and screamed, Melissa played the guitar, and Durk drummed, all sweaty in the packed living room. After their set, they packed up their equipment and joined some of the folks in the backyard.

"I'm glad it's almost fall." Wyatt wiped the sweat from his face and chest. "It's so fucking hot in there."

Melissa joined him, followed by Durk. "Nice set tonight. You also sang well."

Wyatt thought for a minute, then laughed. "Funny." He looked at Durk. "Also, holy shit, I did not know you were ripped."

Durk laughed and hid his face a little. "Yeah, I recently started eating better, and I've been doing at-home workouts a lot. Prepping for a thing I'm doing with some guys."

"What kind of thing?"

"Uh, a recreational thing. Buncha guys, and others, get together once a week."

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "It's not an orgy, is it?"

Durk laughed. "Nah, nah, nothing like that. Besides, you wouldn't need to work out for an orgy. Nah, just some hand-to-hand combat. Think a fight club, but more tame."

Wyatt thought for a minute. "Are there any requirements?"

"Just that you gotta be comfortable hitting and getting hit." Durk slapped his six-pack. "Sometimes, during half-time, they tie somebody to a pole and take turns punching them hard in the abs. I volunteered this time, so I'm gonna get hit. People place bets on whether you give up, whether you throw up, that kind of thing."

Wyatt didn't want to admit it, but he was intrigued, having to cross his legs a little to hide his growing erection.

Melissa had been friends with Wyatt long enough to recognize his body language. "Do you think we could come to the next gathering?"

"Oh yeah, if you want. Just behave, and keep all fights in the ring. You could even go topless if you wanted. Some guys do naked fights, but I like to keep my pants on. Oh, and no shirts or shoes. That's the other thing. So if you go, better be comfortable shirtless and barefoot. They're doing it inside, so don't worry about glass or anything."

"Well, that's not a problem, is it, Wyatt?"

Wyatt shot her a half-glare. "As a matter of fact, it's not. I'm very comfortable with myself. I don't know if I could do that pole thing, at least not yet, but a good match doesn't sound too bad."

"That's what it's about." Durk looked at Wyatt and his partially defined abdomen. "I could teach you some conditioning, or at least hit you a few times just to give you an idea of how it feels."

Wyatt thought about it. The prospect of Durk punching him in the gut was strangely alluring, and he was excited to see him getting worked over at the gathering. "I dunno, I'm a little worried you're gonna impale me with those arms."

"Up to you." Durk shrugged. "I know how to pull punches, and I'm definitely not gonna hurt you on purpose."

Wyatt thought some more. "You know what, yeah. Why not?" They both went to the corner of the backyard and Wyatt prepared, stretching his body and tightening his abs. Melissa hurriedly got out her phone and started recording with a shit-eating grin on her face. Wyatt glared, then flipped off the camera. Durk joined him and readied his fist, then punched him directly on his navel, Wyatt absorbing it well enough.

"That wasn't so bad."

"That was a light hit." Durk raised his fist a little higher, then hit him a few more times, resulting in some grunts and hisses. "You're taking hits pretty well, but you should also be able to take some hits unflexed, just in case you can't anticipate an attack."

Wyatt sighed and raised his head. "Alright, if you insist." He relaxed his abs, leaving his belly completely vulnerable. Durk pulled back and sent a light jab into him, which smacked into the center of his belly and went in a little deeper, forcing some wind out of him and causing him to bend a little.

"Not bad." Durk patted Wyatt's back in congratulation. "It's important to keep in mind where your organs are in your body. The lungs and heart are protected by your ribs, but they can break if hit hard enough. The gut is soft and malleable, but your stomach and intestines are in there and vulnerable to damage if you aren't careful. You don't wanna have to explain to a doctor that you're bleeding on the inside because you and your sparring partner got a little too excited."

Wyatt laughed, then smiled. "Guess my intestines must be pretty strong on their own." He looked over at Melissa, still holding the camera. "You should try this!"

She laughed. "Now you should see if you can take a full-strength hit from him."

Wyatt's eyes widened and he guarded his stomach reactively. Durk laughed and shook his head.

"Nah, you'd definitely pop something. You need a lot more training before one of those."

Wyatt took some offense to the statement. "I mean, I'm not that weak. I'm pretty fit."

"Fit for consumption." Melissa barely bothered to mutter. "It's okay, you don't have to be strong. We love you just the way you are."

Wyatt glared again. "I could probably take you, and I wouldn't go down just from a thump in the tummy. I'm not that skinny."

"You don't have anything to prove. Just do some sit-ups and practice with a partner and you'll be fine." Durk stretched his own body, showing his hairy pits and pulling his nipples further up his pecs.

"Well, now I feel like I do. Go ahead and hit me as hard as you can, right in the belly." Wyatt smacked his gut where his belly button was.

Durk looked him up and down. "Yeah, I'm not doing that, but I'll hit you at about fifty percent."

"Fine. But I'm not flexing."

Durk sighed. "Have it your way."

He grabbed Wyatt's sides, positioning him properly for a wind-up. He pulled back his fist, and Wyatt just stared at him, not wanting to instinctively flex when he saw the fist coming. After a few practice wind-ups, he finally threw the punch. His fist buried itself briefly in Wyatt's unprotected gut, smacking into his intestines and pushing them backwards or to the side. His cheeks swelled up with air as it was expelled from his body. His mouth was agape, and he clasped his stomach as soon as Durk withdrew his fist.

He fell on his knees for a moment, inhaling painfully and trying to survey the damage to his innards. He could feel his intestines squirming in his belly from the blow, but apart from the pain, he felt normal. He continued to grasp his belly as if he had been stabbed in it.

"Oh shit, are you okay?" Melissa had begun to regret goading him into accepting the punch.

Continuing to focus on his breathing, Wyatt nodded, then, reconsidering, shrugged.

Durk walked over to and stood behind him. "How's the pain?"

He slowly looked up at him. "F- five."

"Out of ten?"

Wyatt nodded, frowning.

Durk laughed. "Yup, that sounds about right." He patted his back. "You'll be fine. Just ride it out."

Melissa was relieved by his prognosis. "Do you feel proven yet?"

Wyatt removed one hand to hold up a middle finger, then to push himself back up to his feet. He was hunched, and he leaned himself on the wooden fence for support, but he was upright.

Durk put his arm around his shoulders. "The last guy I did that to had to drink smoothies for a week. You look better off than he did, so maybe you do have some strong guts."

Melissa brought the camera down to Wyatt's belly, observing the redness around it. "Yeah, if they're still intact."

Wyatt looked at both of them and smiled, holding up a peace sign. Once again, his legs were closed, hiding a massive hard-on. "Man, that was, something else. Definitely not gonna drink anything tonight."

"Oh yeah, water will do you some good." Durk went to a nearby cooler and grabbed a water bottle. "We've all been there."

Wyatt drank little sips of cold water which traveled down into his stomach, cooling his body and soothing his bellyache. He periodically massaged his gut in an effort to encourage his insides to recover. Melissa stopped recording and put her phone back in her purse with the cadence of a thief storing a freshly stolen diamond.

Wyatt laughed. "You're sick, you know that?"

Melissa glanced at his red belly. "Not as sick as you with that tummy ache."

"I learned my lesson."

The rest of the night was spent drinking water and hearing the other bands play in the background before they headed back to Melissa's apartment. They all had a sleepover and fell asleep cuddling on the same couch; Wyatt laid on the space between Durk's legs, and Melissa laid her head on Wyatt's stomach, using it as a pillow.

I've been writing short creative stories on-and-off for over a month now. They're a mix of things I enjoy, fantasies I've had, and concepts I've wanted to explore. My first one was written in the first-person perspective and was unanimously well-received, but the second one was unanimously disliked, literally.

No feedback or criticism was given, so I just assumed it wasn't their cup of tea and moved on, though I would've preferred they didn't effectively downvote it. I made a very short update, since deleted, brainstorming ideas for future stories, and it received even more dislikes. Again, no feedback, and absolutely no rhyme or reason.

I didn't want to talk about how demoralizing it was, mostly because I just assumed whoever they were had some sort of inexplicable vendetta against me, or were just really cranky, but it was demoralizing, to the point where I made it so people were only able to react to it if they leave comments, in an effort to at least salvage some sense from it. I regret that it also discourages positive feedback, but it's worth it to me. I have no shame in admitting that I'm sensitive, but I'm able to receive constructive criticism, as long as it's respectful and not demeaning.

Because of this, I have no real idea how well or unwell my stories are received, apart from the one or two people who took the time to tell me they enjoyed them. I'm effecting flying blind, sending transmissions into the void, hoping that whoever or whatever receives it is pleased with what they've received. I risk ridicule with every post I make, and have no idea how likely or unlikely I am to receive it.

Ultimately, I write for myself, for my own motivations and desires. Perhaps one day I'll make a career out of it, making custom stories for pocket money. I believe that the more often I write, the better at it I'll be. I won't always do it daily, but that is the case for now.

For those of you that have not enjoyed my stories, respectfully but firmly, move on, and if you really want to say something about it, say something I can use. For those of you that have, I'm glad, and I hope that you continue to enjoy the future ones.

(This is the second-to-last installment of Break-In. Some characters might be re-occuring, but I think it's time to give Hector and Jonas a break from their no-doubt life-changing trauma. Might get into some darker elements in future stories, but for now, it's about time to wrap it up. Contains similar things as Part 3.)

The door opened to let in the woman from before, minus her attendee. Hector tried to run past her to no avail, only to earn two fingers in the gut near his belly button, touching the intestines under his abs. He screamed and gasped before collapsing, then being kicked a few feet back into the center of the room. The woman took off her trenchcoat, revealing some sort of skin-tight exosuit. Compared to him, she was tall, muscular, and commanding.

"It's play time. Put your arms and legs in the cuffs at the back wall over there."

Hector, already favoring his gut, looked up at her standing before him. "Make me."

"I am." She kicked him in the gut, then pressed down with her boot still embedded in him, pushing his intestines into his pelvis.

"AGH! Shit!" He knew it would be best to comply with her directions for the moment, but had too much pride to let her order him around. He thought of Jonas, how distraught he must've been without him, then swallowed his pride, and probably the contents of his stomach, and tapped her leg to let up so he could do as she asked. He backed up and stretched painfully into position before the cuffs closed around him. The door shut, leaving them both alone in the room.

She approached him, face to face, then started running her hands all over his stomach. "Let me guess. You don't know how you keep your figure, you just eat lots of greens, avoid fast food, and do the occasional sit-up, don't you?"

He was silent, trying not to enjoy her hands on his shirtless torso. Another quick prod into one of his organs changed his tune. "Yes."

"Figures." She began punching his abs, rhythmically and with moderate strength, forcing him to consistently flex. He wasn't an athlete by any means, but he had abdominal definition, certainly more than Jonas, and could hold out for a short while under her assault. He struggled to breathe while he was flexing, especially when he had to inhale and his belly inflated, pushing in a bit each time she punched him, much to her enjoyment.

She let up only in short intervals, only to continue right away, for the same amount of time, waiting until he was almost out of breath, then giving him just too little time to catch it before resuming. As well as eroding his slight abs, she was slowly suffocating him, leaving him unable to continue flexing for much longer without passing out. He was forced to choose between air and his only defense against her right hand.

By the time she was done, he was sweating, gasping for air, his whole belly raw from the gradual onslaught, filling and emptying for air. He was completely at her mercy, and right when it would be time to begin another barrage, she punched him hard directly in the belly button, pushing effortless past his abdomen.

"OUGH!" Spit shot out of his mouth, spraying her in the chest, resulting in a deeper, anger-fueled push into his abdominal cavity. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Of course, he had been in fights throughout his childhood, usually defending himself, and had taken more than his fair share of hits, but this was another league, falling somewhere between punching and stabbing. The literal bowels of his soul were within range of her grasp, his insides either making way for her, or crushed by her wrath.

She didn't remove the fist until his eyes started to roll back into his head, at which point she withdrew it immediately, snapping him awake as his guts returned to their original positions with an audible squelch. He was breathing in and out massive waves of air, trying to fill back up the compressed spaces of his gullet, which hurt tremendously.

He felt something climbing up his throat, and knew his stomach couldn't take the close contact it had received, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him spew. He closed his mouth and his cheeks filled up, spraying a little bit out of his puckered lips, and two gulps later, it was going back down. His stomach continued to convulsed and contract, and he had to repeat the process a few times before it finally conceded. She watched with bewilderment.

"That's a lesson you learned a long time ago, isn't it? That real strength has nothing to do with the body, but the soul."

"Fuck... you." Hector's speech was slurred, and the oxygen deprivation and bodily trauma were taking their toll. If she did this every day, then he wouldn't be able to escape at all.

"Poor thing." She touched his stomach, earning a wince, and brought her tongue to his belly button. He squirmed to try to throw off her position, but opted not to bother with what little energy he had. As she licked, they both heard a far-off explosion. Her eyebrow twitched. "Don't go anywhere."

The door wouldn't open automatically, so she pulled a cell phone out of her trenchcoat pocket on the floor. A few button presses did the job, and she left, leaving it open behind her. With what little strength he had, Hector strained against the cuffs, to no avail. He hoped, almost prayed, that the door wouldn't close, and that whatever the source of the explosion was, that it was there to rescue him.

A few relatively loud gunshots seemed to come from the outside, which looked like a prison, but wearing and tearing in various places. All of the doors he could see in the block looked rusted and ajar, nothing like the door in his own cell. After a minute, someone in full-body military gear appeared at the door, briefly pointing a high-powered rifle at Hector's shirtless body before quickly lowering it. He yelled something to the side, and a few others joined him. His accent was difficult to make out, but he spoke English.

"It will be okay. We are hear to save you."

Hector sighed and smiled before letting himself pass out, bruised and sweaty in front of the fully-clad soldiers.