stomachache's blog

(I feel bad about how I've been brutalizing my characters, so this story is much more tame. It takes place well after Repayment, at the end of that same school year. Includes nudity and ejaculation.)

It was May, and the AC in the dorms had stopped working, but it was the weekend, so neither Sam nor Wyatt had anything to do except stay in their room and study for finals. Two fans they set up did little to change the source of the hot air, only where it was going. They had the windows shut and the blinds pulled to preserve as much semi-cooled air as possible. They were both sweating, wearing t-shirts and shorts only.

"Why is it so fucking hot?" Wyatt was particularly annoyed, having dealt with canceled plans that marooned him there for the weekend.

"Climate change." Sam was comfortable enough with Wyatt by now to let his guard down. They fell somewhere between pals and friends throughout the year. "And probably the architecture. Modern buildings and skyscrapers aren't built to properly interact with the environment. In the desert, a lot of buildings used to be constructed to cool the air inside during the day and preserve heat during the night."

"Oh yeah? You learn that in astronomy?"

"Cultural anthropology. Another fun fact; apparently, we're not supposed to wear shoes, because they prevent our feet from properly engaging their muscles, causing them to atrophy."

"Good news for foot-fetishists, I guess."

"Of course, we couldn't do that now, because there's too much glass and who knows what else on the ground that would make going barefoot a routine hospital trip."

"Man, that's depressing. I need to use the bathroom."

"I'm assuming that's two separate thoughts?"

They both laughed, and Sam sat at his desk to prepare for an informational speech. He decided it was hot enough to not bother with a shirt and took it off, casting it next to the desk. He was comfortable enough with Wyatt to be shirtless, even in his underwear, around Wyatt, even after the incident with the vomit-collector. That massive bruise had long-healed, as had his belly, and neither of them saw that man again.

Wyatt came back into the room and laid on his bed, putting his arms behind his head. He looked over at Sam. "Oh good, I was thinking about doing that too. It's too hot for a shirt." He took his own off, revealing a tan, skinny torso, with some muscular definition.

"T'is the season." There was adrenaline in his voice. He had never seen Wyatt shirtless, and had always fantasized about him taking off his shirt around him. He didn't turn to look, but the knowledge alone was stimulating, and he had to adjust himself while at the desk. "Of course, it wouldn't help if we were outside."

"Why's that?"

"If we were outside, at least during the day, the sun would be making direct contact with our skin, as opposed to our shirts, so it might just make us hotter than if we wore light, thin shirts."

"Huh. Still fun though."

"Oh yeah?" Sam turned his head to look at him, stealing a glance at his body. "You regularly walk around shirtless outside?"

"I mean, not during the day, but sometimes at punk shows. It's freeing, no one's gonna judge you - well, for the most part - and I feel good about my body."

"Huh." Sam looked down. "That must be nice."

Wyatt felt bad. "To be fair, I don't have people in my ear telling me I'm ugly all the time. I guess it's different if you don't have much to work through."

He turned his chair fully, baring his chest and belly to Wyatt. "I mean, I'm feeling better about myself. Honestly, you helped a lot with that earlier this year."

"Really?" Wyatt smiled at the thought that his words left a positive mark on someone. "I'm really glad to hear that, and I mean it, you look good. You can really see the beauty in yourself and others when you stop letting someone else dictate what you think."

Sam stood up out of the chair. "Look, be honest. Do you really find me attractive?"

"Yes, absolutely. You look good. Something about your belly and your pecs, it's hard to explain. It's like there's more of you, more to play with." He stopped himself. "Not that I'd want to play with you, or not play with you, necessarily."

Sam laughed. "It's okay. I appreciate it, and I believe you, and you're right. It's my body and I love it, but it's because it's my body that I love it. I love it despite the fact that I'm chubby, when I should love it regardless."

"You seriously look good. Hypothetically, I wouldn't mind you being a sexual partner. Again, not saying I would want that, but not saying I wouldn't."

Sam's heart quickened, and he surmised that Wyatt might've fantasized about him as well. Neither one of them seemed to have romantic feelings for each other, but definitely sexual. "I mean, yeah, I mean." He stumbled over his words. "I wouldn't necessarily mind that as well. Like, you look good too, and it'd probably be fun."

Now, Wyatt's heart skipped as well, blood flowing to his equipment. They were at a crossroads, a high-stakes game of social interaction, to avoid making the other too uncomfortable. After that, however, they entered the event horizon, drawing closer towards the inevitable singularity of bodily exploration.

"Is that, something you'd be comfortable with, in the future at least? Us interacting in that way?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, in the future, or really soon even."

They both stared at each other, nervousness transforming into excitement.

"So, if we did, what would you want to do? Normal intercourse or just touching each other?"

Sam thought for a moment, and said something he'd never said out loud. "I've always wanted someone to lick my belly button. Just, to put their head on my belly and stick their tongue in and out. I've seen videos before of people getting their dicks sucked, and that's kind of what I want, just for my navel."

Wyatt quivered with excitement, leading them both to laugh. "Alright, so, you'd want me to do that to you. What would you want to do to me?"

Sam got even more excited, not even bothering to hide his erection. "With you, I might want to press my belly against yours. Something about seeing someone pinned by the belly and struggling to breathe really does it for me, and the thought of it being me to do that makes it even more exciting."

Wyatt got hard as well. He was feeling masochistic, and he had a budding fixation on choking, so he knew he would enjoy it. "Alright, cool, awesome, we should, um, we're gonna do that now, right?"

"Oh yeah." Sam hurried over to his bed and lied down, belly-up, waiting for Wyatt to approach. He joined him lower on the bed, then took a deep breath, brought his face to his belly, and started licking.

Sam immediately moaned. It was even better than he thought it would be, his belly tingling with the intimate contact. The fact that such attention was being paid to his navel was only making him harder, his dick pitching a tent in his shorts. Wyatt felt his erection on his chest and gasped in surprise.

Sam looked up. "What? Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm just fine. Can I take your pants off?"

Sam laughed. "You can take my underwear off if you want."

Wyatt pulled off his shorts and underwear in one grab, tossing them aside. Sam was hairless, and his dick was somewhat smaller than average, but he couldn't have cared less. He grabbed it and stroked it as he returned to his belly button, resulting in louder and more numerous moans. Sam grabbed his head, twirling his medium length hair as he attended to his duty. His knees buckled and raised, touching Wyatt's stomach, leading him to purposely dig himself into it. It was like a symphony, like the best track in a video game.

It took mere minutes, maybe seconds, for Sam to finish, sending projectiles of warm ejaculate towards the surface of Wyatt's belly. He was breathing heavily and sweating even more than he already was, and he sighed in ecstacy. Wyatt loved having Sam's fluids on him, and so refused to even wipe them off of his slight abs as he dismounted.

"That was... really fun." Wyatt was still hard in his shorts, pitching a tent of his own.

"Yeah, but I still have to return the favor." Sam sat up, cum still caking the tip of his penis. "Take off your pants and underwear, and lie down in the exact spot I was."

"Yes sir!" Wyatt hurried to his objectives, inexplicably ecstatic that he was just ordered around in such a manner. Sam surprised himself by being so assertive, but very much enjoyed the thought of Wyatt following his orders, answering to him. He climbed on the bed, overlooking Wyatt's naked form. He was huge, bigger than he thought he'd be.

"Nice dick. Can't wait to crush that too."

Wyatt gasped in delight. "Please! Please fucking crush the shit out of me!"

Sam smiled. "I like the way you think, but I'm gonna start slow." He lowered his arms, setting some of his weight on him gradually, until he was almost fully lying on him. His belly was significantly bigger than Wyatt's, so he elected to lower himself to sit on his belly and crotch so as to not damage his ribs.

"Oof!" Wyatt's dick swelled with the pressure on him, and Sam was intimately aware of it, being on top of it. He was still able to breathe just enough, and he let his arms fall on Sam's back for support. His whole digestive system must've been getting the treatment, and it was pleasing him greatly. He made a gagging noise, prompting Sam to look at him.

"Are you okay? Slap my leg if you want me to stop."

Wyatt raised a thumbs up to him, indicating that he understood, and Wyatt repositioned himself a little before continuing to lie down on top of him. He couldn't touch his dick with his hands, but he could feel it wriggling under his belly, vibrating and convulsing. Wyatt was near arrival. He bounced a few times, resulting in some satisfying noises from him, and eventually hot cum squeezing through the folds between their stomachs.

Sam got up, allowing Wyatt to finish unabated. His belly inflated, free to properly do so, and he gasped for breath as his member continued to explode, firing his honey into the air, hitting Sam's computer.

Sam laughed hysterically, to Wyatt's chagrin.

"Hey! What's so funny?"

"No, no, I wasn't laughing at you, mostly. You got some on my monitor."

"Wha-?" He looked over, then smacked his palm to his face. "Goddamnit. I'm sorry."

"It's all good. You're still cleaning it up, but I'm not mad."

Wyatt laughed some before sitting up and going to the bathroom. Sam joined him and they took a cold shower, washing the genetic matter from their bodies. Eventually they got out and put on fresh clothes, sitting on their respective beds.

Sam hung his head. "Things don't have to be weird between us now, do they?"

Wyatt faced him. "No, they don't. We both did something we wanted to do, and we both had fun. We can choose to do it again in the future, or we can choose not to. Either way, we're good."

Sam smiled and exhaled in relief. "Yeah, you're absolutely right. Thanks for reassuring me."

"Thanks for talking about it. That right there is how it avoids getting weird."

(This story introduces Sam, a chubby college student who ends up satisfying someone else's debt. Includes general belly violence, as well as choice bodily fluids. You have been warned.)

Sam woke up in his dorm to the sunlight in his face. He stretched his arms from under the covers and got out of bed. This was one of the first mornings he got to experience away from his family home, which lacked the privacy and agency he craved as long as he could remember. He got to sleep in his underwear, when he'd usually wear pajamas for fear his parents would barge in. He moved the covers out of the way, exposing his half-naked body to the room's air, then sat up and got out of bed.

He put on some baggy jeans he had with a belt still in the loops. He thought about putting on a shirt, but decided against it. He was chubby, to the point where he was insecure about his body, and he was almost certain anyone who saw his belly would be repulsed. It was just him, so he opted to let his nipples breath, enjoying the feeling of being casually shirtless. He sat down at his desk with his computer to begin planning a trip for the astronomy club he had just joined.

The door opened to his roommate Wyatt, a music student. He was decent enough, always treating him well, even though they were never part of the same circles. When the door opened, Sam covered his nipples, which he judged to be the most provocative part of his bare torso. "Oh shit! Sorry, I didn't know you were coming back."

"No it's okay!" Wyatt laughed. "I should've knocked. I'm just stopping by to grab something. I'm gonna be gone overnight but I'll be back tomorrow morning."

Sam relaxed, uncovering his nipples, but still facing his body towards his computer and away from Wyatt. "You're okay. I'll lock the door if I leave before then. Where are you going?"

"To a punk show, then doing my band's later. You wanna come?"

Sam laughed. "Thanks for the offer. I don't usually do crowds. Maybe another time."

"No problem, just thought I'd offer." Wyatt was about ready to leave. "Hey, just so you know, you don't have to worry being presentable around me. You could be naked and it wouldn't bother me."

Sam laughed nervously. "Thanks. Just figured you didn't want to see a shirtless fat guy in the morning."

"If you're fat you're fat, but you're not ugly. You look perfectly fine."

Sam couldn't help but smile at one of the few positive things ever said to him about his body. "I appreciate it. I guess my belly just looks like a sack of meat to me."

Wyatt shrugged. "Hey, some people like sacks of meat." He laughed, perhaps to remove any assumption that he was necessarily flirting with him. "Alright, I got to go, see you!"

"Bye." As the door closed, his smile got bigger. He went to the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, feeling significantly better about what he saw in the reflection. He spent the rest of the Saturday shirtless, getting used to the feeling.

That night, someone knocked loudly on the door. He paused his game and went to the door before opening it.

"Who is it?"

There was a pause. "I'm a friend of Wyatt's."

He was nervous, but figured whoever it was wouldn't have known his name otherwise. He unlocked the door and opened it, forgetting his nipples were out until afterwards. It was a man, tall and muscular, about college age, wearing athletic clothes. He stood at the door with his hands in his pockets, looking Sam up and down. He pushed past him into the dorm, sitting on his bed closest to the window. "Where's Wyatt?"

Sam was confused, verging on nervous. He shut the door, leaving it unlocked. "What do you mean?"

"Please don't make me repeat myself. I've had a hard day."

His stomach sunk a little. He started to get a better picture of why the man was here. "He just said something about a punk show. He didn't say which one or where it was."

"Oh. Okay." He stood up. "So I guess that means you'll be paying me instead."

"What?"

He approached him, backing him into the wall next to his desk. "When I keep having to say the same thing, over and over again, I get violent. Go ahead and replay what I said in your mind until you understand it."

Sam was afraid, but still had enough dignity to refuse him. "I don't know what he owes you, but I'm not paying you anything. Now please leave before I call campus security."

"Ah." Before either of them knew it, he slammed his fist deep into Sam's gut, leaving him agape. He was shocked, both from the fact that he punched him and from the punch itself. The pain set in, and he grabbed his arm for support, struggling to breathe with the fist taking up the excess space in his belly. "I get where you're coming from. You're used to the rule of law making sure that people don't do bad things to one another. No one would dare violate that and risk the consequences."

He pulled out the fist, letting Sam fall to the floor and catch his breath. He went over to the door and locked it, just in case Sam managed to get close enough to it while he was conducting his business. As he sauntered back to Sam he said, "I was gonna do this with Wyatt, but I think you're a good close second." He pulled him up to his feet, held him in place by the throat with his left hand and punched him again with his right.

"Ough!" The second punch was hardly easier to deal with than the first. He had no abdominal definition, and the force of the blow seemed to pass through his body fat, reaching the delicate organs underneath both. He wasn't an anatomy student, but it felt queasily similar to those x-ray shots from fighting games. He looked down and noticed his hand was wrist deep, obscured by the fat and muscle of his belly.

"Wait, stop," he interjected, struggling to find the air to speak. "I'll pay you."

"You're already paying me." He pulled the fist out again, keeping him upright by the throat and smacking his hands away as they tried to favor his stomach. "You know, I like punching chubby boys. More gut to work with, more bang for your buck."

This strange validation provided little comfort as his various contents reorganized themselves. "I can't-" he gasped for breath in between his words. "-pay you if I'm dead."

"Hey, who said anything about killing you?" He brought a knee into Sam's gut, in the same spot he was punching him. "I'm just taking some time with this premium, dynamic punching bag. Maybe more of a ballistic dummy."

The knee was beefy, much bigger than his fist, and it truly seemed to reach onto Sam's abdominal cavity. His fat and muscle rippled outwards, having nowhere else to go. Despite this crude expedition into his insides, he was no closer to vomiting or passing out, either of which might've been a good place to end.

"Hey, you know biology, right? You might, you look like a fucking nerd." He lowered his knee, still crushing Sam's innards, below his navel. "Help me find the intestines real quick. Are they somewhere around here?" Once again, he lowered his knee, this time directly on his bladder, still hurting but allowing him to breathe easier. "Not down here, right? Too low. Gotta be your bladder or colon or something."

"Both!" To his dismay, Sam didn't get a chance to use the bathroom as he planned to do before the unexpected visit. He tried desperately to push the knee off of him, but the man only stared into his eyes with sick delight. He accepted defeat and couldn't hold it anymore. A wet spot started growing on the crotch of his jeans, and on the back, a foul clump filled his underwear, threatening a burn a hole through it. He cried, both from the pain in his guts, and the shame of losing control of his waste functions.

"Now THAT'S a money shot!" He laughed. "Now, don't be embarrassed, it's perfectly natural. I'm flattered, really." He dislodged his knee from Sam's body. "Unfortunately, I'm looking for a waterfall, not a puddle. Until I see some puke, I'm not letting you go." He stepped back and planted his foot, shoe and all, into his belly button, causing him to squeak like a chew toy.

At this point, Sam would've been happy to just pass out, not really caring whether he wakes up or not. He pictured Wyatt coming back the following morning and seeing him, shirtless, covered in his own shit and piss, his belly beaten into a distended mess. The image of him being carried off on a stretcher, having to explain in the hospital bed how some thug treated him like a stress ball, was not one he relished.

His desperate hope for relief was fulfilled when he started convulsing, and the contents of his stomach felt like they were floating inside him. The man noticed this and, keeping his foot squishing him, grabbed a glass jar out of his other pocket. It was labeled "Wyatt" in a crude font. He put it to Sam's mouth, dripping saliva, and pressed on him a few times until vomit came out, accompanied by a sickening groan.

By the time Sam was done puking, the bottle filled up almost perfectly to the brim, minus the excess bit dripping slowly from his mouth. He finally released his foot, letting him lean against the wall and slowly slide to his knees. He breathed in gasps, the space of his belly filling back up thanks to the newfound air. The man put a lid on the jar and tightened it.

"A souvenir of our time together." He waved the jar in his face before putting it in his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you." He gave Sam a light jab in the gut with his foot, making him wince again, before leaving.

Sam was actually grateful that he didn't pass out, so there was at least a chance to avoid the embarrassing image in his mind. He surveyed the damage, and figured that he wouldn't need to go to the hospital, but also that it wouldn't hurt to get a medical student to take a look at him in the morning. He crawled to the shower and took off his jeans and underwear, cleaning them and himself in the water. He didn't bother with body wash; his main goal was to get the piss and shit off of his body. He threw his wet pants in a grocery bag, tied it, mustered enough energy to put on a fresh clean underwear and buried himself in the covers of his bed, clutching his stomach and eventually sleeping through the pain.

(I might have to change the title, since I don't know how long I'm going to make this series, and it's well beyond the initial part. I'm thinking of just making it a short series at this point.)

Hector woke up to cold water in his face, trickling down his chest. He was still shirtless in nothing but his jeans, his back brushing against the smooth, cold wall behind him. He jerked his body and noticed his arms tied on either side of him to the wall, and his legs were tied at the calves, allowing him to stand but not to escape. His nipples spiked and goosebumps formed on his torso from the water, but he was starting to cool off, so it was temperate wherever he was.

He looked around to see a dimly lit room, perfectly square, with a windowed metal door in front. At the door was the big, bulky figure in all black, the one who sent Jonas to the hospital and almost stabbed him. Near the center, in his face, was a woman, pale with dark hair, wearing some combination between a trenchcoat and a robe. He recognized it as the outfit the second figure in the car was wearing.

"Welcome. I have a name, but I won't be telling you."

Hector felt anger boil in his stomach, which twinged uncomfortably from the punch she gave him that knocked him out. "Why not? Are you scared?"

She laughed. "No, not as long as you're restrained by titanium cuffs. The rubber coverings are for your sake, by the way, so they don't slice into your flesh."

"You're so generous." He looked into her eyes, which seemed to look into his with admiration. "Did you hurt Jonas?"

"No, he did." She pointed to the big one, who showed no greeting or reaction. "Under my orders, of course. Don't mind him. He's paid to serve, not be social."

Hector's thoughts churned in his brain, but he knew to ask enough questions to gather as much information as possible. "Why the fuck did you tell him to do that?"

"Do you have any idea how many people I've toyed with? Almost always they have the same reactions, same responses. They give into their fear, become cowering animals. Your precious Jonas is no different." She laughs. "You should've seen him when he was getting his tummy smashed. He cried like a bitch."

Hector was already scowling, and that statement spurred him to reach towards her in a vain attempt to break his bonds and attack her. Unsuccessful as it was, she responded by inserting two fingers into the side of his belly, below his navel. He screamed, her fingers seemingly bypassing his slight abs and making contact with one of his organs, putting immense pressure on it.

She caressed his face, brushing his long, black hair out of the way as he tried not to scream further. "That's your appendix. I could pop it like a water balloon. Do you think you know pain? I will rupture each and every one of the organs in your slim belly before I let you die." Her voice sounded more sensual than angry.

Tears formed in his eyes. He had been punched before, but this was precise, torturous. She knew what she was doing, and he believed her. "If you were gonna do that now," he gagged and swallowed from the pain, then looked her in the eyes, "you wouldn't have bothered kidnapping me."

"And THAT'S why I chose you." She pulled her fingers out with no warning, causing him to gasp and slightly convulse. "You couldn't give up if you tried. I want to break you, and I don't want to break you. This is solved by the hopeful possibility that I could, with the realistic expectation of failure."

He let his head tilt in front of him, saliva dripping down his chin like water from a melting icicle. His stomach churned, and he was grieving hope that he would escape. Whoever she was, whoever she answered to, she had enough resources to keep him wherever he was indefinitely. If he was going to leave, he'd have to be strong and smart, thinking every decision through.

"I can see you need some time to accept your situation. I'll be back later for, business." The door opened behind her, with no visible prompting from herself or her guard. "Oh, and don't worry about Jonas. He knows you won't be coming back."

His eyes widened and he struggled against his bonds as they both left, the door shutting firmly behind them. His bonds unclicked and he fell to a knee, favoring his belly near his appendix. He sobbed aloud, hoping that Jonas would hold out hope, and maybe even find a way to save him. He feared for himself, but more than anything, he feared for Jonas no longer having him with him.

Back at his apartment, Jonas was a crying, panicking mess, clutching Hector's shirt to his face to soothe himself with the smell. He loved him, completely, and believed he would never see him again, and that he had exhausted the last chance he ever had to bare his soul to him. In the midst of the turmoil, he felt a strange calm envelop him, an eye in the storm of his emotions. He knew he would see him again, that he would escape, and he knew exactly what he would say to him when he saw him again.

(This is a sequel to Break-In, where Jonas got brutally gutpunched by a large, unknown person. This story contains kidnapping, lite romance, lite vomiting, and mention of stabbing and organs. It's mostly set-up for a future installment.)

Jonas sat up to drink his smoothie, wincing. It was a week since he was discharged from the hospital, but he still couldn't have any solid foods until his various organs had time to heal from the beating they took. The police didn't have any information about the person that broke in, and there were no prints or hair left behind in the apartment. Still, he elected to stay at Hector's place for a while, to no objection.

Hector let himself in. "It's me." Jonas knew to expect him, but he was grateful for the announcement nonetheless, especially after the circumstances of his surprise beating. He went to the bedroom with a grocery bag full of non-descript necessities and set it on the floor.

"They still haven't found anything?"

"Nah." Jonas rubbed his stomach, as if the mere mention was enough to tug on his insides. "I think whoever it was just wanted to beat the shit out of somebody. They picked me."

"If they come here, I'll fucking kill them."

Jonas looked up at him. He couldn't tell whether his zealousness came from being his friend, or from feeling the same way he did about him. Either way, he shot up to hug him, ignoring the pain in his belly wanting to keep him horizontal. Hector returned the hug, and they sat in silence for a good minute before both sitting down on the bed. The rest of the day was spent playing a medley of video games before they eventually settled in for bed.

In the middle of the night, Hector got up to use the bathroom, and took the opportunity to fill his water bottle. He was in his underwear, so he put on some jeans before heading to the kitchen, right next to the living room and front door. As he did, his phone vibrated and he got a text from a hidden number.

"If you don't want me to spill his guts, come outside and get in the car, now."

His stomach sank, then rose back up with anger. It was unlikely that this was anyone but the one who beat Jonas to the point of vomiting blood. He vowed to kill whoever it was, and even though he was afraid, he intended to make good on that promise. He grabbed the biggest, sharpest kitchen knife he had and went outside, the cold air kissing his chest.

The parking lot was empty, save for a black SUV whose windows refused to allow the street light in. Hector didn't need to see inside to know it was his destination. He didn't know who it was or how many people were in there, so he approached slowly, circling the car as he got closer. He felt a large hand grab his arms from behind and wrestle the knife from him, holding him in one place. They brandished the knife towards his belly button, almost poking him with the business end.

Hector swallowed heavily. Whoever it was had to be strong and large, just like Jonas described, but they weren't in the car, so they had to be answering to someone else. They straddled the knife across the surface of his bare belly, flirting with the prospect of plunging it into him, spilling his warm guts all over the cold asphalt. He suddenly became distinctly aware of the situation he was in, how easily he could die. The passenger side of the car door opened, and another clad figure stepped out, walking towards them both.

"You'll get your chance." The voice was modulated, but the accent sounded usual, Midwestern. "Some of the best things in the world are things that come after a long time of waiting."

The figure behind Hector shook their arm, barely poking his belly a few times, before dropping the knife on the ground and proceeding to the modulated figure. Hector faced them.

"Are you the one wh-"

He was answered with a deep punch in his stomach organ, causing his cheeks to puff out before blowing spit all over the figure's covered face. Their fist wasn't particularly big, but it seemed to hit just the right, or wrong, spot. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out and they pulled out their fist. The one holding him tossed him limp into the backseat before they both re-entered the car and drove off.

Jonas woke up stretching, winced, then checked his phone. He knew Hector had work at some point, and to his shame he didn't know exactly what days. He read a text and his stomach hurt even more.

"You know who I am, and so, you know where he is. Don't wait for him."

He shot up out of bed in his underwear and stumbled to the bathroom, emptying his stomach into the toilet, going from mostly water to dry-heaving, tears welling in his eyes. Even through the despair, in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't dead, because otherwise whoever it was wouldn't have gone through the trouble to kidnap him. He survived, but he didn't know what plans they had for Hector.

(In this story we return to Jonas, a little bit after the events of Soda Challenge. This story involves blood, vomit, gut punching, and a break-in.)

Jonas stood in front of the mirror, looking over his shirtless form. His medium-length black hair, his pale skin, his nipples, his slightly visible ribs, and the thin stomach and belly button underneath. He was shirtless at any opportunity, and alone in his studio, he had many opportunities, so he was used to the sight of his own body. He remembered the night with Hector fondly, secretly wishing it was him that got punched in the stomach instead.

As he was about to go back to his room, he heard the door shutting. It was at night, he lived alone, and he locked the door as soon as he got back home for the day. His stomach turned with sudden fear, and his first instinct was to hide from whoever was inside, but the bathroom connected with the living room, so whoever it was would see that the light was on. He locked the bathroom door and waited by the door. He opened the drawer to find a razor, his only weapon, and brandished it in vain.

His preparation was only answered with silence. He stayed as quiet as he could, listening for any noise, only to find none. It was possible whoever it was only wanted to rob the place, but it didn't make sense to him that they seemed to be staying quiet on purpose after shutting the door so loudly. His phone was in his room, so he couldn't call for help without risking a trip through the living room. He elected to keep waiting when the bathroom door burst open, splintering near the door knob, and the intruder came in.

Whoever it was, they were completely covered in black clothing, concealing their face, skin color, and even eyes. On their face was a full ski mask with no eye slots, just a muscular, humanoid form, moving quickly towards Jonas. He dropped his razor and screamed, knowing it wouldn't have done much against clothing, when the figure came and buried a fist in his stomach.

Jonas' scream turned to a loud groan. He had barely any abdominal definition, so it wouldn't have made much difference if he had time to tighten his abs, which he didn't. The large fist passed effortless into the space between his ribs and his belly button, forcing his stomach closer to his chest, and his lower organs further down. He had no idea how deeply he could be punched, how much space was in his belly, until then.

The figure pulled out the fist, forcing his insides to rapidly readjust themselves, resulting in another groan. Tears started welling in his eyes, and his dick shot up and swelled in his dark jeans. He was turned on and in pain at the same time. Another punch, this time under his belly button, seemed to hit his bladder and colon, and he was slightly grateful he had just finished using the bathroom.

He wondered how only two powerful punches seemed to be fucking him up so badly, and looked down mid-sob to see the fist still embedded in his lower guts. He had virtually no padding to protect himself, his small waist unfit to accommodate such a large foreign object. He felt like a chew toy, or a punching bag.

The figure finally pulled the fist out, allowing Jonas to fall to a knee and clasp his stomach. Even through the pain, he knew he needed to leave, and so he darted hunched over through the broken doorway and towards the door outside. Before he even touched the knob, the figure grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back and swinging him off his feet. They grabbed both his wrists in a single grip, then his ankles, and extended one foot before positioning it to his belly and pulling him into the foot, stretching his limbs while putting immense pressure on his guts.

Jonas screamed. He couldn't have felt any more like he was being drawn and quartered without literally being split open, and he was unsure which one would be more painful. His organs were being damaged, partially crushed, by the force of the figures extended boot. He felt something come up his esophagus, then puked out bloody vomit, making room for the boot to go even deeper into his bruised belly. He couldn't catch his breath, almost blacking out before he was released and allowed to collapse on the floor.

He rolled onto his back, gasping in pain, and the figure stepped on him on the way to the door to leave, making him recoil like a squeaky toy. The intruder left him there, apparently satisfied with the outcome they achieved. Barely conscious, gurgling, with the contents of his wounded stomach dripping from his mouth, he crawled to his room and managed to call 911 and give them his address before passing out.