stomachache's blog

(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.