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.

(This isn't as brutal as the Walking Trail, but it does involve vomit and much more dialogue. Might not be everyone's cup of tea, but it's mine.)

Hector took off his shirt, revealing some slight abs, and ribs. It was in the middle of the night, but it was also summer, so it was relatively temperate and comfortable. He and Jonas had just got out of the grocery store and stopped in the middle of the empty parking lot. They bought only two things; a two-liter bottle of soda for each of them. Jonas, who left the house already shirtless and who would've gotten kicked out of the store if anyone there gave a damn, was pulling a collapsible tripod out of his jeans pocket.

Jonas stole a glance at Hector's exposed body when he thought he wasn't looking, and he was. "See something you like?"

Jonas laughed. "Yeah right, you're the one staring at my nipples the whole time. I bet you want to suck them or something!"

Hector chuckled, and neither one of them was in a hurry to point out the little bits of truth in every joke. They were preparing to do some variant of the milk challenge, but with some generic brand of cola, something mediocre enough that they wouldn't mind being turned off of it for a while. The rules were simple; whoever vomited last, won, and the video of the ordeal was going online regardless of the outcome.

"Honestly, I hope I puke, at least at some point." Hector rubbed his thin stomach. "I don't need to be drinking a bunch of soda. It fucks up your gut."

Jonas put his arm around and over Hector's shoulder. "I think drinking so much carbonated liquid that your body shoots it out also fucks up your gut. If I were you, buddy, I'd hope I could keep it down." He pats his belly a couple times before Hector brushes his hand away, as some kind of derisive good-luck gesture to his stomach.

"Shut up and start recording before I fuck up your gut." Hector grabs his two-liter and puts the other one next to Jonas, who fits his phone to the tripod and fiddles with it before stepping back and facing the camera.

"Hey, I'm Jonas." He turns back to look at Hector.

"Hey, I'm Hector."

"And this is a video of Hector puking his guts out."

Hector laughs. "Fuck you." He faces the camera. "He's just talking shit 'cause he knows he's gonna lose."

Jonas smiles. "We're doing the, uh, soda challenge, so it's like the milk challenge, only with soda. Okay, let's do it." He backs away, forgetting and going back to grab his bottle before joining Hector in full-body view of the camera. "Alright, we're gonna start in three, two, one, and go!" They both twist off the caps and start drinking.

Jonas chugs about a fifth of his bottle in one go and Hector takes swallows at short intervals. Jonas lowers it and already lets out a little groan. "Fuck, that's more than I thought it'd be." They both laugh. He looks over and observes Hector's strategy. "You bitch! Of course you're gonna win if you drink slower than me!"

Hector burped a couple times before responding. "I notice you're over there taking a break. If you have time to complain, maybe that makes it even."

Jonas looked him in the eyes while chugging another large amount of liquid. He stood up straight as the gas rose up and he let out a loud, taunting burp in his face.

"Man." He waved the burp away. "Smells like pizza and weed."

"Oh shit." Jonas' eyes widened a little. "I had leftovers before we came here."

"Oh, you're gonna lose for sure!"

"Shut up." He rubbed his already partially bloated stomach and groaned a bit more. The challenge went on for a few more minutes, them both bloating from the soda and gasses building up inside them, with Jonas considerably worse off than Hector. He was almost through with his bottle before he hunched over with his hands on his knees.

"Oh shit!" Hector had just finished his bottle. "Come on, just let it all out."

He responding by coming over and putting his hand on his shoulder for support.

"Boy, get the fuck off me, you're gonna get it all over my shoes!" He neglected to actually move him, however, and the fact that he was holding him for support as he was about to puke pleased him inexplicably.

Sure enough, with his mouth already gaping wide open in preparation, Jonas projectiled all over the ground, careful to turn his head so as to not ruin Hector's brand new shoes.

"You good?" He knew he was gonna lose, but was concerned he was actually injured from the experience.

Jonas held up a finger, then vomited another stream of soda, with bits and chunks of half-digested pizza. Hector surmised that he was okay, but the sight churned his own stomach a little too much for comfort.

"Ugh." Jonas wiped his mouth with his arm, attempting to flick residual bits of vomit onto the ground with the rest of it. "Oh shit, that fucking hurt." He laughed, then quickly favored his stomach and chest after the sudden movement.

"Goodness." Hector bent over and started groaning. "Also, I think I need you to punch me in the stomach."

"Wait, what?" Jonas went over to him. "Dude, that's crazy, I'm not doing that."

"I can tell I'm not gonna puke by myself. I'm just gonna be hurting until I digest this shit. Just fucking punch me."

"Oh Jesus." He started looking around, as if he'd find an alternate solution manifesting itself in a physical form. "Fuck, man, okay, how hard?"

"Ugh. I don't know, just hit me." He stood up straight and put his arms behind his back.

Jonas grabbed his waist for precision and did as he asked. It wasn't too forceful, only fifty percent strength, but it was more than enough. Hector let out a sickly, guttural noise as if he had been stabbed, and crouched before burping loudly. The burp transitioned to vomit before he could catch his breath. He gasped for air before letting out a second, then a third stream of soda and acid. Jonas rubbed his back and gave it the occasional slap to help get everything out of his system.

Hector hung his head, breathing heavily. Jonas shook him, scared. "Dude, are you okay?"

Hector gave him a thumbs up, then stayed in that position for a bit. Unbeknownst to Jonas, he was rock hard through his jeans, the stomach punch and subsequent vomit being a revelatory experience, and he only stayed on the ground for so long to give his dick time to return to seclusion. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You're fucking crazy!" Jonas shook his shoulder in celebration. "Okay, asshole, you win."

He raised his head and looked at him. "Yeah, I feel like a winner."

"Come on, bitch." He positioned himself under Hector's shoulder and got him on his feet. "I'll walk you home and you can sleep it off." He grabbed his phone and tripod before giving him the wounded-soldier walk back to his place.

That night, Hector went back to his apartment and slept with a water bottle next to him and a bag of ice over his stomach, and Jonas went to his studio and filled back up on pizza before passing out on the couch. The following morning, Jonas sent him the video, but neither one of them got around to uploading it. That video kept them both pleased through many nights, Hector because of how it felt to get the liquid pushed out of him, and Jonas because of how it felt to do the pushing.