stomachache's blog

(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.