The guy who had bashed Mike dead center stood above him holding the dumbbell, looking down at Mike who was now for the first time ever squeezing out the words, barely a whisper: “My stomach…oh, man, my stomach…aw fuk…aw fuk, my stom-…” and stopped, the last sound turning into a guttural moan as the air finally came back into his lungs. Taking that breath only worsened the pain, and he held on tighter to his belly, broken for the first time in his career as a gutpunch punishment competitor. No one had ever seen him in this shape or heard those words come from the champ’s mouth. They were equal to saying, “I’ve been beaten…I can’t go on…I submit.” These were words Mike had never said and never expected to say about his ability to take it in the stomach. He had trained for years to take punishing strikes and never react. That was a rule of the competitions he took on, and the audience came to see competitors who never flinched or showed signs of being hurt by an attack on their midsection. But this was different. Mike was in trouble for the first time and for the first time his gut had been savaged so that he could barely move.
His trainer was watching this, standing in the corner held by Kaopo’s accomplice, unable to help Mike. He looked on in disbelief, too, never having seen the champ unable to get up. Kaopo moved closer to Mike as the third guy in the dressing room walked over to him. This guy, Rocco, had lost to Mike in previous contests and was out for revenge. With Kaopo already shirtless, he took off his t-shirt and moved behind Mike. The massive guy was a bodybuilder and ex-fighter in MMA and gutbash contests. He looked at the young superhero, smiled and moved in on him from behind.
Still moaning, Mike saw Rocco, not knowing what was coming next. Kaopo moved in closer. In a few quick moves, Rocco reached down and dragged Mike to his feet. Being yanked up caused pain to return to his bludgeoned gut. He couldn’t straighten up and the little strength he had was used to try to keep his body folded over, protecting his abs. His legs were weak from the pain and he couldn’t have stood on his own. That was the job of Rocco, who grabbed Mike by both arms and pulled his body straight up and arched it out toward Kaopo, causing a feeling like a knife penetrating his core. The damaged muscles were stretched, doubling the effects of the unbelievable blow he had taken in the stomach. Looking down, all Mike could see was a bright red gut over his magnificent six-pack, an eight-pack when his jeans were lowered just to the pubes. He could feel that pulse in his belly just under the navel.
Kaopo moved toward him as Mike’s body was pulled wide open. Rocco’s maneuver had caused his speedos to ride down lower than ever so that the top of his public hair when a thin treasure trail ended could be seen. Mike was trying to breathe but his abs were worn out from the punishment and he couldn’t take a full breath. He also realized that he he couldn’t flex his abs, which was his only protection for whatever was to come. His midsection was sinking in and pressing out as Rocco tightening the hold on his shoulders, stretching his pecs so that every vein in Mike’s chest and abs, especially those lower veins on either side of his lower belly. Rocco tightened the grip and Mike’s gut curled inward. Sweat was pouring down the center groove of Mike’s sixpack, which still showed up but was now soft to the touch as Kaopo found out.
With a sneer on his face, he took a fist and pressed it slowly into Mike’s stomach, covering his slightly hairy navel. He leaned in as he got closer to Mike’s body, all of his weight centered on that fist. All Mike could feel was his weakened abs giving way because of the hit they had just taken. His mouth opened as the massive fist drilled into his super-sensitive gut. Mike could only moan as he felt the sadist’s hard knuckles made a deeper hollow in his tortured gut. At about three inches in, Mike’s abs gave way to the fist and he felt the same explosion of pain he had felt when Kaopo hit him with that dumbbell. “Aw fukk … no! no man! not this …” Mike barely got out the words before he couldn’t say another word. The fist was deep in his vulnerable core.
Then in a split second, Kaopo pulled his fist out, Rocco brought his knee up under Mike’s back, which braced his body and arched out his midsection again, and before he could realize what was going to happen Mike felt an uppercut just under his ribcage, dead center. And another. Same place. And a third powerful uppercut drove into Mike’s sculpted abs. Kaopo stopped at the fourth punch and turned to go, only to deliver a back kick to Mike’s lower belly right at the trunk line of his speedos. There was a tan line that Mike always liked to show off before a competition. The giant’s heel nailed him there, crashing into the lowest muscles and top of his pubic bone. Mike lurched over in tremendous pain, yelling out those words again—“No more … not the stomach … I can’t …”—and collapsed to his knees, curled over in front of the huge Kaopo, his head touching the floor, his arms still held tight by Rocco.
Mike thought it had to be over. He was close to passing out but the pain deepened and kept him alert, suffering all the more. The champ had never been in a situation like this. For the first time he wondered if he could take any more before starting to beg. Curled over he could see the lower part of his belly and the bulge in his speedos. So could Kaopo—and Mike’s trainer.
Weakened by a record 15-round gut punishment competition, Mike made it through the curtain and out of the glare of the ring area. He had won every round except one. The rules were to get back up if dropped within 10 seconds. In the fifth round, his opponent, who was 40 pounds heavier and four inches taller, had delivered an illegal low knee that had dropped the champion. He was in too much pain to get up. The round was not counted and he went on to finish the most grueling of his more than a dozen exhibitions of the most endurance in taking slaps, punches, knees, elbow and kicks to his abdomen, anywhere there was skin showing. And as always Mike wore very low cut speedos for the match.
But just past he curtain, he was caught by an shudder and aftershock from that low blow and the pain it had sent up through his lower belly, everywhere in fact in his prize abdominal area. He stopped short, grabbed the wall and doubled up, his hand finally able to touch the place where he was feeling the pain. He rested his head against him arm and was momentarily paralyzed in pain. The hundreds of hit his belly had absorbed all seemed to come together in that one spot. He needed to sit or stretch out fast. Almost a minute passed until he could finally straighten up, outside of the view of the spectators who had been amazed that he walked away from his most challenging contest. Yes, he had been doubled up often and dropped twenty times from vicious kicks to the navel, solar plexus—and to a man’s most vulnerable spot, that area just under the navel. Even Mike after years of training could not prepare his body for being hit there. No man can take much there. But he had gotten up every time. The no touch rule was in effect. He was not permitted to massage the area during the 2 minute breaks between rounds. And even though he usually never let out a sound after being hit, by the 12th round he was beginning to quietly moan after being kneed or elbowed or back-kicked in the pit of his stomach. A one-sided competition, his opponent could just plan for where to concentrate his next attack, which Kaopo did, measuring his punches and kicks for maximum effect on the young hero’s amazing stomach.
He could still hear the cheering crowd as he finally slowly straightened his bruised body, the skin of his abs bright red from repeated assaults. He arched his back as much as he could, taking deep breaths around his core, which had taken more punishment than in any of his previous encounters. He freely rubbed his flat hard gut, which having been blasted for over an hour was slightly softened since he could not flex his wall of gut muscle. He walked slowly toward the dressing room, checking his package where he had been unfairly hit. His balls ached but not as much as his core, especially the pit of his stomach and that sweet spot under his navel. There the deep ache was most intense.
Mike took his time, pausing to stretch and deep breath, massage his now slightly drawn in abdomen, needing to get off his feet and meet his trainer, who would do the long after-match massage of his perfectly built stomach area, trying to ease the pain in places where he had been punished.
But as he passed through the doorway into the dark dressing room, his arms at his sides, taking the deepest beath he had been able to manage, he was surprised. His trainer had been taken hostage by three thugs hired by his opponent. They were ready for him if he had won against their boss. And he had.
Two hundred fifty pounds and a trained karate fighter, the first of the thugs was there as Mike entered the dressing room where he drove a 10-pound dumbbell with all his force directly into the now half-relaxed and badly weakened stomach of the champion, catching him in the pit of the stomach, dead center into the navel. His trainer was standing is the dressing room being restrained by one of the other thugs and could do nothing for the moment to come to the aid of his young champion.
abs007 (1)
26.12.2021 21:23The guy who had bashed Mike dead center stood above him holding the dumbbell, looking down at Mike who was now for the first time ever squeezing out the words, barely a whisper: “My stomach…oh, man, my stomach…aw fuk…aw fuk, my stom-…” and stopped, the last sound turning into a guttural moan as the air finally came back into his lungs. Taking that breath only worsened the pain, and he held on tighter to his belly, broken for the first time in his career as a gutpunch punishment competitor. No one had ever seen him in this shape or heard those words come from the champ’s mouth. They were equal to saying, “I’ve been beaten…I can’t go on…I submit.” These were words Mike had never said and never expected to say about his ability to take it in the stomach. He had trained for years to take punishing strikes and never react. That was a rule of the competitions he took on, and the audience came to see competitors who never flinched or showed signs of being hurt by an attack on their midsection. But this was different. Mike was in trouble for the first time and for the first time his gut had been savaged so that he could barely move.
His trainer was watching this, standing in the corner held by Kaopo’s accomplice, unable to help Mike. He looked on in disbelief, too, never having seen the champ unable to get up. Kaopo moved closer to Mike as the third guy in the dressing room walked over to him. This guy, Rocco, had lost to Mike in previous contests and was out for revenge. With Kaopo already shirtless, he took off his t-shirt and moved behind Mike. The massive guy was a bodybuilder and ex-fighter in MMA and gutbash contests. He looked at the young superhero, smiled and moved in on him from behind.
Still moaning, Mike saw Rocco, not knowing what was coming next. Kaopo moved in closer. In a few quick moves, Rocco reached down and dragged Mike to his feet. Being yanked up caused pain to return to his bludgeoned gut. He couldn’t straighten up and the little strength he had was used to try to keep his body folded over, protecting his abs. His legs were weak from the pain and he couldn’t have stood on his own. That was the job of Rocco, who grabbed Mike by both arms and pulled his body straight up and arched it out toward Kaopo, causing a feeling like a knife penetrating his core. The damaged muscles were stretched, doubling the effects of the unbelievable blow he had taken in the stomach. Looking down, all Mike could see was a bright red gut over his magnificent six-pack, an eight-pack when his jeans were lowered just to the pubes. He could feel that pulse in his belly just under the navel.
Kaopo moved toward him as Mike’s body was pulled wide open. Rocco’s maneuver had caused his speedos to ride down lower than ever so that the top of his public hair when a thin treasure trail ended could be seen. Mike was trying to breathe but his abs were worn out from the punishment and he couldn’t take a full breath. He also realized that he he couldn’t flex his abs, which was his only protection for whatever was to come. His midsection was sinking in and pressing out as Rocco tightening the hold on his shoulders, stretching his pecs so that every vein in Mike’s chest and abs, especially those lower veins on either side of his lower belly. Rocco tightened the grip and Mike’s gut curled inward. Sweat was pouring down the center groove of Mike’s sixpack, which still showed up but was now soft to the touch as Kaopo found out.
With a sneer on his face, he took a fist and pressed it slowly into Mike’s stomach, covering his slightly hairy navel. He leaned in as he got closer to Mike’s body, all of his weight centered on that fist. All Mike could feel was his weakened abs giving way because of the hit they had just taken. His mouth opened as the massive fist drilled into his super-sensitive gut. Mike could only moan as he felt the sadist’s hard knuckles made a deeper hollow in his tortured gut. At about three inches in, Mike’s abs gave way to the fist and he felt the same explosion of pain he had felt when Kaopo hit him with that dumbbell. “Aw fukk … no! no man! not this …” Mike barely got out the words before he couldn’t say another word. The fist was deep in his vulnerable core.
Then in a split second, Kaopo pulled his fist out, Rocco brought his knee up under Mike’s back, which braced his body and arched out his midsection again, and before he could realize what was going to happen Mike felt an uppercut just under his ribcage, dead center. And another. Same place. And a third powerful uppercut drove into Mike’s sculpted abs. Kaopo stopped at the fourth punch and turned to go, only to deliver a back kick to Mike’s lower belly right at the trunk line of his speedos. There was a tan line that Mike always liked to show off before a competition. The giant’s heel nailed him there, crashing into the lowest muscles and top of his pubic bone. Mike lurched over in tremendous pain, yelling out those words again—“No more … not the stomach … I can’t …”—and collapsed to his knees, curled over in front of the huge Kaopo, his head touching the floor, his arms still held tight by Rocco.
Mike thought it had to be over. He was close to passing out but the pain deepened and kept him alert, suffering all the more. The champ had never been in a situation like this. For the first time he wondered if he could take any more before starting to beg. Curled over he could see the lower part of his belly and the bulge in his speedos. So could Kaopo—and Mike’s trainer.
benwoulds (5)
27.12.2021 17:21(In Antwort dazu)
Smoking hot. I particularly love how Mike expresses his gut pain. Great stuff, hoping for more!
bnjifghtr (2)
27.12.2021 05:27(In Antwort dazu)
Cool bro 😎 . Is there more to come ??
bnjifghtr (2)
26.12.2021 05:21Cool story bro ! Well written and let’s you actually feel his pain
abs007 (1)
25.12.2021 17:22Weakened by a record 15-round gut punishment competition, Mike made it through the curtain and out of the glare of the ring area. He had won every round except one. The rules were to get back up if dropped within 10 seconds. In the fifth round, his opponent, who was 40 pounds heavier and four inches taller, had delivered an illegal low knee that had dropped the champion. He was in too much pain to get up. The round was not counted and he went on to finish the most grueling of his more than a dozen exhibitions of the most endurance in taking slaps, punches, knees, elbow and kicks to his abdomen, anywhere there was skin showing. And as always Mike wore very low cut speedos for the match.
But just past he curtain, he was caught by an shudder and aftershock from that low blow and the pain it had sent up through his lower belly, everywhere in fact in his prize abdominal area. He stopped short, grabbed the wall and doubled up, his hand finally able to touch the place where he was feeling the pain. He rested his head against him arm and was momentarily paralyzed in pain. The hundreds of hit his belly had absorbed all seemed to come together in that one spot. He needed to sit or stretch out fast. Almost a minute passed until he could finally straighten up, outside of the view of the spectators who had been amazed that he walked away from his most challenging contest. Yes, he had been doubled up often and dropped twenty times from vicious kicks to the navel, solar plexus—and to a man’s most vulnerable spot, that area just under the navel. Even Mike after years of training could not prepare his body for being hit there. No man can take much there. But he had gotten up every time. The no touch rule was in effect. He was not permitted to massage the area during the 2 minute breaks between rounds. And even though he usually never let out a sound after being hit, by the 12th round he was beginning to quietly moan after being kneed or elbowed or back-kicked in the pit of his stomach. A one-sided competition, his opponent could just plan for where to concentrate his next attack, which Kaopo did, measuring his punches and kicks for maximum effect on the young hero’s amazing stomach.
He could still hear the cheering crowd as he finally slowly straightened his bruised body, the skin of his abs bright red from repeated assaults. He arched his back as much as he could, taking deep breaths around his core, which had taken more punishment than in any of his previous encounters. He freely rubbed his flat hard gut, which having been blasted for over an hour was slightly softened since he could not flex his wall of gut muscle. He walked slowly toward the dressing room, checking his package where he had been unfairly hit. His balls ached but not as much as his core, especially the pit of his stomach and that sweet spot under his navel. There the deep ache was most intense.
Mike took his time, pausing to stretch and deep breath, massage his now slightly drawn in abdomen, needing to get off his feet and meet his trainer, who would do the long after-match massage of his perfectly built stomach area, trying to ease the pain in places where he had been punished.
But as he passed through the doorway into the dark dressing room, his arms at his sides, taking the deepest beath he had been able to manage, he was surprised. His trainer had been taken hostage by three thugs hired by his opponent. They were ready for him if he had won against their boss. And he had.
Two hundred fifty pounds and a trained karate fighter, the first of the thugs was there as Mike entered the dressing room where he drove a 10-pound dumbbell with all his force directly into the now half-relaxed and badly weakened stomach of the champion, catching him in the pit of the stomach, dead center into the navel. His trainer was standing is the dressing room being restrained by one of the other thugs and could do nothing for the moment to come to the aid of his young champion.
bnjifghtr (2)
26.12.2021 20:04(In Antwort dazu)
Hey bro - when is the next installment of this story ?
benwoulds (5)
26.12.2021 19:49(In Antwort dazu)
Great set-up! Excited to see what happens next to Mike against this gang of gutpunchers!
SammyBoy (20 )
26.12.2021 19:18(In Antwort dazu)
Love the story. Can't wait to see where it goes.
chas47707 (1)
26.12.2021 10:42(In Antwort dazu)
Great story. Please continue. I want to know what happens to Mike.