stomachache's blog

I've been writing short creative stories on-and-off for over a month now. They're a mix of things I enjoy, fantasies I've had, and concepts I've wanted to explore. My first one was written in the first-person perspective and was unanimously well-received, but the second one was unanimously disliked, literally.

No feedback or criticism was given, so I just assumed it wasn't their cup of tea and moved on, though I would've preferred they didn't effectively downvote it. I made a very short update, since deleted, brainstorming ideas for future stories, and it received even more dislikes. Again, no feedback, and absolutely no rhyme or reason.

I didn't want to talk about how demoralizing it was, mostly because I just assumed whoever they were had some sort of inexplicable vendetta against me, or were just really cranky, but it was demoralizing, to the point where I made it so people were only able to react to it if they leave comments, in an effort to at least salvage some sense from it. I regret that it also discourages positive feedback, but it's worth it to me. I have no shame in admitting that I'm sensitive, but I'm able to receive constructive criticism, as long as it's respectful and not demeaning.

Because of this, I have no real idea how well or unwell my stories are received, apart from the one or two people who took the time to tell me they enjoyed them. I'm effecting flying blind, sending transmissions into the void, hoping that whoever or whatever receives it is pleased with what they've received. I risk ridicule with every post I make, and have no idea how likely or unlikely I am to receive it.

Ultimately, I write for myself, for my own motivations and desires. Perhaps one day I'll make a career out of it, making custom stories for pocket money. I believe that the more often I write, the better at it I'll be. I won't always do it daily, but that is the case for now.

For those of you that have not enjoyed my stories, respectfully but firmly, move on, and if you really want to say something about it, say something I can use. For those of you that have, I'm glad, and I hope that you continue to enjoy the future ones.

(This is the second-to-last installment of Break-In. Some characters might be re-occuring, but I think it's time to give Hector and Jonas a break from their no-doubt life-changing trauma. Might get into some darker elements in future stories, but for now, it's about time to wrap it up. Contains similar things as Part 3.)

The door opened to let in the woman from before, minus her attendee. Hector tried to run past her to no avail, only to earn two fingers in the gut near his belly button, touching the intestines under his abs. He screamed and gasped before collapsing, then being kicked a few feet back into the center of the room. The woman took off her trenchcoat, revealing some sort of skin-tight exosuit. Compared to him, she was tall, muscular, and commanding.

"It's play time. Put your arms and legs in the cuffs at the back wall over there."

Hector, already favoring his gut, looked up at her standing before him. "Make me."

"I am." She kicked him in the gut, then pressed down with her boot still embedded in him, pushing his intestines into his pelvis.

"AGH! Shit!" He knew it would be best to comply with her directions for the moment, but had too much pride to let her order him around. He thought of Jonas, how distraught he must've been without him, then swallowed his pride, and probably the contents of his stomach, and tapped her leg to let up so he could do as she asked. He backed up and stretched painfully into position before the cuffs closed around him. The door shut, leaving them both alone in the room.

She approached him, face to face, then started running her hands all over his stomach. "Let me guess. You don't know how you keep your figure, you just eat lots of greens, avoid fast food, and do the occasional sit-up, don't you?"

He was silent, trying not to enjoy her hands on his shirtless torso. Another quick prod into one of his organs changed his tune. "Yes."

"Figures." She began punching his abs, rhythmically and with moderate strength, forcing him to consistently flex. He wasn't an athlete by any means, but he had abdominal definition, certainly more than Jonas, and could hold out for a short while under her assault. He struggled to breathe while he was flexing, especially when he had to inhale and his belly inflated, pushing in a bit each time she punched him, much to her enjoyment.

She let up only in short intervals, only to continue right away, for the same amount of time, waiting until he was almost out of breath, then giving him just too little time to catch it before resuming. As well as eroding his slight abs, she was slowly suffocating him, leaving him unable to continue flexing for much longer without passing out. He was forced to choose between air and his only defense against her right hand.

By the time she was done, he was sweating, gasping for air, his whole belly raw from the gradual onslaught, filling and emptying for air. He was completely at her mercy, and right when it would be time to begin another barrage, she punched him hard directly in the belly button, pushing effortless past his abdomen.

"OUGH!" Spit shot out of his mouth, spraying her in the chest, resulting in a deeper, anger-fueled push into his abdominal cavity. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Of course, he had been in fights throughout his childhood, usually defending himself, and had taken more than his fair share of hits, but this was another league, falling somewhere between punching and stabbing. The literal bowels of his soul were within range of her grasp, his insides either making way for her, or crushed by her wrath.

She didn't remove the fist until his eyes started to roll back into his head, at which point she withdrew it immediately, snapping him awake as his guts returned to their original positions with an audible squelch. He was breathing in and out massive waves of air, trying to fill back up the compressed spaces of his gullet, which hurt tremendously.

He felt something climbing up his throat, and knew his stomach couldn't take the close contact it had received, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him spew. He closed his mouth and his cheeks filled up, spraying a little bit out of his puckered lips, and two gulps later, it was going back down. His stomach continued to convulsed and contract, and he had to repeat the process a few times before it finally conceded. She watched with bewilderment.

"That's a lesson you learned a long time ago, isn't it? That real strength has nothing to do with the body, but the soul."

"Fuck... you." Hector's speech was slurred, and the oxygen deprivation and bodily trauma were taking their toll. If she did this every day, then he wouldn't be able to escape at all.

"Poor thing." She touched his stomach, earning a wince, and brought her tongue to his belly button. He squirmed to try to throw off her position, but opted not to bother with what little energy he had. As she licked, they both heard a far-off explosion. Her eyebrow twitched. "Don't go anywhere."

The door wouldn't open automatically, so she pulled a cell phone out of her trenchcoat pocket on the floor. A few button presses did the job, and she left, leaving it open behind her. With what little strength he had, Hector strained against the cuffs, to no avail. He hoped, almost prayed, that the door wouldn't close, and that whatever the source of the explosion was, that it was there to rescue him.

A few relatively loud gunshots seemed to come from the outside, which looked like a prison, but wearing and tearing in various places. All of the doors he could see in the block looked rusted and ajar, nothing like the door in his own cell. After a minute, someone in full-body military gear appeared at the door, briefly pointing a high-powered rifle at Hector's shirtless body before quickly lowering it. He yelled something to the side, and a few others joined him. His accent was difficult to make out, but he spoke English.

"It will be okay. We are hear to save you."

Hector sighed and smiled before letting himself pass out, bruised and sweaty in front of the fully-clad soldiers.

(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.