Poster's Note: This story was originally accompanied by several pictures. Since I can't figure out how to post the PDF, I was only able to post the text.
First Punch
by Mango & Jack Lindstrom
I’m not usually the kind of guy who interferes with a girl’s looks. I know, there’s a lot out there who like to suggest she wear this or that top, or jeans, or different shoes...some men even like to choose their wife’s
entire wardrobe. Some want different hair colors every so often, other guys’ll make requests for lipstick or a certain look applied with make-up, but not me. I’m usually happy with anything my girl wears or does to her look. She’s always perfect to me, and she knows this.
This past week, however, something came up and I found myself getting involved, almost instinctively. It was something that usually proves to be an issue between couples, but my own views on it caught her by surprise, and provoked one of the most exciting changes in our lives I’d ever dreamt of. It was the issue of her weight, and she was upset at the beginning.
I came home and found her in tears - she’d been crying and trying to ‘clean up’ afterward so I wouldn’t know, but I knew just from looking at her that she’d been deeply upset, and when she saw the look of recognition in my face, she broke down again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What happened?”
“THIS happened!” she sobbed, and turned to face me, angrily. Under her green cropped t-shirt, her tummy bulged out at the top and sides of her jeans - a pair she’d worn when we first got together and had begun dating.
She hadn’t worn them for several months now, and I’d almost forgotten them. There was nothing spectacular or distinctive about them - they were just plain jeans, but I’d always loved the way she had filled them.
Now they were over-filled, and she was obviously majorly upset.
“I’m disgusting!” she spat, and walked out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the bedroom. “Fat, ugly cow! I’ve been letting myself go, eating whatever I liked, and now I’m a blimp!”
I was still getting past the initial delight of having her sweet little belly flashed at me - she knew it was one of my favorite parts of her anatomy - and hearing what she was saying filled me with both excitement and immediate sympathy. I knew how sensitive women can get on the issue of their weight - our whole culture is tied up with emphasizing the skinny,
ribs-showing-through-the-blouse look, but I’m not like that at all: I’ve always loved more rounded feminine women - the ‘stick look’ is a little nauseating and scary to me, in fact. It’s the smooth curves of a more full, feminine body that make women more excitingly sexy to me. Aside from this, for ages now I’ve had a deep, excruciatingly intense fascination with belly punching. I hadn’t breached this to her yet, for fear she’d leave me in a heartbeat. The notion of any kind of violence being tied in with sexual pleasure usually sends girls running with thoughts of rape in their minds. I had been struggling with how to communicate this to her for all the months we’d been together, and I hadn’t been able to come up with any ideas that would broach the subject in a way that would allow her to remain feeling safe, and still communicate the intensity and depth of the excitement I felt with this scene.
So - I followed her into the bedroom.
There she was, trying to struggle into the same pair of jeans she’d been talking about. And, of course, when she pulled the top button in...there was obviously just no way this was going to work, short of her holding
her breath for the rest of the day.
“Look at me!”she said, anger in her voice. “The ice-cream queen!” I could see tears at the corners of her eyes now. “I could do a show at SeaWorld with this stomach!”
“God, you are so hot,” I murmured, and I meant it.
She froze, her hands still holding the top of her jeans, and stared at me.
“What?” she said. “Like this?”
“Yes!” I said, and I meant it more that I ever had before. A quick dip of her eyes to my crotch dispelled any remaining doubts she might have had. She sighed, and then began pulling down those jeans, sitting on the short couch against the wall as she did. She took up the pair she’d managed to
fit into, a beltless pair with some nice embroidery at the waist, and pulled them on. These fastened with very little effort, so she’d obviously been in this situation before this and had kept this pair as back-up. She stood up, turned sideways to the mirror, and relaxed her full tummy. Her soft belly sagged and bulged, relaxed....feminine...and perfect, above the waist of her jeans... “....oh....my.....GOD!” I murmured.
She put her hands on her hips and swiveled her head to regard me. “I can’t even imagine going out like this,” she said, shaking her head. “Can you imagine me sitting in a bar with my belly hanging out this way?”
“God, yes!” I said. My mind fairly siezed the image, and the scenario unfolded: her soft tummy hanging out over the waist of her jeans...the looks from the other guys in the bar, some furtive, some brazen...the lovely
feminine softness of the rolls of her tummy as she bent forward. I was almost in heaven just thinking about it...I’d have to keep my seat or lose all sense of propriety due to the ferocity of the erection she’d be giving me.
“So you...like...this?” she asked, tentatively.
I swallowed and nodded. Words weren’t as effective here, I realized, as just open reaction and emotion. Her eyes flicked down to my crotch again for an instant and grew a bit wider, and I saw a slight smile on her lips for a moment.
Here we were, in moment-of-truthville, I thought. Where can we park, angel? How about over at that nice little ice-cream shop next to the motel over there?
She was looking at me again and there was curiosity and something else in those lovely dark eyes.
“You don’t just like this,” she observed.
But Holmes...how do you know the victim caught fire? Elementary, Watson: the pile of ashes in the lobby... “Um....yeah...I mean, no...I mean...YEAH!”
She giggled a little. Her hand came up unconsciously and slowly rubbed across her tummy...oh my god... “So...what is it you like?”
I sighed. “I think you are more beautiful than when I first met you,” said, and I meant every word. “I love the fullness of your figure, the way your face looks so sweet and beautiful...the way your hips and breasts have filled out...”
“...but you keep looking at my belly,” she said. I felt my cock almost leap inside my pants. Oh..it had moved...she saw the motion and blinked. She had known, of course, that I appreciated her tummy. You don’t live with a girl for six months, making love to her, and have her NOT notice how hot you get when you’re tonguing her navel. But we’d never gotten any further than that.
“I love your belly,” I said. “I dream about your belly!”
She grinned crookedly and sat back, looking at me. “Why do you like it so much?” she asked. “I mean, most guys like my boobs, or my butt, but you’re the first guy I ever met who loved my belly.”
“I have a ... thing ... for bellies,” I said.
“A thing?” She was still smiling that delicious crooked smile, and I decided it was time to tell all.
“I adore them,” I said. “I love looking at them, tasting them, kissing them, watching them,...” my voice trailed off.
“What?” she said, sensing more to be said.
“...um...”
She shrugged, still looking at me. “Tell me,” she said.
“...punching ... them...” I said quietly. The front of my jeans moved again. I swallowed nervously.
She snorted a little, laughing. I had been, she once said, the most gentle giant she’d ever met. This new revelation didn’t faze her a bit.
“Punching them,” she repeated. “You like punching girls in the belly?”
“I’ve never hurt anyone,” I said. “I don’t...”
“You’ve never told anyone else about this?” she asked.
“Well...my old girlfriend and I once played around with it a little...but I never really told her about it,” I confessed, feeling my ears turning red. “She just sort of slugged me there one time when we were in bed, and I gave her a little punch back, and she thought it was fun, so we traded some light punches...”
“But you never told her?”
I shrugged. “I was too embarrassed,” I admitted. “I mean, it is kind of weird...”
She snorted again. “Sounds pretty tame, compared to a lot of shit that people do in the bedroom,” she said. “So, she punched you first...did you like that too?”
“Well....yeah,” I admitted.
She nodded, not in the least surprised. “I thought so,” she said. “Remember that time we were working on the fence, and I was reaching back to pick up a nail and caught you in the stomach with my elbow? I thought you’d be pissed, but you were grinning like somebody had just given you a kiss.”
“Oh...yeah,” I said. I rememberedthat now. She hadn’t said anything at the time beyond “Sorry!”
She stood up, put her hand out, and put her palm on my chest and pushed
me backward. The back of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I sat down.
“Stay there,” she said, and began pulling off her jeans again. This time, while I watched, she pulled out another pair with denim stars stitched on the thighs and pulled them on, then went to her closet and pulled out a wide black leather belt and worked it through the loops, then fastened it in the front.
“So, what do you like about punching a girl’s belly?” she asked, and sat down on the short couch by the wall again. Her tummy bulged attractively over the belt and jeans.
“Um...lots of things,” I said. “I love the feeling of the softness against my
hand...”
“...Fist,” she corrected me, leaning sideways a moment and arching her
back slightly. The slight contortions her tummy made when she did this
were hypnotizing.
“...er, yeah...my fist,” I said.
“Soft...and warm,” she said, leaning back and reaching up to flip up the
front of her cropped t-shirt slightly, exposing a little more of that sweet
tummy. “Do you like the sound a girl makes when a fist is buried in her
stomach?”
Oh god...what was she doing? The front of my jeans did a little bounce again.
“Yeah....” I gulped. “Very much.” She lifted her hands to her belly and the fingers sank into the softness, her belly flesh pooching out around her beautiful navel.
“It’s such a natural target,” she observed thoughtfully, looking down at her own belly. “So inviting. When you see a girl with a short top like this, and maybe those low cut jeans, it must look like an engraved invitation - ‘please come over here and punch my belly!’” She chuckled a little. Then she turned sideways on the couch, turning her side to me again. Her tummy bulged out....soft....relaxed....inviting..... “It is an invitation,” she murmured softly, turning her head to look at me. “Those girls secretly want to be dominated... controlled....put in their place. So...they advertise, unconsciously....not really understanding what it is they truly want....truly crave....”
If I stood up now, I would have to buy new jeans...
“...what they really desire, is to have a fist buried deep in their guts.” She
sighed, and then slowly pulled her bellyvinnnnnnnn----...oh...my....GOD.... She looked at me and her face was flushed. She slowly turned again to face me, and then eased herself back to lay flat on her back, her tummy
exposed, open....unprotected.... “It’s really a very sexual act,” she
said quietly, and very matter-of-factly. “When you think about it...a fist, penetrating a woman’s belly...something hard, stuck deep inside a girl’s guts....it’s just like lovemaking. Why, there’s even an little opening,” she said, her fingers circling her navel as she watched me. “It’s all symbolic lovemaking.” Her left hand came up and she pushed the stiffened fingers into her belly, just above the navel...pressing into her tummy. “And that desire a girl has, that craving, to be filled up....is exactly what happens when she’s punched in the belly.” She rolled her head sideways and looked at me, then slowly sat up again, and brought her right hand around....balled it into a fist...and pushed it into her tummy, right over her solar plexus.
“God, I want it!” she said, face still flushed, breathing faster now, her eyes shining as she looked at me. “I want you to give it to me...right here!” she said, pushing her fist inward into her belly. I think at this point I would have given my doctor the scare of his life, if he’d been taking my blood pressure reading.
“Wait!” She jumped up, and was quickly pulling off the jeans again...and then pulled on the pair she couldn’t fasten. She turned and stepped over to me... “I love it,” she said, “that you think I’m hot this way.” Her hands were on my shoulders, she was looking into my eyes. “But I don’t want to get any heavier. This is my limit, okay?”
I nodded.
“I may even want to bring my weight down some,” she went on. “But for you, not too much. But I need to be reminded, okay? Don’t let me turn into an obese person. Remind me!”
“How?” I asked.
She smiled crookedly again. She reached down....took my hand in hers...curled my fingers into a fist...lifted it....held it against her warm, soft tummy....her face close to mine, cheek against my own...hot breath in my ear.... “...remind me...” she whispered....
My fist punched lightly into her open, unprotected belly. It made a quiet ‘smack.’ “Uuuuuhhhhhhhhh,” she gasped softly into my ear. Her palms were warm against my own belly now. “Gooooood,” she murmured. “Now, again.....harder......deeeeper.....” My fist came up...and drove deep into her tummy just under the ribs.
THUMP!
“HHHUUUUUUUUHHHHH!” she groaned, and slumped against me...hair falling around my face and neck. The soft warmth of her breasts against my chest...her hot breath on my neck.....and I felt her hand drop to my crotch...and gently rub there.... God, this was the dream of my life coming true...this was heaven....She straightened up, and I felt her hands pulling up the edge of my own t-shirt...and then, her face looking up into mine, her eyes half-closed,....I felt her small, hard fist slam deep into my own belly....her mouth opened, and she gave a soft gasp....
“Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh!” Her fist slowly rubbed against my belly, came back, punched into me again....her mouth opened again.... “Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” she groaned, angled her head to one side, and smiled slowly... I couldn’t control myself any longer. I stood up, grabbed her in my arms...my sweet angel...and laid her down on the bed, looking down at her....
...and she smiled up at me, eyes shining with her love....
It was a long night....