08-04-2008, 03:25 PM
Vomit Induction written by Chinadoll
Misha was getting nervous. She was waiting in the restaurant of the Smithsonian museum in Washington DC. She'd been sitting at her table only five minutes or so, but already her paper coaster was an origami artist's worst nightmare. The tapping of her patent leather shoes against the brass table legs woke her from her tension. She took a deep breath and another swig of her iced tea. 'Calm down Misha.' She muttered to herself under her breath. 'You've been wanting to do this a long, long time…. Well, now it's time.'. Her eyes were darting around the room, searching for something, someone… She let her mind wander back in time as she waited.
It was a Friday, yes definitely a Friday. She remembered distinctly now. It was close to quitting time at work. Misha worked as an administrative assistant for a suit in the high tech information technology industry. She was a neat, smart looking girl. About 5,6 tall with long blonde hair and blue eyes. If it weren't for her stiff work clothes she'd be quite the stunner. Most of the time it felt like she was just Brent Daker's social secretary. Coordinating which golf course or cocktail bar he'd hold his next business meeting at was the highlight of her otherwise mundane day. Brent was ok though. He wasn't a pushy boss and he didn't flirt outrageously like many of her previous employers. In fact Brent was quite the eye candy, very smart and well groomed. He was probably gay; at least that's what the girls in the typing pool thought.
That Friday the paperwork was all in order and Brent had left early that morning to catch a short flight to Pittsburgh for an afternoon at Three Rivers Stadium. Some corporate freebie. The company sponsored the Steelers the previous season and they were looking to hook some fresh cash the following year. From their offices on the outskirts of Alexandria it was only a short drive to DC, so she drove Brent to the airport and was back before 11 and the desk was clear by lunchtime.
Misha had spent that afternoon, behind the closed door to her office, indulging her secret pastime. She'd been surfing the Internet for years now and was quite adept at researching information for Brent. In her roamings of the information highway she had chanced upon a club devoted to her particular kink. This afternoon she was going to sit back and get off on an afternoon of idle chat room fun.
As a young girl Misha was doomed to being the neglected middle child. Sandwiched between the goody goody nerd of an older brother, and the get away with it all, younger one, Misha often sank into obscurity. Her brothers, though she loved them both dearly, w too self obsessed in their own unique ways to pay her much attention and she often longed for a sister to play with. In time she found the only way to get any real attention from her siblings was to annoy the hell out of them as often as she could. One day, Misha was about 10 years old at the time, just at the start of her puberty and sexual self-awareness, her brothers were being particularly boring and Misha resolved to be particularly obnoxious. Was this first experience the start of her lunar cycle of hormonal imbalance she would suffer thereafter? Misha's mind digressed for a moment but soon returned to the memories of her disrupting her brothers' game of touch football in the back yard.
'I want to play too.' she whined at them all afternoon 'UNNNNNGGGHHHH'
Finally in his frustration, Jon, her younger brother, had spun around and slammed a hand off of his pointy-ended oval football deep into her guts. 'Well, don't just lie there. Run with it'
The joy of being suddenly and unexpectedly included into her brother's sanctum, the home football field, stifled and snuffed out the burning pain in the center of her tiny prepubescent stomach. She was reminded of it that evening in the shower when she looked down to see a huge purple bruise developing just below her belly button. 'OUCHHHH', she winced as she pressed it. She smiled to herself. She didn't care. She'd play with her brothers no matter how many bruises she got.
Over the following years it became a family ritual. They'd watch the Sunday afternoon game with their dad together. Mom would keep the supply of chips, salsa and coke coming and immediately after, no matter whom won or lost, the kids would grab the football and race to their yard. There they would try to emulate all the great plays, taking it in equal turn to play Quarterback, Receiver, or Blocker. Misha generally really enjoyed these afternoons but there was one part she wasn't so sure about, the dreaded 'Nose-tackle' game. A simple game they'd devised between themselves. One would square off squat down facing another playing both center and QB. The object of the game was to pick the ball up trot back and throw it to the third player before the nose tackle rushed in and took you down. You'd get a point for a sack before the pass, one for a throw gotten away and the receiver and QB would get two a piece for a complete pass. But whatever happened, you were always going down.
Although Misha was three years older than Jon was, by the time they started playing football together he was already taller and heavier than she was. As the years passed by things didn't get any better for her. By her late teens they'd be twice her size.
Misha remembered those early days. How she'd get the wind knocked out of her on a regular basis, as her brothers would take turns in slamming her to the ground. As her back hit the deck, apart from getting covered in dirt, all the air would rush from her lungs. But she'd always get up, brush herself off and get ready to give them her best shot. She hardly ever knocked Chris off his feet, but she'd often give him a bear hugging he'd remember. Often he'd have to crouch low to avoid a bony shoulder in the crotch.
There was one occasion though that shone like a lighthouse on the shore of her wandering memories. One particular Sunday afternoon Jon was squaring up to charge her down. Now Misha, being the smallest, was always the fastest to snatch the ball and step backwards. But that day Jon was determined to score a bonus point. As Misha stepped back with the ball she was shocked by the speed of Jon's rush. In her panic she hesitated a moment too long as she tried to sidestep his shoulder-charge. Instead of taking his usual arm around the waist tackle, (they were never 'hard', more technique than brute force.) PPPPLLLLLLOOOOOOFFFFFFF, she took the full brunt of his hard skull deep into stomach.
'NNNNNYYYYYYAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH', Misha had screamed, followed by a hollow thud as she slammed back into the ground. She was winded again. Her inability to draw enough breath from the air to make even a half-decent cough was making her eyes water. Her face was red as she choked and spluttered. Chris had come rushing in to see how she was. He had the football in his hands. Just before Jon hit, Misha had instinctively tossed the ball skyward and her elder brother had made the play by catching it. Pushing Jon aside he'd knelt over his tiny sister. 'Hey are you OK? Mish?'
Misha lifted herself forward and promptly puked into her brothers' lap. 'Awww yeucchhh! Hey goofball why'd you have to mash Mish like that?' Jon had giggled at the way Chris said 'mash Mish' and Chris punched him in the gut for it. While Misha struggled to catch her breath the boys had started to punch each other in a typical brotherly struggle for sibling dominance. Misha recovered enough to let out her own fit of giggles at their stupid play fight. 'Hey what are you laughing at Creep UUUUUUGGH?' Jon had said, just as POWWWW, Chris slammed another fist into his kid brother's undefended midriff.
'You, dodo breath, cos I just scored two bonus points for a most superb completion, hah!' Misha's moment of self-satisfaction was brutally cut short as Chris thumped her in the stomach. 'AAAAAGHHHHHHHH, what was that for', Misha whined.
'That was for making us worry that you were hurt, and puking all over my pants', replied Chris. 'Huh, well tough. Anyway a wimp like you, can't hurt me, you hit like a girl.' With that crushing attack on his fledgling masculinity, Chris had no choice than to chase after his now sprinting younger sister.
He caught up with her near the end of the yard and using his arms outstretched corralled Misha into a corner. 'Oh yeah, so let's see how tough you are then' SLLLLAAAAAMMMMM. He punched his fist into Misha's flat stomach. Not as hard as with his brother. Chris wasn't sure how much a little girl could stand. 'UGGGGHHHHH, hmmmpphh, is that all you've got geek?' Misha taunted. CCCCRRRRRUUUUNNNNNCCH. The response was instant. 'HUUUUUUNNNNNGGGH, huuuh, huuuuuhh, Jon hit's harder than that nerd!' SMMMMAAAAAACKKK. Chris slammed an uppercut deep into Misha's small frame. 'HHUUUUUUUUNNNNGGGGGGGGGGH'. Misha's eyes began to bulge and her face turned bright red as she fought back her tears. POOOOOOWWWWWW. 'ARRRRRRGGHHHHH, heyyyyyy?' cried Chris as he turned to face his kidney's assailant. 'That's enough Chris. You're hurting her. You can't beat her up like you do with me! She can't take it like us. She's only a girl.' Only a girl. The words had stung Misha worse than her brother's punches. When Chris turned to face her again she shot out her own tiny fist and cracked him square in the nuts. 'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW', Chris folded forward clutching his freshly growing sack contents. 'Yeah, Creepoid! See how you like it.'
In her innocence the young Misha had no idea why her brother had creased up at such a girly punch. Adult Misha smirked at the memory of her own childhood naivety. She'd enjoyed those days. Her fight with her brother had earned a new respect from both her siblings. They'd play a game of punching each other at first sight after school every day. Some days her school bus would get her home just ahead of the boys and she'd lay in wait for them ready to pounce. Other days they'd ambush her. Invariably Chris would pin her down whilst Jon, giggling would tickle her senseless before WHHHHAAAAMMM,
He'd smack a fist into the tender flat spot that was her belly button, then run off giggling as Misha would bulge her cheeks in a faked pre vomit flush. Jon would run away screaming as Chris who saw the joke would cry in a mock Scottish accent, 'I canney hold her captain, I think she's gonna blow!'
By her teens Misha was quite the fit cheerleader type and she'd occasionally have to go to practice with make up on her stomach to cover the occasional bruise when the boys had hit her just a little too hard. The outfits they wore at football practice were very revealing and she prided herself on how trim and firm her figure was. With all the gymnastic exercise she also had a very flat tummy with just the hint of a six-pack when she sucked it in. She enjoyed her cheerleading days too. She got to watch all these guys slamming into each other's bodies. And they were oh so fit too! She was so glad her brothers had sparked her interest in this sport
'Is that where it had all started?' she mused. Is this why she now trawled the back alleys of the information superhighways, searching for pictures and articles on stomach punching and gut torture. It was not so much an obsession as a lifelong yearning for that sweet sensation of pain given with love from someone close to you. 'Someone close? Huh?'
Both her brothers were now married and Chris had two young kids of his own now. So she hadn't done too much damage with that first punch after all. She'd had a few lovers over the years. On occasion she'd try to engage them in a rough and tumble play fight just to try and get them to punch her in the stomach. They never would though. They'd either think she was a crazy woman or when they did resist it would be too simple for them to just sit on her and restrain her limbs. This wasn't what she wanted. She'd soon learnt to drop this tactic and adopted the more direct approach. She wanted to share her fantasies, but her yearnings to feel a lovers fist buried into her navel would generally be thwarted by the prudish puritanical piss annoying streak that ran down the backs of her would be suitors. Couldn't any of them just slug her good and hard? Their feeble attempts at punching foreplay were annoying and frustrated her. She tried to explain it to them by comparing it to an unfinished blow job, where she'd work them up slowly and softly but wasn't prepared to give them a good deep pumping to the point where every nerve in their bodies was alight in perfect unison with their cocks.
Misha had near given up all hope of finding a kindred spirit before that fateful day she'd typed 'stomach punch' into the yahoo search engine. And there before her eyes a whole New World opened itself to her. She'd reveled in those early days, flitting from one link to another, from club to club. She became familiar and engrossed with the fantasies of countless other like-minded souls. The more 'hardcore' crowd stood out obvious in their conspicuousness. The same handles popped up in half a dozen different message boards with daily regularity; 'bellypunch3d', 'Mark', 'sleeperkid', 'ace', 'fist3', 'Jack Lindstrom', 'gut me hard', 'Barb' and the 'bellylord'. Strange names, strangers one and all. But she knew their minds. They were just like hers. She had found a home amongst this community and she would chat for hours, or by text messages and e-mails with her faceless friends, sharing her deepest passions. She'd revealed secrets, behind the veil of her own alter ego that she'd never dare tell anyone in the real world. Not even her best, most trusted of friends, knew how deep her desire had grown all these years to feel the thrust of a tightened fist plunging into her soft innards. In cyberspace there was anonymity like nowhere else. There was more than anonymity. Here she could be someone else and her most real self all at once. A strange contradiction. And so it came to be that on that particular Friday she signed on as usual to her Yahoo screen name to find a message posted to her by a new stranger. 'Smack_my_bitch_up' had sent the following e-mail;
'Hi there, Apologies for the unsolicited mailing, but I noticed from various sources that you and I share a mutual fetish for stomach pain. I've read some of your open fantasies and although I live on another continent I'd love to help you fulfill your dreams if you'd do me the return favor with mine. My yahoo profile is open for you to read simply click on the URL below. No reply is necessary but it's nice to know that finally I've found a community of brethren. Cal.'
The message was sweet and inoffensive, unlike many of the crude or downright rude one's she received on a regular basis from schoolboys, idiots, perverts or plain nutters. After reading SMBU's profile, Misha typed a reply:
'
Well thank you for the offer. That would be absolutely lovely. I'll look forward to it.
Em'
A minute or two of stomach hunting later and her surfing was interrupted by the dulcet tone of her PC singing, 'You've got mail!'
The reply was from Cal.
'Well thank you for your reply, I'm drooling already. Unfortunately I live in the UK. I do occasionally get over to the US on business, conferences etc. Where exactly in the states are you? Cal.'
'WV' was Misha's quick reply
.
'Oh a mountain girl, huh? I hear folk up there often have to fight of bears whilst they're chopping down trees for firewood…and occasionally the men work too! Well if ever I'm in the area I'll drop you a line. Likewise if you ever make it over to London and feel the need for a good stomach beating just call. Cal.'
She was tickled by his knowledge of American stereotypes. 'LOL' she replied. 'I'll do just that. Will you hit me hard enough to make me puke my guts? Em'
'Well Em, let's put it this way. Next time I'm in your neck of the woods I'll save the airplane sick bag just for you! Cal'
'Very cute' replied Misha.
He was funny, A cunning linguist…..or something like that she hoped. But alas he was ten thousand miles away, but stomach flirting was fun. The chance they'd ever meet was very, very remote.
Two months had passed before she next received any kind of contact from Cal. She had enjoyed reading his message posts and occasional short stories. She felt like she knew the workings of his mind through his fantasies, but she hadn't even seen him in a chat room let alone an e-mail in all that time. When a mail finally came it was out of the blue and it rocked her to the core
'Hello vomit girl, remember me? I'm coming to Baltimore for a meeting in a couple of weeks, but I'm going to have a weekend to myself. Now though I loathe road trips I'd make an exception to deliver that barf bag I promised you. Are you free on the 29th? We could simply meet for dinner or a drink first if you prefer. Cal.'
Her knees were knocking the underside of her desk as she read the mail twice more. 'Oh crap' she thought to herself. Had she invited a stranger into her real world? No, no of course not. This was no different to any of the other offers she got from the wackos, it was just more polite.
She had to respond. After all he was from England and proper etiquette dictated a response was required even if it was a polite 'No Thank you' She laughed at her flusteredness. What the hell, we kicked those guy's out in Boston 280 years ago. I don't have to feel any obligation to reply. But reply she did, although a full week later.
'Hello Cal, I've considered your offer, and I accept. Have you ever been to Washington DC? Would you like a tour guide for the day? I suggest we could meet at some landmark. It'll be in the open in the public and knowing DC quite well probably covered by a gazillion security service spy cameras, which means I'll feel more secure when meeting you. We could swap pictures online. If when we meet you aren't the guy I'm expecting I'll walk away. If you are we may enjoy each other's company for the day, we may not. We can take it from there. How does that grab you Limey Boy? Em.'
Again Misha had not long to wait for the reply. She had plucked up the courage to take a chance by inviting him beyond the barrier of her PC screen. 'But he's a foreigner.' she reassured herself. 'He has to leave eventually, doesn't he? It's just a day sightseeing and no more…..unless he's really cute!'
Em, That sounds delightful and no I've never been to DC. But there's so much to see. I'll leave it to you to surprise me. I have no preference. Here's my pic in jpeg format. Where and when? Cal'
They exchanged details and Misha was not disappointed at all by the photograph she received. Cute he was. They arranged to meet at the Smithsonian Institute. There was a visitor's restaurant close to the entrance hall. If either did a no-show at least the other could enjoy the facility on their own.
It was now 11.05am. They'd agreed on 11. He was late. Wasn't that the woman's prerogative?
At 11.10 she spotted him. Cal could have been Erik Estrada's long lost love child. He was about 6ft tall, 190lbs and in his early 30's. He was Frank Poncherello reborn. It was uncanny. Misha recalled the early 1970's cop show 'ChiPs' about the California Highway Patrol men, Frank and John. Of the two, she'd always had a crush on the blond haired, blue eyed All-American boy, John. But over the years her tastes had changed more often than the length of her hair and right now she knew exactly how to appreciate Cal's tall dark and handsome good looks. A thought, a brief moment of doubt, flashed across her mind 'What about the teeth? Oh no the teeth. He's British.' She imagined a cross between Frank Poncherello and Austin Powers and a shudder ran down her spine. At that exact moment Cal spotted her. His face broke into a broad and perfect smile. Misha melted into her chair, 'Perfect teeth!'
'Hello are you Em? I'm Cal' he introduced himself hand outstretched. Misha's reflexive return placed her hand into his. It was warm and inviting. Momentarily she pondered if these soft strong hands would soon be pounding her quivering stomach. She composed herself quickly to settle the butterflies in her tummy. 'That's M for Misha, Cal. Yes. And I'm very pleased to meet you' She began to stand. 'No, No. Please stay seated. Here let me join you.' Said Cal as he urged her with relaxed authority back into her seat.
They faced each other smiling for a moment. Misha was desperately trying to stem the red flush she could feel rushing to her cheeks as Cal looked into her eyes. He broke the silence to say 'I am so pleased to finally meet you. I guess you are feeling just as nervous as I, but I'd like to reassure you I'm just a regular guy, no different to the thousands of others out there that you might meet and arrange to go out on a date with. Now putting aside the fact that we share this somewhat unique side to our libidos, let's both put that aside for the day and go enjoy ourselves and get to know each other. Whaddya say?
His gentle voice and that steady reassuring accent were all it took to convince Misha that she could do this. Cal had a confident manner about him, but it wasn't arrogant or self-centered. It was almost hypnotic and she was prepared to let this stranger in town lead her even though wasn't she supposed to be leading him around town today. And that smile, so inviting. Misha felt suddenly at complete ease in Cal's company and they laughed together a while as she said. 'Sure, why the heck not Limey Boy'
The day was a dream. Cal allowed Misha to tour him around the citadel's sights without complaint. In fact he showed a keen interest in everything she showed him and hung on her every word. Misha was quite the tour guide. Brent had often asked her to collect visiting foreign executives from the airport and make them comfortable, show them the scenic tour before bringing them in to Alexandria to their hotel. By that time they'd be ready to hit the bars and clubs with Brent. He knew DC was dead for nightlife. The whole town shut down at 5pm, but Alexandria was different. It was the rich suburb on the bordering state. Most of DC's young IT execs lived there or thereabouts, that's if they hadn't already built their luxury house on the river. Misha pondered as the day drew on whether to take Cal back to Alexandria for dinner and a touch of bar hopping. She decided to delay a while. She wasn't yet sure if he was loose enough to hang out on the strip. After all he might be a real stiff assed Brit when the sun went down. She had the perfect solution to find out.
'Hey have you ever done that Wayne's world thing where you lie at the end of a runway and watch the planes coming in to land?' she asked. 'Er, no. But it sounds like fun, Why? 'Well DC has this tiny city airport named after Ronald Reagan and the end of the runway butts onto a public park. Wanna go see?' 'Sure' replied Cal with a smile.
They arrived at the park as dusk approached. As Misha drove her car into the parking lot they could see there were dozens of other couples of all ages dotted around the grassland.
'Come on.' said Misha. They found an open patch of grass. Cal looked around at the other people lying on their backs looking skyward. He took off his jacket and neatly folded it into a pillow and lay down on the grass. 'Err, aren't you worried your shirt might get dirty?' asked Misha 'I've got more, besides that's what business expenses are for. I can always buy more' This was no stiff ass. Misha smiled and lay down on the grass next to Cal. As they lay there the silence would be broken every two minutes by the booming engines of the landing jets and the astonished 'AWWWW's and 'WHOOOOAAH's of the assembled audience.
After the tenth jumbo had passed overhead Cal spoke up 'So Misha, am I going to get to slam my fist up into you beautiful flat stomach tonight. Because I have to admit I've been thinking of very little else all day. And I've been trying really hard to avoid the subject out of courtesy to you during your most wonderful tour. But right now I'd rather be looking at me landing a firm fist into your stomach and feeling my undercarriage rise, to watching the bellies and undercarriages if these airplanes landing.'
Misha felt the butterflies take off inside her again as the next plane's boom reverberated through her. 'Yeeeeeeeesss, but first lets go to a bar, because I'd like a few drinks inside me first' 'That sounds just fine to me' replied Cal.
Misha drove her car in near silence as she pondered again just what she was doing. This was after all no ordinary date, but that's just what it was so far, she kept reminding herself. We go out, we have fun, we drink, we get take out, we go home, and we get laid. Only difference here is when we get home I'm going to let this guy try to hurt me. And that's what she was scared of. Up 'til that moment she'd avoided the fear. Finally this night she would allow someone, who actually wanted to hit her for the pure pleasure of it, do just that. But would he stop. That was the key to her anxiety. How could she be sure he wouldn't just keep on beating her beyond her tolerance? She was allowing her fear to take hold. She needed a drink badly now just to steady her nerves. They arrived in Alexandria just in time. Misha parked her car at her office car park, which was handily located in the center of town and they walked to a nearby bar.
Misha downed her first JD and coke remarkably quickly. Cal noticed and the same with the second. Before Misha could order another he spoke in that same soft reassuring tone, 'Misha I want you to know that I'm just the same as you. I mean really just the same as you.
I've known my whole life that I'm different to all the other guy's you see out there, in here, everywhere in fact. Until I found our little web community, those few hundred computer literates, I thought I was alone in the whole world. A freak.
I want people to hurt me. But not in any way. In one specific and tiny way. I want to feel the pain of a loving penetrating punch deep into my belly button, I want to feel a woman rip my gut open and crush the knot of my belly button into my spine. I want to feel the blood in my descending aorta pulsate beneath her intruding fingers. I want that rush of pain deep into my center, my pleasure center.
I know it doesn't make sense to Joe and Joanna Public, but I know it makes sense to you. I want you to help me fulfil my desires and I will do everything to help you fulfill yours. I've had partners who've tried darn hard to try to hurt me the way I want but it's not their thing and they have no personal frame of reference to draw upon. They have no idea what I'm desperately searching for. I know you do. I've seen it in your posts. In your heart and soul you know I do too. Let them tell your mind this is true and I will endeavor to blow it for you.
I've known since beyond my memory that this is my kink, my fetish, my thing. My bellybutton was my embryonic link to the universe, through it my mother fed me life with her every heartbeat. It is my center and the center of my sexuality. From the moment the surgeon cut my mother's stomach open and severed me from her. From the day my mother showed me her scar. From earlier than all this. I owe my pain to her for her suffering to bring me to the world and more. That's how it began for me I think, I don't know. For each of us it's different I guess. Maybe I psychoanalyze it too much. But I will do my best, if you'll allow me, to give you that deep glow inside that I know you yearn for. That I yearn for. With as much sensitivity as I desire for myself, I will hurt you inside and bring you the pleasures you long for. Just say the word, tell me, help me to give you this pain. I don't do this for 'pain'. I do this for 'pleasure'. For both of us.'
Misha stared into Cal's eyes for an endless age. She felt his face closing to his as slow and fast as his was to hers. They met in a long and soft kiss. Misha closed her eyes. Was this the partner, the soul mate she had been waiting for all these long years? There'd be only one way to find out. The next three drinks were taken much more leisurely as they took time to explore each other's touch. They gazed at each other, giggling occasionally at their own good fortune, before Misha said, 'Now let me go get us a take out and you can walk me home. What'll it be?' 'I'm easy' replied Cal. 'Oh no Limey. You are not easy. It's taken me 15 years to find someone like you. You are certainly not easy! Will a burger do ya?' 'That'll be just fine'
They walked home via a McDonalds. Cal ordered a diet coke and two cheeseburgers. Misha skipped the food but took a large chocolate milkshake. They were both finished long before they reached Misha's apartment. On the way Misha recounted her childhood experiences with her brothers.
'I always thought those days were the source of my fetish. I never really considered it could be deeper than that. You really got me thinking talking about our fetal link to our mothers. Kinda makes sense.' 'Oh I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's enough just to know wherein your pleasure lays. There's no need to hire a shrink over it unless your kink is socially unacceptable. Thankfully ours is so obscure it hasn't yet reached the public's scrutiny.' 'True but what I mean is. Why did I enjoy my brothers pounding me in the stomach. I didn't mind, that first day, being hit so hard I actually puked. Perhaps there's something deeper going on with all of us stomach punching addicts?' 'Or perhaps you were just thrilled to finally get some brotherly love whatever the cost to you physically? Like I said, the why of it really isn't so important as the pleasure we know we get.'
They arrived. Misha's apartment was warm inside and they soon shed their jackets. Misha poured them both a drink and they sat together on the sofa sipping a while. Misha was watching Cal. She was playing with her hair, running her fingers through the long blonde locks that draped over her shoulders. Even in the dim lamp light Cal thought she was simply gorgeous. He couldn't take his eyes off her and soon he let them wander down the rest of her. Her breasts were pert and full. They stretched her tight sweater into two perfect peaks. The valley between them ran down to Misha's trim waist. As she sat there, her perfect office girl posture gave no hint of sagginess around her midriff. Cal's eyes continued their journey of delight down to Misha's slender thighs and calves. The naked skin beneath the hem of her short skirt was beautifully tanned a golden brown. Her skin looked soft and inviting. Cal could not resist. He placed his glass on a coaster and moved towards Misha to kiss her. As he did so Cal let one hand slip between Misha's knees and up between her thighs. Misha did not resist beyond letting out a slight gasp that turned into a soft guttural moan as she continued their kiss.
Cal continued to caress Misha's inner thigh but soon pushed up further and began to lovingly stroke the gusset of her panties. Misha was already wet with anticipation. She broke their oral connection to say, 'Punch me Cal. Punch me like I've never been punched before and don't stop no matter what until I throw up or die. And if I die don't stop punching me. Just hurt me more because I'll be in heaven and I wont care. Send me to heaven Cal, please, now' With that Cal helped Misha out of her clothes until all that remained was her very sexy frilly satin g-string panties. They were light blue and accentuated Misha's eyes beautifully. The top edge curved deeply outlining the gentle flatness of her lower stomach.
Near naked, Cal thought Misha's body was simply gorgeous. She still had her cheerleader fitness and with each breath her abdomen ebbed and flowed up again. Cal was transfixed. 'Be very specific Misha. Where do you feel your pain the most. Where exactly do you need your pain.' enquired Cal in that same irresistible exacting manner.
'Right here Cal, deep inside' answered Misha as she drew an outline of a circle just two inches around her little innie belly button. He then poked a finger deep into her navel. Cal watched as Misha sucked in her abdomen till it was taunt and sunken in far, her ribs were jutting out and each of her firm six-pack popped into view. Cal was half tempted to look from the side. Her fingertip could not have been more than an inch in front of the skin on her back.
'I'll give you a keyword to stop me completely. If it's too much pain, just say 'PAIN' out loud, and I'll stop. Anything else like 'stop', 'no more', 'please no', etc I'll ignore. Agreed?' 'Agreed Cal. Now please smack this bitch upPAAAAGGGGGHH!'
Cal rammed his fist into her flat inviting tummy before Misha could finish her sentence. Because he was sitting opposite her there wasn't much weight behind it. Never the less it still caught Misha unawares and she spluttered and coughed while Cal stood up and took off his shirt and shoes. His torso was bedecked in thick dark curly hair but beneath it all Misha could clearly see a well-defined rippling musculature. Cal was built like an athlete and more. He'd clearly kept his body in good shape. She hadn't time to fully explore this wonderful eye-candy before TTTHHHHHHHHWWWWWUMMMMMP.
A quick flick of his left arm snapped a sharp fist into her stomach just an inch below her navel. Misha was ready for it now. She sensed the sting of the contact on her skin, but the burn inside was like a touch paper trying to light a fire deep in her stomach. She closed her eyes and mentally begged for the warmth of the next punch. She would not be disappointed.
Cal stood in front of her waiting seated body. Her flat skin glowed golden in front of him. He lifted her head with the fingertips of his left hand under her chin. Bending forward he pressed his lips to hers. SSSSSMMMMMMMMAAAAAAACCCCK
Misha snorted at the air as her lungs were forced to expel her breath. But she did not break the kiss. Cal moved his hand onto her stretched out neck and pushed back on her throat until her head flopped back onto the top of the sofa. Standing astride her thighs now, pinning her by her slender neck, Misha's exposed taunt stomach was now completely at his mercy. THHHHHWWWWWWUMPPPP PPPPOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW CRRRRRUNNNNCH
Three rock hard powerful punches slammed into Misha's firm abdomen. She bucked at each tremendous blow. But no more than a gentle groaning emanated from her mouth. 'Impressive resistance Misha' said Cal, genuinely impressed. So she really was a true stomachpuncher, not just an inquisitive voyeur.
'You'll have to do better than that honey. My abdominal wall is a lot tougher than you think.' 'They can be tougher to penetrate than the great wall of China doll face, but I'm still going to bust you up inside and make you puke!' replied Cal, with a knowing broad grin. 'Promises, promiFGGGGGUUUCKKKKKK!' A crippling right uppercut creased Misha's torso as Cal ploughed his fist even harder into her navel. It was deadly accurate. The fire was now well alight inside Misha's tummy now. The burning sent waves of warm pleasure to her brain. More, please more! Her mind yearned for more of the same. PPPPPPLLLLLLOOOOOFFFFFFF 'NNNNNGGGGGGH' Now her groans were becoming more noticeably audible. 'MOTHER F-CKAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!' 'UUUUUUNNNNNNNNGHHH' 'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. STOP NO' 'AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!' 'AWWWWWW F-CK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!'
Cal paused his onslaught a moment as Misha writhed with her painful internal pleasure. As soon as she settled and his target was relatively stationary Cal released a vicious gut crippling punch. He felt his fist swallowed whole into her flat under stomach. Misha bucked and quivered as she orgasmed beneath him. Cal was f-cking her up with his fists in more ways than he'd ever imagined. The sight of her climactic agony was thrilling to behold and Cal's penis sprang to rigid attention. Cal unbuckled his belt and removed his trousers and socks. He was wearing only his Calvin Klein tent, it's single pole now pointing horizontally at his target.
THHHHHWWWWWWACCCCCK
Released from his awkward posture holding Misha down, Cal was now able to apply more swing and power to his next punch. Twisting his torso around the pivot of his stable hips, Cal drove a series of three gut busting blows into Misha's still quaking stomach.
Misha snapped her body first back, then forward, then back again. Arching her back and head over the edge of the sofa she struggled to contain the pain and hold it in her stomach. It wanted to escape. It wanted to tell her that her ribcage was suffering. That her organs were getting a severe beating that they'd remind her of for weeks. That she'd be urinating blood for days. That her heart and lungs would explode if this punishment didn't end soon. But she needed to hold this pain. Bottling into her stretched tight stomach she couldn't speak to stop the next punch. It came like a lightening bolt. Cal could not resist the inviting sight of Misha's upthrust navel. Crashing down into her, Cal hammered a doubled fist down onto Misha's naked flesh. Driving her back down and into the sofa her stomach finally caved in, submitting to the relentless onslaught. Misha's body quaked and trembled and then exploded. A fountain of milky brown vomit burst from Misha's lips as she puked up her McDonalds beverage. She collapsed back into the sofa. A faint gurgling voice cried, 'Pain!'
The thick brown stream glugged it's way down her chin and a thin long string of dribble plopped onto her nipple. Curving a course around it the chocolate gloop continued it's course around her stiff tit assailing on downwards and landing in a splat accurately into the depths of her twisted belly button where it formed a growing pool. Once full her belly button finally spilled its contents and the milk shake continued in a neat stream down to her crotch. Spreading into a wide and snaking estuary it finally met the ocean of her feminine wetness, becoming suddenly more viscous as it mixed with her mucous.
Cal watched it flow and could not resist tasting this new and unique cocktail. He went down on her for what seemed to Misha like a blissful eternity. When finally he rose, she returned the favor. That night they made love like nothing she had ever experienced before. They beat each other's bellies black and blue.
The next day Misha drove Cal to the airport where he collected his baggage from a left luggage box and returned home. Misha returned the next day to work. Flicked on her PC and dialed up the stomach punching message boards.
She was happy to find a new story posted the previous night. It was called 'Vomit Induction' and although the names had been changed, she knew it was a perfect detailed account of her weekend with Cal. 'You crazy Limey' she laughed at herself.
Misha was getting nervous. She was waiting in the restaurant of the Smithsonian museum in Washington DC. She'd been sitting at her table only five minutes or so, but already her paper coaster was an origami artist's worst nightmare. The tapping of her patent leather shoes against the brass table legs woke her from her tension. She took a deep breath and another swig of her iced tea. 'Calm down Misha.' She muttered to herself under her breath. 'You've been wanting to do this a long, long time…. Well, now it's time.'. Her eyes were darting around the room, searching for something, someone… She let her mind wander back in time as she waited.
It was a Friday, yes definitely a Friday. She remembered distinctly now. It was close to quitting time at work. Misha worked as an administrative assistant for a suit in the high tech information technology industry. She was a neat, smart looking girl. About 5,6 tall with long blonde hair and blue eyes. If it weren't for her stiff work clothes she'd be quite the stunner. Most of the time it felt like she was just Brent Daker's social secretary. Coordinating which golf course or cocktail bar he'd hold his next business meeting at was the highlight of her otherwise mundane day. Brent was ok though. He wasn't a pushy boss and he didn't flirt outrageously like many of her previous employers. In fact Brent was quite the eye candy, very smart and well groomed. He was probably gay; at least that's what the girls in the typing pool thought.
That Friday the paperwork was all in order and Brent had left early that morning to catch a short flight to Pittsburgh for an afternoon at Three Rivers Stadium. Some corporate freebie. The company sponsored the Steelers the previous season and they were looking to hook some fresh cash the following year. From their offices on the outskirts of Alexandria it was only a short drive to DC, so she drove Brent to the airport and was back before 11 and the desk was clear by lunchtime.
Misha had spent that afternoon, behind the closed door to her office, indulging her secret pastime. She'd been surfing the Internet for years now and was quite adept at researching information for Brent. In her roamings of the information highway she had chanced upon a club devoted to her particular kink. This afternoon she was going to sit back and get off on an afternoon of idle chat room fun.
As a young girl Misha was doomed to being the neglected middle child. Sandwiched between the goody goody nerd of an older brother, and the get away with it all, younger one, Misha often sank into obscurity. Her brothers, though she loved them both dearly, w too self obsessed in their own unique ways to pay her much attention and she often longed for a sister to play with. In time she found the only way to get any real attention from her siblings was to annoy the hell out of them as often as she could. One day, Misha was about 10 years old at the time, just at the start of her puberty and sexual self-awareness, her brothers were being particularly boring and Misha resolved to be particularly obnoxious. Was this first experience the start of her lunar cycle of hormonal imbalance she would suffer thereafter? Misha's mind digressed for a moment but soon returned to the memories of her disrupting her brothers' game of touch football in the back yard.
'I want to play too.' she whined at them all afternoon 'UNNNNNGGGHHHH'
Finally in his frustration, Jon, her younger brother, had spun around and slammed a hand off of his pointy-ended oval football deep into her guts. 'Well, don't just lie there. Run with it'
The joy of being suddenly and unexpectedly included into her brother's sanctum, the home football field, stifled and snuffed out the burning pain in the center of her tiny prepubescent stomach. She was reminded of it that evening in the shower when she looked down to see a huge purple bruise developing just below her belly button. 'OUCHHHH', she winced as she pressed it. She smiled to herself. She didn't care. She'd play with her brothers no matter how many bruises she got.
Over the following years it became a family ritual. They'd watch the Sunday afternoon game with their dad together. Mom would keep the supply of chips, salsa and coke coming and immediately after, no matter whom won or lost, the kids would grab the football and race to their yard. There they would try to emulate all the great plays, taking it in equal turn to play Quarterback, Receiver, or Blocker. Misha generally really enjoyed these afternoons but there was one part she wasn't so sure about, the dreaded 'Nose-tackle' game. A simple game they'd devised between themselves. One would square off squat down facing another playing both center and QB. The object of the game was to pick the ball up trot back and throw it to the third player before the nose tackle rushed in and took you down. You'd get a point for a sack before the pass, one for a throw gotten away and the receiver and QB would get two a piece for a complete pass. But whatever happened, you were always going down.
Although Misha was three years older than Jon was, by the time they started playing football together he was already taller and heavier than she was. As the years passed by things didn't get any better for her. By her late teens they'd be twice her size.
Misha remembered those early days. How she'd get the wind knocked out of her on a regular basis, as her brothers would take turns in slamming her to the ground. As her back hit the deck, apart from getting covered in dirt, all the air would rush from her lungs. But she'd always get up, brush herself off and get ready to give them her best shot. She hardly ever knocked Chris off his feet, but she'd often give him a bear hugging he'd remember. Often he'd have to crouch low to avoid a bony shoulder in the crotch.
There was one occasion though that shone like a lighthouse on the shore of her wandering memories. One particular Sunday afternoon Jon was squaring up to charge her down. Now Misha, being the smallest, was always the fastest to snatch the ball and step backwards. But that day Jon was determined to score a bonus point. As Misha stepped back with the ball she was shocked by the speed of Jon's rush. In her panic she hesitated a moment too long as she tried to sidestep his shoulder-charge. Instead of taking his usual arm around the waist tackle, (they were never 'hard', more technique than brute force.) PPPPLLLLLLOOOOOOFFFFFFF, she took the full brunt of his hard skull deep into stomach.
'NNNNNYYYYYYAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH', Misha had screamed, followed by a hollow thud as she slammed back into the ground. She was winded again. Her inability to draw enough breath from the air to make even a half-decent cough was making her eyes water. Her face was red as she choked and spluttered. Chris had come rushing in to see how she was. He had the football in his hands. Just before Jon hit, Misha had instinctively tossed the ball skyward and her elder brother had made the play by catching it. Pushing Jon aside he'd knelt over his tiny sister. 'Hey are you OK? Mish?'
Misha lifted herself forward and promptly puked into her brothers' lap. 'Awww yeucchhh! Hey goofball why'd you have to mash Mish like that?' Jon had giggled at the way Chris said 'mash Mish' and Chris punched him in the gut for it. While Misha struggled to catch her breath the boys had started to punch each other in a typical brotherly struggle for sibling dominance. Misha recovered enough to let out her own fit of giggles at their stupid play fight. 'Hey what are you laughing at Creep UUUUUUGGH?' Jon had said, just as POWWWW, Chris slammed another fist into his kid brother's undefended midriff.
'You, dodo breath, cos I just scored two bonus points for a most superb completion, hah!' Misha's moment of self-satisfaction was brutally cut short as Chris thumped her in the stomach. 'AAAAAGHHHHHHHH, what was that for', Misha whined.
'That was for making us worry that you were hurt, and puking all over my pants', replied Chris. 'Huh, well tough. Anyway a wimp like you, can't hurt me, you hit like a girl.' With that crushing attack on his fledgling masculinity, Chris had no choice than to chase after his now sprinting younger sister.
He caught up with her near the end of the yard and using his arms outstretched corralled Misha into a corner. 'Oh yeah, so let's see how tough you are then' SLLLLAAAAAMMMMM. He punched his fist into Misha's flat stomach. Not as hard as with his brother. Chris wasn't sure how much a little girl could stand. 'UGGGGHHHHH, hmmmpphh, is that all you've got geek?' Misha taunted. CCCCRRRRRUUUUNNNNNCCH. The response was instant. 'HUUUUUUNNNNNGGGH, huuuh, huuuuuhh, Jon hit's harder than that nerd!' SMMMMAAAAAACKKK. Chris slammed an uppercut deep into Misha's small frame. 'HHUUUUUUUUNNNNGGGGGGGGGGH'. Misha's eyes began to bulge and her face turned bright red as she fought back her tears. POOOOOOWWWWWW. 'ARRRRRRGGHHHHH, heyyyyyy?' cried Chris as he turned to face his kidney's assailant. 'That's enough Chris. You're hurting her. You can't beat her up like you do with me! She can't take it like us. She's only a girl.' Only a girl. The words had stung Misha worse than her brother's punches. When Chris turned to face her again she shot out her own tiny fist and cracked him square in the nuts. 'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW', Chris folded forward clutching his freshly growing sack contents. 'Yeah, Creepoid! See how you like it.'
In her innocence the young Misha had no idea why her brother had creased up at such a girly punch. Adult Misha smirked at the memory of her own childhood naivety. She'd enjoyed those days. Her fight with her brother had earned a new respect from both her siblings. They'd play a game of punching each other at first sight after school every day. Some days her school bus would get her home just ahead of the boys and she'd lay in wait for them ready to pounce. Other days they'd ambush her. Invariably Chris would pin her down whilst Jon, giggling would tickle her senseless before WHHHHAAAAMMM,
He'd smack a fist into the tender flat spot that was her belly button, then run off giggling as Misha would bulge her cheeks in a faked pre vomit flush. Jon would run away screaming as Chris who saw the joke would cry in a mock Scottish accent, 'I canney hold her captain, I think she's gonna blow!'
By her teens Misha was quite the fit cheerleader type and she'd occasionally have to go to practice with make up on her stomach to cover the occasional bruise when the boys had hit her just a little too hard. The outfits they wore at football practice were very revealing and she prided herself on how trim and firm her figure was. With all the gymnastic exercise she also had a very flat tummy with just the hint of a six-pack when she sucked it in. She enjoyed her cheerleading days too. She got to watch all these guys slamming into each other's bodies. And they were oh so fit too! She was so glad her brothers had sparked her interest in this sport
'Is that where it had all started?' she mused. Is this why she now trawled the back alleys of the information superhighways, searching for pictures and articles on stomach punching and gut torture. It was not so much an obsession as a lifelong yearning for that sweet sensation of pain given with love from someone close to you. 'Someone close? Huh?'
Both her brothers were now married and Chris had two young kids of his own now. So she hadn't done too much damage with that first punch after all. She'd had a few lovers over the years. On occasion she'd try to engage them in a rough and tumble play fight just to try and get them to punch her in the stomach. They never would though. They'd either think she was a crazy woman or when they did resist it would be too simple for them to just sit on her and restrain her limbs. This wasn't what she wanted. She'd soon learnt to drop this tactic and adopted the more direct approach. She wanted to share her fantasies, but her yearnings to feel a lovers fist buried into her navel would generally be thwarted by the prudish puritanical piss annoying streak that ran down the backs of her would be suitors. Couldn't any of them just slug her good and hard? Their feeble attempts at punching foreplay were annoying and frustrated her. She tried to explain it to them by comparing it to an unfinished blow job, where she'd work them up slowly and softly but wasn't prepared to give them a good deep pumping to the point where every nerve in their bodies was alight in perfect unison with their cocks.
Misha had near given up all hope of finding a kindred spirit before that fateful day she'd typed 'stomach punch' into the yahoo search engine. And there before her eyes a whole New World opened itself to her. She'd reveled in those early days, flitting from one link to another, from club to club. She became familiar and engrossed with the fantasies of countless other like-minded souls. The more 'hardcore' crowd stood out obvious in their conspicuousness. The same handles popped up in half a dozen different message boards with daily regularity; 'bellypunch3d', 'Mark', 'sleeperkid', 'ace', 'fist3', 'Jack Lindstrom', 'gut me hard', 'Barb' and the 'bellylord'. Strange names, strangers one and all. But she knew their minds. They were just like hers. She had found a home amongst this community and she would chat for hours, or by text messages and e-mails with her faceless friends, sharing her deepest passions. She'd revealed secrets, behind the veil of her own alter ego that she'd never dare tell anyone in the real world. Not even her best, most trusted of friends, knew how deep her desire had grown all these years to feel the thrust of a tightened fist plunging into her soft innards. In cyberspace there was anonymity like nowhere else. There was more than anonymity. Here she could be someone else and her most real self all at once. A strange contradiction. And so it came to be that on that particular Friday she signed on as usual to her Yahoo screen name to find a message posted to her by a new stranger. 'Smack_my_bitch_up' had sent the following e-mail;
'Hi there, Apologies for the unsolicited mailing, but I noticed from various sources that you and I share a mutual fetish for stomach pain. I've read some of your open fantasies and although I live on another continent I'd love to help you fulfill your dreams if you'd do me the return favor with mine. My yahoo profile is open for you to read simply click on the URL below. No reply is necessary but it's nice to know that finally I've found a community of brethren. Cal.'
The message was sweet and inoffensive, unlike many of the crude or downright rude one's she received on a regular basis from schoolboys, idiots, perverts or plain nutters. After reading SMBU's profile, Misha typed a reply:
'
Well thank you for the offer. That would be absolutely lovely. I'll look forward to it.
Em'
A minute or two of stomach hunting later and her surfing was interrupted by the dulcet tone of her PC singing, 'You've got mail!'
The reply was from Cal.
'Well thank you for your reply, I'm drooling already. Unfortunately I live in the UK. I do occasionally get over to the US on business, conferences etc. Where exactly in the states are you? Cal.'
'WV' was Misha's quick reply
.
'Oh a mountain girl, huh? I hear folk up there often have to fight of bears whilst they're chopping down trees for firewood…and occasionally the men work too! Well if ever I'm in the area I'll drop you a line. Likewise if you ever make it over to London and feel the need for a good stomach beating just call. Cal.'
She was tickled by his knowledge of American stereotypes. 'LOL' she replied. 'I'll do just that. Will you hit me hard enough to make me puke my guts? Em'
'Well Em, let's put it this way. Next time I'm in your neck of the woods I'll save the airplane sick bag just for you! Cal'
'Very cute' replied Misha.
He was funny, A cunning linguist…..or something like that she hoped. But alas he was ten thousand miles away, but stomach flirting was fun. The chance they'd ever meet was very, very remote.
Two months had passed before she next received any kind of contact from Cal. She had enjoyed reading his message posts and occasional short stories. She felt like she knew the workings of his mind through his fantasies, but she hadn't even seen him in a chat room let alone an e-mail in all that time. When a mail finally came it was out of the blue and it rocked her to the core
'Hello vomit girl, remember me? I'm coming to Baltimore for a meeting in a couple of weeks, but I'm going to have a weekend to myself. Now though I loathe road trips I'd make an exception to deliver that barf bag I promised you. Are you free on the 29th? We could simply meet for dinner or a drink first if you prefer. Cal.'
Her knees were knocking the underside of her desk as she read the mail twice more. 'Oh crap' she thought to herself. Had she invited a stranger into her real world? No, no of course not. This was no different to any of the other offers she got from the wackos, it was just more polite.
She had to respond. After all he was from England and proper etiquette dictated a response was required even if it was a polite 'No Thank you' She laughed at her flusteredness. What the hell, we kicked those guy's out in Boston 280 years ago. I don't have to feel any obligation to reply. But reply she did, although a full week later.
'Hello Cal, I've considered your offer, and I accept. Have you ever been to Washington DC? Would you like a tour guide for the day? I suggest we could meet at some landmark. It'll be in the open in the public and knowing DC quite well probably covered by a gazillion security service spy cameras, which means I'll feel more secure when meeting you. We could swap pictures online. If when we meet you aren't the guy I'm expecting I'll walk away. If you are we may enjoy each other's company for the day, we may not. We can take it from there. How does that grab you Limey Boy? Em.'
Again Misha had not long to wait for the reply. She had plucked up the courage to take a chance by inviting him beyond the barrier of her PC screen. 'But he's a foreigner.' she reassured herself. 'He has to leave eventually, doesn't he? It's just a day sightseeing and no more…..unless he's really cute!'
Em, That sounds delightful and no I've never been to DC. But there's so much to see. I'll leave it to you to surprise me. I have no preference. Here's my pic in jpeg format. Where and when? Cal'
They exchanged details and Misha was not disappointed at all by the photograph she received. Cute he was. They arranged to meet at the Smithsonian Institute. There was a visitor's restaurant close to the entrance hall. If either did a no-show at least the other could enjoy the facility on their own.
It was now 11.05am. They'd agreed on 11. He was late. Wasn't that the woman's prerogative?
At 11.10 she spotted him. Cal could have been Erik Estrada's long lost love child. He was about 6ft tall, 190lbs and in his early 30's. He was Frank Poncherello reborn. It was uncanny. Misha recalled the early 1970's cop show 'ChiPs' about the California Highway Patrol men, Frank and John. Of the two, she'd always had a crush on the blond haired, blue eyed All-American boy, John. But over the years her tastes had changed more often than the length of her hair and right now she knew exactly how to appreciate Cal's tall dark and handsome good looks. A thought, a brief moment of doubt, flashed across her mind 'What about the teeth? Oh no the teeth. He's British.' She imagined a cross between Frank Poncherello and Austin Powers and a shudder ran down her spine. At that exact moment Cal spotted her. His face broke into a broad and perfect smile. Misha melted into her chair, 'Perfect teeth!'
'Hello are you Em? I'm Cal' he introduced himself hand outstretched. Misha's reflexive return placed her hand into his. It was warm and inviting. Momentarily she pondered if these soft strong hands would soon be pounding her quivering stomach. She composed herself quickly to settle the butterflies in her tummy. 'That's M for Misha, Cal. Yes. And I'm very pleased to meet you' She began to stand. 'No, No. Please stay seated. Here let me join you.' Said Cal as he urged her with relaxed authority back into her seat.
They faced each other smiling for a moment. Misha was desperately trying to stem the red flush she could feel rushing to her cheeks as Cal looked into her eyes. He broke the silence to say 'I am so pleased to finally meet you. I guess you are feeling just as nervous as I, but I'd like to reassure you I'm just a regular guy, no different to the thousands of others out there that you might meet and arrange to go out on a date with. Now putting aside the fact that we share this somewhat unique side to our libidos, let's both put that aside for the day and go enjoy ourselves and get to know each other. Whaddya say?
His gentle voice and that steady reassuring accent were all it took to convince Misha that she could do this. Cal had a confident manner about him, but it wasn't arrogant or self-centered. It was almost hypnotic and she was prepared to let this stranger in town lead her even though wasn't she supposed to be leading him around town today. And that smile, so inviting. Misha felt suddenly at complete ease in Cal's company and they laughed together a while as she said. 'Sure, why the heck not Limey Boy'
The day was a dream. Cal allowed Misha to tour him around the citadel's sights without complaint. In fact he showed a keen interest in everything she showed him and hung on her every word. Misha was quite the tour guide. Brent had often asked her to collect visiting foreign executives from the airport and make them comfortable, show them the scenic tour before bringing them in to Alexandria to their hotel. By that time they'd be ready to hit the bars and clubs with Brent. He knew DC was dead for nightlife. The whole town shut down at 5pm, but Alexandria was different. It was the rich suburb on the bordering state. Most of DC's young IT execs lived there or thereabouts, that's if they hadn't already built their luxury house on the river. Misha pondered as the day drew on whether to take Cal back to Alexandria for dinner and a touch of bar hopping. She decided to delay a while. She wasn't yet sure if he was loose enough to hang out on the strip. After all he might be a real stiff assed Brit when the sun went down. She had the perfect solution to find out.
'Hey have you ever done that Wayne's world thing where you lie at the end of a runway and watch the planes coming in to land?' she asked. 'Er, no. But it sounds like fun, Why? 'Well DC has this tiny city airport named after Ronald Reagan and the end of the runway butts onto a public park. Wanna go see?' 'Sure' replied Cal with a smile.
They arrived at the park as dusk approached. As Misha drove her car into the parking lot they could see there were dozens of other couples of all ages dotted around the grassland.
'Come on.' said Misha. They found an open patch of grass. Cal looked around at the other people lying on their backs looking skyward. He took off his jacket and neatly folded it into a pillow and lay down on the grass. 'Err, aren't you worried your shirt might get dirty?' asked Misha 'I've got more, besides that's what business expenses are for. I can always buy more' This was no stiff ass. Misha smiled and lay down on the grass next to Cal. As they lay there the silence would be broken every two minutes by the booming engines of the landing jets and the astonished 'AWWWW's and 'WHOOOOAAH's of the assembled audience.
After the tenth jumbo had passed overhead Cal spoke up 'So Misha, am I going to get to slam my fist up into you beautiful flat stomach tonight. Because I have to admit I've been thinking of very little else all day. And I've been trying really hard to avoid the subject out of courtesy to you during your most wonderful tour. But right now I'd rather be looking at me landing a firm fist into your stomach and feeling my undercarriage rise, to watching the bellies and undercarriages if these airplanes landing.'
Misha felt the butterflies take off inside her again as the next plane's boom reverberated through her. 'Yeeeeeeeesss, but first lets go to a bar, because I'd like a few drinks inside me first' 'That sounds just fine to me' replied Cal.
Misha drove her car in near silence as she pondered again just what she was doing. This was after all no ordinary date, but that's just what it was so far, she kept reminding herself. We go out, we have fun, we drink, we get take out, we go home, and we get laid. Only difference here is when we get home I'm going to let this guy try to hurt me. And that's what she was scared of. Up 'til that moment she'd avoided the fear. Finally this night she would allow someone, who actually wanted to hit her for the pure pleasure of it, do just that. But would he stop. That was the key to her anxiety. How could she be sure he wouldn't just keep on beating her beyond her tolerance? She was allowing her fear to take hold. She needed a drink badly now just to steady her nerves. They arrived in Alexandria just in time. Misha parked her car at her office car park, which was handily located in the center of town and they walked to a nearby bar.
Misha downed her first JD and coke remarkably quickly. Cal noticed and the same with the second. Before Misha could order another he spoke in that same soft reassuring tone, 'Misha I want you to know that I'm just the same as you. I mean really just the same as you.
I've known my whole life that I'm different to all the other guy's you see out there, in here, everywhere in fact. Until I found our little web community, those few hundred computer literates, I thought I was alone in the whole world. A freak.
I want people to hurt me. But not in any way. In one specific and tiny way. I want to feel the pain of a loving penetrating punch deep into my belly button, I want to feel a woman rip my gut open and crush the knot of my belly button into my spine. I want to feel the blood in my descending aorta pulsate beneath her intruding fingers. I want that rush of pain deep into my center, my pleasure center.
I know it doesn't make sense to Joe and Joanna Public, but I know it makes sense to you. I want you to help me fulfil my desires and I will do everything to help you fulfill yours. I've had partners who've tried darn hard to try to hurt me the way I want but it's not their thing and they have no personal frame of reference to draw upon. They have no idea what I'm desperately searching for. I know you do. I've seen it in your posts. In your heart and soul you know I do too. Let them tell your mind this is true and I will endeavor to blow it for you.
I've known since beyond my memory that this is my kink, my fetish, my thing. My bellybutton was my embryonic link to the universe, through it my mother fed me life with her every heartbeat. It is my center and the center of my sexuality. From the moment the surgeon cut my mother's stomach open and severed me from her. From the day my mother showed me her scar. From earlier than all this. I owe my pain to her for her suffering to bring me to the world and more. That's how it began for me I think, I don't know. For each of us it's different I guess. Maybe I psychoanalyze it too much. But I will do my best, if you'll allow me, to give you that deep glow inside that I know you yearn for. That I yearn for. With as much sensitivity as I desire for myself, I will hurt you inside and bring you the pleasures you long for. Just say the word, tell me, help me to give you this pain. I don't do this for 'pain'. I do this for 'pleasure'. For both of us.'
Misha stared into Cal's eyes for an endless age. She felt his face closing to his as slow and fast as his was to hers. They met in a long and soft kiss. Misha closed her eyes. Was this the partner, the soul mate she had been waiting for all these long years? There'd be only one way to find out. The next three drinks were taken much more leisurely as they took time to explore each other's touch. They gazed at each other, giggling occasionally at their own good fortune, before Misha said, 'Now let me go get us a take out and you can walk me home. What'll it be?' 'I'm easy' replied Cal. 'Oh no Limey. You are not easy. It's taken me 15 years to find someone like you. You are certainly not easy! Will a burger do ya?' 'That'll be just fine'
They walked home via a McDonalds. Cal ordered a diet coke and two cheeseburgers. Misha skipped the food but took a large chocolate milkshake. They were both finished long before they reached Misha's apartment. On the way Misha recounted her childhood experiences with her brothers.
'I always thought those days were the source of my fetish. I never really considered it could be deeper than that. You really got me thinking talking about our fetal link to our mothers. Kinda makes sense.' 'Oh I wouldn't worry about it too much. It's enough just to know wherein your pleasure lays. There's no need to hire a shrink over it unless your kink is socially unacceptable. Thankfully ours is so obscure it hasn't yet reached the public's scrutiny.' 'True but what I mean is. Why did I enjoy my brothers pounding me in the stomach. I didn't mind, that first day, being hit so hard I actually puked. Perhaps there's something deeper going on with all of us stomach punching addicts?' 'Or perhaps you were just thrilled to finally get some brotherly love whatever the cost to you physically? Like I said, the why of it really isn't so important as the pleasure we know we get.'
They arrived. Misha's apartment was warm inside and they soon shed their jackets. Misha poured them both a drink and they sat together on the sofa sipping a while. Misha was watching Cal. She was playing with her hair, running her fingers through the long blonde locks that draped over her shoulders. Even in the dim lamp light Cal thought she was simply gorgeous. He couldn't take his eyes off her and soon he let them wander down the rest of her. Her breasts were pert and full. They stretched her tight sweater into two perfect peaks. The valley between them ran down to Misha's trim waist. As she sat there, her perfect office girl posture gave no hint of sagginess around her midriff. Cal's eyes continued their journey of delight down to Misha's slender thighs and calves. The naked skin beneath the hem of her short skirt was beautifully tanned a golden brown. Her skin looked soft and inviting. Cal could not resist. He placed his glass on a coaster and moved towards Misha to kiss her. As he did so Cal let one hand slip between Misha's knees and up between her thighs. Misha did not resist beyond letting out a slight gasp that turned into a soft guttural moan as she continued their kiss.
Cal continued to caress Misha's inner thigh but soon pushed up further and began to lovingly stroke the gusset of her panties. Misha was already wet with anticipation. She broke their oral connection to say, 'Punch me Cal. Punch me like I've never been punched before and don't stop no matter what until I throw up or die. And if I die don't stop punching me. Just hurt me more because I'll be in heaven and I wont care. Send me to heaven Cal, please, now' With that Cal helped Misha out of her clothes until all that remained was her very sexy frilly satin g-string panties. They were light blue and accentuated Misha's eyes beautifully. The top edge curved deeply outlining the gentle flatness of her lower stomach.
Near naked, Cal thought Misha's body was simply gorgeous. She still had her cheerleader fitness and with each breath her abdomen ebbed and flowed up again. Cal was transfixed. 'Be very specific Misha. Where do you feel your pain the most. Where exactly do you need your pain.' enquired Cal in that same irresistible exacting manner.
'Right here Cal, deep inside' answered Misha as she drew an outline of a circle just two inches around her little innie belly button. He then poked a finger deep into her navel. Cal watched as Misha sucked in her abdomen till it was taunt and sunken in far, her ribs were jutting out and each of her firm six-pack popped into view. Cal was half tempted to look from the side. Her fingertip could not have been more than an inch in front of the skin on her back.
'I'll give you a keyword to stop me completely. If it's too much pain, just say 'PAIN' out loud, and I'll stop. Anything else like 'stop', 'no more', 'please no', etc I'll ignore. Agreed?' 'Agreed Cal. Now please smack this bitch upPAAAAGGGGGHH!'
Cal rammed his fist into her flat inviting tummy before Misha could finish her sentence. Because he was sitting opposite her there wasn't much weight behind it. Never the less it still caught Misha unawares and she spluttered and coughed while Cal stood up and took off his shirt and shoes. His torso was bedecked in thick dark curly hair but beneath it all Misha could clearly see a well-defined rippling musculature. Cal was built like an athlete and more. He'd clearly kept his body in good shape. She hadn't time to fully explore this wonderful eye-candy before TTTHHHHHHHHWWWWWUMMMMMP.
A quick flick of his left arm snapped a sharp fist into her stomach just an inch below her navel. Misha was ready for it now. She sensed the sting of the contact on her skin, but the burn inside was like a touch paper trying to light a fire deep in her stomach. She closed her eyes and mentally begged for the warmth of the next punch. She would not be disappointed.
Cal stood in front of her waiting seated body. Her flat skin glowed golden in front of him. He lifted her head with the fingertips of his left hand under her chin. Bending forward he pressed his lips to hers. SSSSSMMMMMMMMAAAAAAACCCCK
Misha snorted at the air as her lungs were forced to expel her breath. But she did not break the kiss. Cal moved his hand onto her stretched out neck and pushed back on her throat until her head flopped back onto the top of the sofa. Standing astride her thighs now, pinning her by her slender neck, Misha's exposed taunt stomach was now completely at his mercy. THHHHHWWWWWWUMPPPP PPPPOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW CRRRRRUNNNNCH
Three rock hard powerful punches slammed into Misha's firm abdomen. She bucked at each tremendous blow. But no more than a gentle groaning emanated from her mouth. 'Impressive resistance Misha' said Cal, genuinely impressed. So she really was a true stomachpuncher, not just an inquisitive voyeur.
'You'll have to do better than that honey. My abdominal wall is a lot tougher than you think.' 'They can be tougher to penetrate than the great wall of China doll face, but I'm still going to bust you up inside and make you puke!' replied Cal, with a knowing broad grin. 'Promises, promiFGGGGGUUUCKKKKKK!' A crippling right uppercut creased Misha's torso as Cal ploughed his fist even harder into her navel. It was deadly accurate. The fire was now well alight inside Misha's tummy now. The burning sent waves of warm pleasure to her brain. More, please more! Her mind yearned for more of the same. PPPPPPLLLLLLOOOOOFFFFFFF 'NNNNNGGGGGGH' Now her groans were becoming more noticeably audible. 'MOTHER F-CKAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!' 'UUUUUUNNNNNNNNGHHH' 'AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. STOP NO' 'AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!' 'AWWWWWW F-CK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!'
Cal paused his onslaught a moment as Misha writhed with her painful internal pleasure. As soon as she settled and his target was relatively stationary Cal released a vicious gut crippling punch. He felt his fist swallowed whole into her flat under stomach. Misha bucked and quivered as she orgasmed beneath him. Cal was f-cking her up with his fists in more ways than he'd ever imagined. The sight of her climactic agony was thrilling to behold and Cal's penis sprang to rigid attention. Cal unbuckled his belt and removed his trousers and socks. He was wearing only his Calvin Klein tent, it's single pole now pointing horizontally at his target.
THHHHHWWWWWWACCCCCK
Released from his awkward posture holding Misha down, Cal was now able to apply more swing and power to his next punch. Twisting his torso around the pivot of his stable hips, Cal drove a series of three gut busting blows into Misha's still quaking stomach.
Misha snapped her body first back, then forward, then back again. Arching her back and head over the edge of the sofa she struggled to contain the pain and hold it in her stomach. It wanted to escape. It wanted to tell her that her ribcage was suffering. That her organs were getting a severe beating that they'd remind her of for weeks. That she'd be urinating blood for days. That her heart and lungs would explode if this punishment didn't end soon. But she needed to hold this pain. Bottling into her stretched tight stomach she couldn't speak to stop the next punch. It came like a lightening bolt. Cal could not resist the inviting sight of Misha's upthrust navel. Crashing down into her, Cal hammered a doubled fist down onto Misha's naked flesh. Driving her back down and into the sofa her stomach finally caved in, submitting to the relentless onslaught. Misha's body quaked and trembled and then exploded. A fountain of milky brown vomit burst from Misha's lips as she puked up her McDonalds beverage. She collapsed back into the sofa. A faint gurgling voice cried, 'Pain!'
The thick brown stream glugged it's way down her chin and a thin long string of dribble plopped onto her nipple. Curving a course around it the chocolate gloop continued it's course around her stiff tit assailing on downwards and landing in a splat accurately into the depths of her twisted belly button where it formed a growing pool. Once full her belly button finally spilled its contents and the milk shake continued in a neat stream down to her crotch. Spreading into a wide and snaking estuary it finally met the ocean of her feminine wetness, becoming suddenly more viscous as it mixed with her mucous.
Cal watched it flow and could not resist tasting this new and unique cocktail. He went down on her for what seemed to Misha like a blissful eternity. When finally he rose, she returned the favor. That night they made love like nothing she had ever experienced before. They beat each other's bellies black and blue.
The next day Misha drove Cal to the airport where he collected his baggage from a left luggage box and returned home. Misha returned the next day to work. Flicked on her PC and dialed up the stomach punching message boards.
She was happy to find a new story posted the previous night. It was called 'Vomit Induction' and although the names had been changed, she knew it was a perfect detailed account of her weekend with Cal. 'You crazy Limey' she laughed at herself.