Not such a Teaser Story (part 1) written by 42


not such a teaser story (part 1) written by 42

Let me tell you something about the perfect belly. There isn't just one - too many people come in too many shapes and sizes. The girl in the coffee house? She had a perfect belly. Not the perfect belly - just a perfect belly. It was soft, smooth, just a tiny bit round. Not exercised. And, most importantly, she liked it to be rubbed and punched. Perfect. But don't get me wrong - there are many more perfect bellies in the world. Some are concave, some convex. Some have outies, some have innies. Some have more prominent ribs. Some have amazing hipbones. All are completely tantalizing. After I had my run-in with the coffee house girl, I could barely contain myself; I thought I had seen the perfect girl, and I was positive I'd never see her again. I was convinced I'd never have another experience quite like that level of arousal and triumph I experienced by discovering another belly fetishist - I figured she was the only other one I'd meet with a belly like that.

I was all kinds of wrong.

The best environment to people-watch, naturally, is the nightclub. Girls of all shapes and sizes know people like me; sitting in the back corner with a beer, just watching. It's in the nightclub when those awful trends get shaken up; pants get lower, shirts get higher, bellies undulate. Of course, since many women try to show as much skin as possible, the belly is a sort of "safe zone" - the naughty part that isn't considered naughty.

Sometimes they don't know it - those girls who leave a torturous triangle between tops and bottoms, the kind I'll stare at for an hour just waiting for it to dance its way up toward her ribs. Other times, they know it; tummy shaking, thrusting in and out with the music.

The best of all are the underground clubs; the ones throwing events like foam parties and fetish nights. My town is no exception; the local gay bar throws a party once every month featuring the hottest, sexiest DJ and the leathery, lacy tortures of scantily clad people bearing whips, chains, and other fantastic playthings.

It was that time of the month, and I was out and about; I figured I'd jet from one coffee house to the next until Fetish Night actually got going. I gave myself an extra hour to hang out, letting things get started.

It was a huge mistake.

By the time I got in, I could hear music pounding on the dance floor. People were dancing, but not as many as usual - the crowd seemed to be attracted to something going on at the edge of the stage. That was usually where people went to get strapped up and whipped - but I didn't hear the usual *snap snap snap* of the flog. Instead, the crowd would occasionally "OOH!" like something different was going on. Grabbing a beer on the way, I figured I would check it out.

I had already missed a huge part of the show, and I immediately would have kicked myself if I hadn't been so shocked. Here's what I saw.

Two people; one man, one woman. The man seemed like a bit of a normal guy; thick forearms and sinewy legs belied a background in sports or some other physical activity. His legs bulged beneath a pair of leather pants, and I could see that he was clearly aroused. His upper body was clad in a loose, button-up silk shirt (black), and he wore some logoed black ball cap on his head. His face was slick with perspiration; he had rolled up his sleeves to expose arms covered in matted brown hair.

His partner in the scene was the one who caught my eye. She was short; about five foot four, and skinny. I could have easily thrown her over my shoulder. However, she looked like the type with attitude. Her hair was bright pink, and it had been spiked earlier in the night - though sweat and humidity had caused many of those spikes to dissolve. Her face matched her haircut; she had a ring through her lip, at least three in each ear. She wore vinyl shorts tighter than the national budget and a small black polo shirt that didn't even pretend to cover her belly. It rode up her torso, leaving a good four inches of tummy exposed above her little slit of a navel. For as punked-out as she was, she was pretty; her deep blue eyes screwed themselves shut now and then with heated passion, and her perfectly milky skin had taken on a rosy color.

And what were they doing? She was tied to the wall, wrists and ankles strapped to an upright table. She also had a chain around her neck; she was stuck upright. And the jock-looking man was pressing his fist deep into her thin, milky belly.

I was in heaven. I pressed my way to the front of the crowd to get a better look. The young punk girl was an absolute knockout, upon closer examination; she looked pretty young, but I knew in clubs like this appearances lie. I knew she couldn't be a day over 24, though - if I didn't know the club any better, I would have guessed she was an 18-year-old who sneaked past the bouncer. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but her mouth was smiling - when it wasn't gasping for air.

I watched his fist drive itself into her tummy. I squinted at something I could barely believe; her guts moved aside like water in a balloon. She was completely relaxed! Not only that, but the skin on her belly had gone from an even white to a blotchy red. They'd been at this for a while.

As I stared, the man withdrew his fist ever-so-slightly, then pushed in; then pulled, then pushed. The girl only writhed in pain, then pleasure. I couldn't hear them over the music, but he seemed to be pushing out a slow rhythm as he massaged her spine with his knuckles. He had an open canvas; not only was her stomach utterly relaxed (and it looked soft as hell), but she couldn't even move from a standing position.

The man stopped, reaching to a stool at his side. He grabbed a small plastic bottle; uncapped it, poured some liquid into his hands. Rubbed them together, then rubbed them all over his wonderful victim's belly. She smiled as her belly took on a slight sheen. Then, he went back to work, shoving his knuckles back in with a bit of extra force. Her body shuddered as his fist snaked its way across the surface of her belly, pressing it in deeply.

Of course - it was massage oil! And with no friction between his skin and hers, he was free to knead her guts as he liked. He pushed into her navel, sliding his fist to the left and right without pulling it out at all. The girl pressed her back into the table behind her, but the man only pressed in harder - moving down into her intestines, then going up, up, underneath her shirt and between her ribs. The girl's eyes rolled back in her head as he held her there, impaled between his fist and the wood behind her.

He pulled his fist away and the crowd applauded. The girl glanced over at the crowd and smiled, then shouted something inaudible to the man. He leaned his head in and she shouted over the music into his ear. He grinned, nodded... then started undoing her restraints. My heart dropped.

As soon as she was released, the girl raised my spirits right back up; she reached to her sides and pulled her shirt waaaaay above her head - revealing small breasts bound by a black bra (with skulls and crossbones) and slightly protruding ribs. It was a perfect belly. And better yet: as soon as the shirt came off, she reached high above her head - to a pair of restraints I hadn't yet seen. Her stomach stretching, her ribs just poking out enough to give her tummy more of a convex shape (making her navel a perfect target), she waited for her friend to tie her in.

The crowd gasped - me loudest of all - as the man nodded to his partner. She nodded back, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. The layman probably saw her getting ready for whatever was coming. I, however, watched her belly relax as completely as she could make it.

Then it came. The man reared back, plunging his fist deep into her depths. The slap of fist against belly was unmistakable and unforgettable.

"AH!" she shouted. She had a fabulous, young voice. Her body shook around his fist as she shuddered in pain - or excitement? And he withdrew his knuckles from her belly.

She only got a moment to recover before he smashed his way into her core again. This time, I couldn't hear a slap - the man drove his fist knuckle-first between her ribs, smashing her diaphragm upward. The girl's eyes snapped open, her mouth shot wide, and I could practically see the breath leave her body. The punch was quick; his fist left her tummy as quickly as it entered. I could watch her belly heave as she tried to take a deep breath; she could only muster a long series of shallow, desperate puffs.

He took his chance then. Watching her belly undulate as it begged for air, the man waited for the right moment to strike - and right as she huffed, he slugged her in the stomach one more time and held it there. I could just barely hear her over the music: "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh." The air left her again, desperately, and I could watch the rest of her belly move in and out as she tried to force a breath down into her body. The man, however, continued to crush his fist into her guts - the air didn't have much of a place to go.

I watched, enrapt, for another five or ten minutes. I couldn't believe it. After my experience only a week ago, I had this - this miracle. My eyes never left her; I was in love. I never saw her flex once, but I saw her smile plenty of times as her belly was pounded, smashed, crunched inward over and over and over again. By the time they were done, her eyes had rolled back into her head and she assumed the position of a punching bag; limp, loose, a completely blank belly-slate on which the man could carve a beautiful belly-punch over, and over, and over again. I recognized the state of mind; she had become so focused on the pain that higher mental functions had ceased. She was only a belly at that point; being punched in the stomach was her only reality.

He ended the scene with a crushing punch to her solar plexus; again, her body shook around his fist as he pushed further inward with every beat of the music. As he held her there, he reached way up to one restraint on her wrist; undoing it, her arm flopped limply around his shoulders. He undid her throat next as someone untied her ankles. Finally, as he untied her last wrist, she fell down around him, her arms around his shoulders, his fist still pinning her to the wall by her soft, girlish gut. They both grinned like idiots.

I could only applaud wildly. Who the hell were these people?

July 12, 2023 12:10 AM