I could barely stand it - neither could Mouse. Fox approached the girl chained to the pillar - the music pounded almost as loud as my heartbeat. Her soft belly undulated as she breathed in and out, heavier and heavier.
Fox had been rubbing something between his hands - I knew it was massage oil. The instant he touched Mouse's belly with his expert hands, I watched her body shudder and sag with ****** excitement. I knew that Mouse was letting her belly go completely relaxed. I knew that she would let him go as deep as he wanted. And that's what he did. Unhindered by friction, I could see his fingers penetrate instantly, deeply, into Mouse's soft organs.
Let me describe Mouse's belly to you again. I'll do a full recap in chapter six of my saga - but this section of our adventure is important. See, Mouse had never really been punched in the stomach before. Not very hard. At the house party where we made friends, she'd asked me to punch her - and I did - but we were both too scared of what could happen. Fox had no such pretenses; I had watched him pound Seven full-bore in the belly... and I'm almost positive Mouse wanted it bad.
Mouse was seventeen - she'd told me on our way to sneak her into the nightclub - and I don't think she spent a single day in her life developing muscles. Her tummy was so soft that the sides of it were concave even when she was standing up - the shape and softness of her belly was so pronounced that, when I met her, I swear I could have grabbed her by the divets above her hipbones and picked her up (later, I discovered my guess was true). Since I had seen her tummy fully bare, I also knew she had those shadows of ribs giving texture to her upper belly without poking out too far; at the bottom of her ribcage was a gentle contour that was almost imperceptible in its perfect smoothness. And her navel - a baby oval, rounded at the top and bottom with slightly elastic little rims. Both Seven and I had discovered that to hook a finger into Mouse's navel was to hold her completely captive - with just a little bit of a tug on her belly, she was yours.
From my nearby point of view, I could see the skin rippling on Mouse's tummy as Fox covered it in dark massage oil. Mouse's moistened belly took on a darker tone under the dim club lights; by the time he was done, her skin had gone from a pale peach to a yellowish bronze color. Under the stage light, Mouse looked like a succubus, with her belly left open to tantalize me inward. Of course, she didn't look like she was doing the tantalizing; her mouth hung open and she sagged against her restraints as she silently begged for as much belly-love as she could get.
Fox played with her that way for a long time. He was drinking it right up; everyone in the place could see how bad Mouse wanted it. Letting his hands work over the skin and what muscle was in Mouse's tummy, he worked his hands back and forth, slowly, massaging Mouse into a total sense of security. Soon, his hands worked deeper - I could see him kneading her belly almost like dough, pulling up one muscle group after another, kneading her organs in a circle, clockwise... counter-clockwise... every so often, stopping to re-oil his hands.
I could see Mouse's face about to melt off her head, she was so aroused. "God," I could see her mouth say. "God," she would say again, as Fox worked his way deeper into her guts. Then I saw Fox doing something different. He withdrew one hand from Mouse's belly, leaving the other one to knead her stomach high... low... left... right. With his other hand, he balled a tight fist.
Then, as Fox pulled his left hand to Mouse's hip, he let fly and plunged his right fist into the depths of Mouse's stomach.
She didn't make any noise. Instead, she tried to transmit all the belly-pain she had just received as a spasm, like as if she'd been tasered in her guts. Her legs tried to kick out, but they only flailed against the manacles - and Fox's fist wasn't going anywhere. The end result was a belly smashed endlessly inward, pinned helplessly between Fox's fist and the pillar at Mouse's back.
I was moved.
Fox withdrew his fist and Mouse's whole body tensed up for a moment - but since she'd sagged against her bonds while Fox gave her the tummy rub of her life, it took her almost half a minute to regain her composure. Her lower lip seemed fixated between her teeth, and I could see her eyes rolling back in a struggle to wrestle down the wave of pain in her belly and a wave of arousal in the rest of her body. And only after the first punch!
Mouse's eyes were a maelstrom of fear and reverence for Fox's fists. I watched her belly relax again as she took a deep breath - her ribs slowly emerged and submerged in her upper belly as I watched the air re-enter and leave her body. That was when Fox took his next shot. His fist entered her belly far above the navel, and I watched it become swallowed up under her ribs - he'd socked her right in the diaphragm. This is where I made my first connection as to different abdominal targets - through the haze of the nightclub, I saw the breath blasted out from Mouse's belly punch cutting a clear trail through the smoky air above her. Her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head - but I still couldn't hear any noise above the music.
Fox didn't let up this time. He yanked his fist out of Mouse's belly and savagely pumped it in again - this time, penetrating deeply into her navel. Then again, just below her navel. Each punch seemed to rock Mouse's body wholly - she flopped against the pillar like a fish. I'm still positive that on Mouse's first day getting a real belly-beating, Fox refused to hold back - I know he was blasting punches all the way against her spine. With each successive punch, I could finally start to hear him punching sound out of her...
"Huhh... uh... UH. ULLG!"
The "ullg" was warranted by a knuckle that entered Mouse's belly high and shot downward, rattling her guts against her spine like a washboard. She tried to double over, but her arms were still chained at her sides, and her shoulders didn't budge from their place at the post. If she wanted a rest, she was going to have to use her safeword. Of course, if Fox punched the air out of her, would she be able to say it? I had no idea.
Fox let one more fist fly after the terrible, wonderful sound of Mouse's churning guts came out of her mouth. It rocketed into her belly, powering into her navel and staying there, holding her pinned against the pillar by her beaten belly. I could see Fox whispering something in Mouse's ear.
Probably something to the effect of, "Are you OK?" ...and my suspicions were proved plausible when Mouse... smiled weakly, nodding her head!
What luck to have brought her here myself.
Fox pressed his weight inward, jamming his fist further and further... and further into Mouse's guts. I could see sweat dripping off his chin, at that point, and Mouse wasn't looking any less exhausted. Her mouth hung wide open, her whole body taut - except for her stomach. That, thankfully, was utterly soft and relaxed. I started to watch Fox's feet, and my suspicions were proven correct; one foot left the ground, half his weight pressed against Mouse's spine. Then, as he lifted the heel on his other foot...
It was statuesque. Mouse, chained against a pillar, breathing heavily - I could see her upper belly straining in-out-in-out to support her rapidly heaving diaphragm. The rest of her belly also bulging outward, with Fox's fist buried firmly in the middle, resting against her spine. And Fox, in all of what was likely 180 pounds or more of muscle, motionless, with all but two or three toes keeping the rest of his weight balanced perfectly in Mouse's agonized core.
It stayed that way for almost half a minute. Then, finally, Fox made one final, powerful thrust against Mouse's belly, then stood back up.
She almost fell off her feet as soon as he let go. I could see Mouse's whole body wilt like a giant bag of bread dough. And I think that's what had become of her belly - pounded like a sack of flour until it was total mush.
Fox turned to look at Seven, who was grinning widely and nodding, satisfied. But then I saw him turn back to Mouse's heaving, shuddering body with a surprised look on his face. I saw his mouth move.
I saw Mouse's mouth move back. "More."
Mouse. "More. Harder."
There was a moment of incredulous worship. Then Fox cracked his knuckles.
"Wait." Seven placed her hand on Fox's shoulder. Then she moved to Mouse and began untying her wrists.
"No, no!" protested Mouse, rubbing her beaten tummy anyway with her first free hand.
"Hey, give me that," shouted Seven. Grabbing the hand back, she raised both of Mouse's wrists to a much, much higher peg in the pillar. As she did so, both their bellies stretched out gloriously, like a pair of twin belly-goddesses meant for each other. I desperately wanted to slug them both as hard as I could. I think Mouse may have heard my thought; as her soft, soft tummy stretched out and became even more vulnerable, she looked at me - and winked.
The next step, after Mouse's hands were fastened above her head, was a blindfold. Seven wrapped it deftly around Mouse's head. As soon as it was on, Mouse started breathing heavily again - I watched her stomach move in, out, in, out, WAAAAY in as Fox shoved his knuckles into her tummy again.
"UUUAAAAAAH!" was the noise that came out of Mouse, followed by the sharpest gasp of air I've ever heard in my life. Her belly puffed out, overcompensating for the air that was just slugged out of her.
Fox wasn't missing his chance. His other fist flashed out, slamming Mouse back against the pillar. This time, she only gave a whoosh of breath that flew out of her body faster than a sneeze. Her body swayed back and forth as she let her legs fall out from under her. Mouse had been punched into a total state of relaxation; her belly was relaxed, her legs were relaxed, even her mouth still hung open, doubtlessly uttering a series of "Uh... huh... huh" noises. But what was she mouthing through a black haze of belly pain?
Dangling by her wrists, Mouse's belly was a perfect target. Her hipbones seemed almost ready to burst out of her skin, and her ribs protruded exceptionally, making an awesome canvas on which to sculpt a fabulous work of agony. And Fox did so.
Sometimes, in works of fiction, the audience can tell when a person is expending his last ounce of strength - his last piece of gusto. He's giving up his last dramatic ace-in-the-hole for the all-out, villain-killing coup de grace that will end all conflicts if it succeeds and lose all bets if it fails.
This wasn't one of those punches. But it sure came close.
I could see the veins bulging out of Fox's neck and arms even before he wound up the punches. The first entered Mouse's belly even before I knew he was going to throw it; it flew up between her ribs as if the air didn't even belong in her lungs. I watched Mouse's body seize as she desperately tried to refill her lungs with air; her throat hacked and her belly heaved, but by the time she got a breath it was time for the next punch.
The slap of fist on skin had turned into a "crack" - louder than the music, louder than the crowd, louder than the world now, as Fox crushed Mouse's guts inward with a navel-centered punch that ricocheted Mouse's body off the pillar - then he hammered another punch home to the very same spot, pinning her against the wood like a beautiful butterfly. I could practically hear her guts churning. I wondered whether she would be driven to puke.
The final three punches, however, were punches after which many more of mine (later chapters, kids) would be styled. I could see it in slow motion; the windup, in which Mouse desperately tried to guess where and when a punch would come; the tense fist screaming for Mouse's willing belly; Fox's knuckles touching Mouse's delicate bellyskin; the punch coming in low, pushing guts aside; the uppercut penetrating instantly into the darkest recesses of Mouse's poor, oiled stomach; Fox's sliding up her spine, crushing guts and nerve centers alike along it ridged length; and the way Mouse's body was carried upward, her entire frame heaved off its feet by a solid blow to the solar plexus.
Just read that last paragraph three times. Slowly. That's what it was like for me. Three of them.
The safeword came out; I'm still not sure whether she actually said it or whether the amount of strength left in her body only allowed her to mouth it. Regardless, whatever Mouse said, Fox quit. Seven rushed to her side, taking the manacles off in a hurry. Mouse, naturally, collapsed - her hands flying to her belly to knead away the pain. I went to her side, too, touching her belly as well - tender as always.
"How did I do?" asked Mouse, gleefully staring up into my eyes from her own large ones.
"You are the sexiest creature on the planet, I think," I said.
"Good. Punch me."
I did. I sank my fist into her relaxed belly with little effort; very little was needed to penetrate her already beaten muscles and bounce my fist off her spine. Her body shook slightly and I could hear a noise, interpretable as pure ecstasy, pass Mouse's lips.
"Yeah," interrupted Seven. "I knew she wasn't done yet."
We all laughed - Fox didn't. "So, Watcher... we still haven't seen what you're capable of. Seven could still use a beating tonight, and Mouse has definitely earned you guys a pass to our after-party. You two wanna come?"
As the DJ rang out his announcement for last call, Seven rubbed her belly enticingly.
"Yeah, Watcher. Let's see what you can do."